Not allowing her to speak any further, I quickly lift the belt and bring it back down on her ass. She gasps loudly, tenses, but doesn’t break position. She’s no fool, and hopefully knows that I’ve only just begun.
“Consequences, Katja,” I nearly growl as I belt her again, with more force than the time before.
Her gasp blends into a muffled squeal as her lips firmly press together. I take a step to the side so I can look at her face. I try not to chuckle when I see that her eyes are shut tight and she’s readying herself for the next lash of the belt.
Not to keep her waiting, I rain down upon her cheeks several more times, not pausing in between for her to get her breath or prepare for the next one. She cries out as I reach the sixth swat and begins wiggling against the table. Her bottom is turning a nice shade of pink, but not enough for me to stop quite yet.
I continue to spank her, watching the way her body takes each bite from the leather. I’m not sure who this is punishing more. Her because she’s taking the belting, or me because all I want is to be buried balls deep inside of her right now but I can’t.
I need to remain in control. I have to maintain the balance of the scales. I can’t allow Katja Belov—bare assed or not—to have power over me any longer. Never again.
I continue to whip her until her yelps and cries grow in intensity, and then I finally step back and loop the belt back into my pants while she’s still bent over the table, heaving for breath. If I don’t stop now, I’m not sure what I’ll do next, and this moment is not for that.
Yes, I’d fuck her in a heartbeat, but then that muddles the act. Right now is about humbling her. Stripping some of that pride of hers that I’ll fight against every step of the way if I don’t.
I have to remain strong even if my cock is one weak motherfucker right now.
I take a deep breath. Now… I could be a gentleman and assist her with her panties, lower her skirt, and help wipe the tears from her eyes.
But then that would be tilting the scales in her favor… so I wait and watch her recover.
Katja finally looks over her shoulder and notices I’ve put the belt back into my pants. She quickly reaches for her skirt and begins to cover her punished ass, but I shake my head and say, “No.”
Her eyes dart back to my belt, but she freezes in place.
“Keep that skirt up around your waist like the naughty girl you are. Leave those panties down and come kneel at my feet.”
The Katja ten minutes ago would have cursed me, shot daggers from those dark eyes of hers, and threatened to end my very existence. But not the Katja now. Not the Katja who just got whipped into submission.
This Katja does exactly as I ask and kneels at my feet—her leather-kissed ass still on display—and her big eyes looking up at me in anticipation of what’s next in her consequence.
Fuck… the things I want to do to her right now.
“$300K is a lot of money. Let’s hope you aren’t in this same position again, forced to take another consequence,” I chastise, struggling to not lift her into my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay. That I’d never let some stranger take possession of The Whitney. That I’d never let anyone but her and me run it.
But I can’t give her the power.
The last time I gave her the power…
“I’ll have the money wired to you within the hour,” I say, turning on my heels and heading up to join Z on the rooftop.
I don’t look over my shoulder. I don’t want to see Katja on her knees… waiting. I don’t want to fight the carnal urges that are raging through me any longer and if I look back, if I so much as glance at Katja right now… I’ll claim her as mine.
I need space. I need time. I need control. And though it’s only morning… I need a whiskey.
Chapter Twelve
KATJA
“I’m sorry, Ms. Belov, but if we’re finished, I’d like to head home now.”
I’m so focused, I’d forgotten Tristan’s previous assistant, Mrs. Carter, is still sitting across from me—piles of papers, file folders, and receipts between us.
A quick glance at my watch tells me I’ve been sitting at my long dining table for over eight hours straight, barely taking a break for food or tea.
“I’m sorry, I let time get away from me again.”
The apology is bullshit and we both know it. Over the course of working together for the last four days we’ve come to a frosty truce.