Page 92 of Damsel in Disguise

I hate that he can do this to me so easily—start something and then just walk away nonchalantly.

As if the last few seconds never happened. As if I wasn’t about to grind against him. As if I didn’t almost—God.

I straighten too quickly and turn around to face him, bracing my hands behind his desk.

“Your cheeks are red, little kitty,” he sniggers, pleased at himself to see me flushed. “Is it from anger or…”

No words come out of my mouth. What am I supposed to say? Both?

“We can fix that. To do so, I need you to unbuckle your belt and give it to me.”

“Wait, what—”

“I’m afraid it’s not a suggestion. It’s an order,” his ocean-blue eyes hold me steady. They’re one shade darker now.

“Take it off yourself,” suddenly acting like a brat feels good.

“If I do, that won’t be the only piece I’d take off of your body.”

My throat swallows a lump subconsciously. Well, I don’t mind him ripping off my clothes and—

“And I’d make you walk out of this room like that.” I can’t even finish forming the image in my head when his voice cuts in. “What do you think that’s going to do to your good-girl reputation?”

Based on how much I’ve known Alistair, he’ll definitely keep his word.

So I don’t think twice—my hands move on autopilot, already doing what he asked me to.

“Good girl,” he drawls as I reach out to hand him my belt, my eyes never leaving his.

Not that I needed it anyway, the skirt is snug against my waist. That was just for fashion.

He twists the strap through the buckle twice in a way that forms an infinity sign, then wraps the remaining strap under the infinity sign and through the buckle.

Satisfied with his work, he holds it for me. “Put your hands through the loops.”

He wants to tie my wrist using my belt.

The action shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. My body steps towards him on its own. I push my hands through the loops before my brain can decide for me.

Unfortunately, he notices me jolting faintly when his fingers gently brush against my hand. It’s evident in the smallest tilt of the corners of his lips.

Alistair dips his head. His lips part, and his tongue darts out. Then he takes the tip of the strap and bites onto it, tugging it tight and securing the belt. His gaze never wavers from mine.

The simple action spikes up my heart rate. The stupid organ pounds so loudly, it drowns out everything else.

A sharp gasp slips free at the sting flaring from the leather cutting into my skin—he deliberately hooks the prong at the tightest level.

His palm rests on my head as he pushes me to the floor. And like an obedient pet, I allow him to put me on my knees.

Once my knees hit the floor, his knuckles gently run over the side of my face, “Good kitty,” the dimples on either side of his cheeks deepen from the grin.

The act is too soft in contrast to the power dynamic.

From his angle—looking down at me with a wicked grin carving across his mouth—he’s looking every bit the devil he is.

And me—on my knees, staring up at him through lashes feigning innocence. But there’s nothing innocent about this.

Not in the way his gaze darkens, dragging over me.