Page 48 of Guilty as Sin

It’s more than just his hand on mine. It’s his presence beside me, his scent, his everything.

“It’s an old quarry.” He clicks through the digital map views to confirm the warehouse’s existence, then double-checks the old book.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“The land was backfilled. It was probably cheap. It’s good enough to build on, but it’s not as good as solid ground.” He gives me a knowing grin. “Anything built there would be ridiculously easy to demolish.”

Now, that is interesting.

“Don’t tell me,” I say. “You’re the family’s demolitions expert?”

“I’m the real estate developer. It’s part of my purview.”

Learning yet another facet of my husband’s expertise makes me crave him all the more. And the look in his eyes tells me he’s craving me too. It remains to be seen whether this information is truly useful or not, but right now what matters is that we’ve uncovered it together.

Brady looks from my eyes to my lips, and suddenly I’m wetter. I’m still upset with him for sending me back to my room last night, but it’s an anger that makes my pulse race, enhancing the urgency of my need. I want nothing more than for him to rip off my clothes and bend me over his desk.

But the thought of him tearing off my dress gives me pause. My bruise. His reaction this morning was to be expected, but I don’t want either of us to go through it again.

I clear my throat and head back toward the door, focused on the light switch beside it.

“Can we dim the lights?” I ask. Too late, I realize the lights aren’t on. It’s a dazzling late summer day in a room with wall-length windows.

“If you want,” he says with a lazy smile.

He presses a switch on his desk, and panel shades descend along the windowed wall. They’re black woven bamboo, letting in just enough light that the office has the intimate glow of a speakeasy.

My breath quickens, but I keep my walk steady as I return toward Brady.

“This is valuable intel,” he says, closing his computer. The loss of the monitors’ light makes him look like a shadowed villain. He leans back in his chair. “You deserve a reward.”

My feet falter in my heels, and I stop where I am at the side of his desk. I have to grip its edge for support. The thought of a reward from Brady makes me soaked. But my voice doesn’t work to give him a response.

“Then again,” he drawls, “you also deserve a punishment for putting yourself in danger last night. The note I left you was very clear about not doing anything stupid.”

My face flushes hot. It’s partly indignation, because how dare he blame me for getting attacked? But it’s also the heat of my anticipation. We both know what he means by punishment. And reward. I gulp, but my voice still comes out raspy.

“You said that if I enjoy it, it’s not really discipline.”

“Enjoy what?” he asks, as if he has no idea what I’m talking about. I take a shaky breath, rising to his seductive challenge.

“Bending me over your knee.”

“Did I say that?” he muses. “Hm… I suppose it all depends on how hard I spank you.”

The room is too dim for him to see me blushing, but I can see the outline of his devious grin. He senses my reaction.

“You want to find out,” he says. “So badly.”

I realize I’m breathing heavily, already panting with expectation. How can he read me so well? I can control my expressions, but my body can’t lie to him. He laces his fingers behind his head as he watches my chest unsteadily rise and fall.

“Take off your clothes,” he tells me, and fuck. I should not be so turned on by him telling me what to do, but it’s what I want too.

Brady knows it, I know it, and my pussy definitely knows it.

I step out of my shoes, then reach behind my back to unzip my dress. There’s a half beat of awkwardness as I wriggle my shoulders, but Brady is completely at ease. Beneath his devouring gaze, I don’t think there’s any level of awkwardness that could matter. He wants me regardless, and that thought is empowering.

“Bra and panties too,” he says.