The Sister (The Boss 6)

“You’re tense,” he admonished. “What do you need?”

“Music,” I said without hesitation.

“Sophie?” he asked expectantly.

“Music, Sir,” I revised my answer. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“You’re forgiven. Stay where you are.”

He stepped away to turn on some music, leaving me exposed and panting, desperate to grind against the edge of the mattress. He took a long time choosing the music, too long in my horny and impatient opinion. He settled on Lana Del Rey; “Freak” filled the room over the sound system.

Lana is the perfect soundtrack for getting spanked by a hot older man.

With a kid in the house, I’d had a difficult time getting into the mood in a silent room. I knew I was being silly, because there was no way Olivia would hear us from her nursery in the other wing. Plus, her nanny, Mariposa, almost always had a white noise machine running in her bedroom, so it wasn’t like she would randomly hear us, either. And the distance alone would provide us cover. But I still needed a sonic cloak of privacy before I could truly let myself go.

Neil returned to me and glided one palm over my ass.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered.

The belt landed across my ass with an ear-splitting crack. It sounded far worse than it felt, but god, did that noise ever heighten the experience.

“Polite girls say thank you when they’re given a present,” he reminded me.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“How many would you like?”

“All of them,” wasn’t the appropriate answer. “As many as you’d like me to have, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

That simple praise started the spiral. The slow spin out of my mind and into a place where the outside world disappeared. No responsibilities, no pressure, just me and my Sir and my bone-deep need to please him.

The belt cracked across my skin, again. My fingers dug into the duvet. It wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever inflicted on me—far from it. But it wasn’t the pain itself, so much as the action behind it. Knowing he did it not just to get me off, but because it got him off, too, made me feel…used. Dirty. Ashamed.

Worshipped.

Another slap of the leather brought a squeak of surprised pain from my lips.

“Too hard?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, Sir.”

“I’m serious, Sophie. I don’t intend to cause lasting pain, this time. I’ll be very disappointed with you if you’re not honest.”

I pressed my forehead against a patch of cool fabric. “Maybe a little too hard, Sir.”

His lips brushed my skin as he kissed along the length of the burning stripe across my ass. “I’ll be more careful.”

Another strike curled my toes in the carpet.

“I won’t be, next time,” he went on. “Perhaps, when we return, we should spend a night out.”

“Spend a night out” was our code phrase for spending the night in our secret hideaway, a lavish reproduction of the Pavillon Français at Versailles that the home’s former owners had nestled in an out-of-the-way corner of the compound. For a wedding present to the both of us, Neil had transformed it into a truly decadent palace of depravity.

“I have a mind to shackle you over the bench and cane you until you beg me to stop.” His voice rasped as he spoke; his threats turned him on as much as they did me.

“Please, Sir,” I moaned as another slap landed.

“Maybe I’ll gag you. You do look so pretty drooling around a gag, tears running down your face.” Another smack of the belt. “Trying to beg me, though you can’t speak.”

Chills raced over my back, and not just from the pain, but anticipation. He would make good on every promise.

“Then, I might tie you down on the Sybian. Let you struggle a bit.” He tossed the belt aside and gave my ass one last sharp smack with his hand. He dug his fingers into my flesh, his grip possessive.

The Sybian he’d threatened me with was the most powerful vibrator I’d ever experienced. It had to be straddled because of its shape, which gave him the ability to shackle my ankles, keeping me captive over it. Once, he’d left me on it, screaming and writhing, while he’d read a book.

Or pretended to. He was really good at feigning disinterest while he tortured me.

But not tonight. That was clear from the urgency in his touch when he dropped to his knees and jerked my hips back. His mouth sought out my sex to feast, not savor, his tongue going straight for my clit to swirl over it rapidly. I rocked against his face, but he pinned my hips to the edge of the bed and held them, giving me no wiggle room at all.

“Don’t move,” he warned, moving one hand to the small of my back while the other slipped between my legs. He slid one finger into me, and my eyelids fluttered closed. “Do you like that?”