Last night, I blamed the drink. We lost all sense of propriety and sense when we gave into what we both wanted, both needed. But now, what’s my excuse? There’s no alcohol thrumming through my veins, no reason for pursuing her.
But I can’t help myself. I have to have her. The broken pieces of my past are forgotten when she’s under my control.
She flails and scissors her legs after the first slash of leather on her naked skin. My cock aches against the zipper of my pants, and I remember what it’s like to slide myself between her warm, sensual folds. I smack the belt down a second time, crisscrossing the first stripe. I relish the sounds of her moans and squeals. One hand flies back in an effort of futile self-protection. I quickly grab her wrist and pin it to her lower back, not breaking my stride.
I give her only two hard lashes of the belt. We don’t have time for a proper punishment. This is just a taste, just a reminder, and if my suspicion’s right, it’s exactly what will keep her wanting more.
I take a moment to admire my artwork, gentle bumps where the line of leather welted her perfect backside. She’s draped over my knee, panting heavily, now that I’ve stopped her spanking. I thread my belt back into the loops of my pants and quickly fasten it. She stays right where she is, even when I finger her tight, secret hole.
“I’ll put a plug right there,” I say, circling my finger. “Right there, so every time you moved, you’d remember your obedience to me.”
She gasps but doesn’t reply.
“And if I touched you right now, what would I find, love?”
I hold her in place over my knee. It feels right, having her here like this. Submitting to me and vulnerable, and I know she wants this, too.
“I’d be… oh God, you’re a kinky fucker. Ow!” She bucks when my palm slams against her sore arse.
“Answer the question and watch that smart mouth.”
She nods her head. “Aye,” she says. “What was the question again?”
I pinch her bottom, and she squeals. “If I touched you right now…” I drag a finger lazy down the swell of her arse to the crease right above her thighs. “What would I find?”
I ghost my finger between her legs. A promise and a kiss, no more.
She parts her legs and groans. “One soaking, hot, needy little pussy.”
I can’t help but grin. I haven’t fucking grinned in months, maybe even longer. Nothing, not Nolan’s antics or Boner’s wisecracks or Breena’s sweetness, strikes humor in me like this, like Megan’s unpretentious, unabashed honesty.
“Let’s test that theory,” I say to her, when we hear voices right outside the window.
Fuck. I locked the door but completely forgot about the windows.
She stills when I do. I gently drag her dress down and pat her arse, then raise her to her feet. Her hands come to her arse and she massages, even as her focus is totally on the voices outside.
“Who are they?” she whispers. I point to the little loveseat silently, instructing her to sit. This time, my instructions are no joke.
She quickly sits, her eyes wide and curious.
I walk quietly to the window. Standing to the side so I can avoid being seen, I peek out as discreetly as possible.
I see three of our guards pass by. “Just the guard,” I say quietly. But why aren’t they at the gate, then? I frown. “They should be at the gate.”
I take my phone out and text Keenan.
Guard just passed meeting room window. You dismiss them?
His response is immediate. Hell no. Where did you see them?
I give him an intentionally evasive answer.
First floor. Saw them outside the window.
On it.
Megan looks from me to the window. “I have to go,” she says. “Your… the men will be here soon to meet with you, and I’m not sure they’d believe I’m just in here dusting shelves or something.”
I walk her to the door. I wonder why she doesn’t meet my eyes. She’s hiding something. Is she afraid that I’m only taking advantage of her? Or is it something else?
She’s right, we can’t do this, we can’t get caught here. My brothers would never forgive me, and we don’t have privacy here. But before we leave, I need the memory of the two of us fresh in her mind.
When I reach the door, I press her up against it, lift the edge of her dress and yank it up until I bare her. She wears only a bra, the faint marks of my teeth still christening her body. I kneel, still holding her dress folded in my grasp. She’s trembling, her hands flat on the door behind her, when I drag my tongue down her belly.
“Carson,” she protests.
“Shh.”
I kiss her belly. She has contours and rounded softness everywhere she should. A man could lose himself in these curves. She pushes her hands on my shoulders as if to stop me. I pause and look up at her. Her eyes are frantic, her face contorted in distress.