Buttons and Lace (Buttons 1)

I turned back to her, my nostrils flaring. I wanted to bend her over my desk and fuck her right then and there. No woman had ever slapped me before—unless I commanded her to. This woman had a razor-sharp edge I wanted to cut myself on. She had a spine harder than most of my men. She had a fierceness that rivaled my own. I’d never been so fucking hard in my life.

She pointed her finger in my face. “Touch me like that again, and see what happens.”

Now she was just baiting me. “If you don’t want to be spanked and fucked against my desk, you better walk out right now.” My shoulders were tense, and my hand started to shake. The beast inside me was tearing through my restraints. My blood screamed for hers.

She turned around and headed to the door—making a wise decision. But she stopped when she noticed the paintings on my wall. There were at least twenty in the room, all made by the same hand. Some were more unique than others, created mostly out of buttons.

Like she forgot about our argument altogether, she stared at them. Her eyes focused on one in particular. The hills of the valley were in the distance, painted with watercolors. The vineyards receded into the background, and each row was created from an array of buttons. The art was unusual but beautiful with its originality.

She turned back to me, her lips parted to ask about the paintings on the wall. But when she saw the livid look on my face, the desire for blood still in my eyes, she thought better of it. She walked out the door without a backward glance, saving herself from a rough fuck that would leave her so sore she wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.

I returned to my desk, my cock still rock-hard and throbbing. If I didn’t fuck her soon, I’d have to entertain myself with my hand, which wasn’t nearly as much fun. My eyes drifted to the jar sitting at the edge of my desk. It was an old antique found at the flea market years ago. A collection of buttons filled it to the brim. Some were brown with tinsel, others were ivory with lace woven through the holes. Each one was unique, handmade and imported.

And they gave me an idea.

***

I sat down to dinner that night. As I expected, she didn’t join me. She was avoiding me after the way I slapped her. And she was probably a little afraid since she slapped me back. She tested me, pushed me to my limit. Now she knew there really was a beast behind my hazel eyes. “Lars, tell our guest to come down for dinner.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” He left the room and ventured upstairs.

I stayed at the table where the food was laid out. Zucchini lasagna sat in the center of the table along with a garden salad. Homemade bruschetta sat alongside it, every Italian’s favorite appetizer.

Lars returned a moment later. “She declined the invitation.”

My irritation didn’t blossom immediately. That was the answer I expected. “Inform her there will be consequences if she disobeys.” It was a power play. I was exerting my dominance, and she fought it every single step of the way. I loved the challenge. I loved the fact she wouldn’t submit. She just made me even more dominant than before.

Lars nodded before he left the dining hall. He returned to her room and shared my message. Then he came back without my guest beside him. He just looked at me.

I tried not to smile. This was the exact response I was hoping for. “Thank you, Lars. I’ll take care of it.”

He walked out of the room and retreated to the kitchen, knowing whatever was about to happen next was something he didn’t want to be a part of.

I walked up the grand staircase then entered her bedroom. She was sitting on the couch reading a book, still wearing the same dress as before. She didn’t look up when I entered, as if she knew I was coming. “I’m not hungry.”

I stepped closer to her, my hands in the pockets of my suit. Without saying a word or raising a hand, I threatened her. I conveyed all the horrific things I would do to her if she didn’t comply. Every time she resisted, I just pushed her harder. I loved an opponent who could match me. I loved that she wasn’t scared to oppose me. Her bravery was amusing.

When she felt me approach, she couldn’t hide her unease. Her fingers gripped her book in anticipation, waiting for my palm to collide with her cheek.

I grabbed her by the neck and pinned her to the back of the couch, jolting her even though she’d been expecting something. I leaned over her, my face pressed close to hers. “Get your ass downstairs. Don’t make me ask you again.” I squeezed her throat, almost constricting her air supply. The more she fought me, the sweeter the victory. My desire got the best of me, and I placed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Despite the aggressive way I grabbed her, she released a breath at my touch. Her thighs squeezed together. I aroused her. She could try to hide it, but it was a wasted effort. “Do I need to ask you again?” My lips brushed past hers when I spoke, and I looked at the fear in her eyes.