I withdraw my hand and spank her again, then smooth out the pain, then I raise my hand and give her another smack before I drag my fingers to her clothed pussy again. I build a rhythm of pain and pleasure until she’s writhing on my knee, her breath coming in little, panting gasps.

  I spank her for mouthing off, for shooting those beautiful eyes of hers at me with accusation. For sparring with me so rudely I won’t be able to set foot in that store again without imagining this, right now, right here, this gorgeous redhead sprawled over my lap getting her ass spanked. I spank her for being foolish enough to follow the beckon of a stranger. I could be a masked murderer for all she knows, and here she is under my control.

  Smack.

  I’ve heard some women can come from just a spanking, though I’ve never seen one, and as our session continues, I wonder if Cora is one of them. I can tell every slap of my palm brings her closer and closer. She’s gasping, panting, and ready to come.

  I toy with the idea of bringing her to the edge then leaving her there, because I’m a controlling fucking bastard and I can teach her a lesson in ways she doesn’t expect… but I need to see her chase her climax. I need to see how beautiful she looks when I bring her to the edge of utter bliss.

  When her ass is hot to the touch even through her clothes, her eyes closed, and her lips parted, I spread her thighs apart again with the back of my hand and hold her in place. Slowly, with painstaking care, I glide my fingers between her thighs again.

  “I’m going to—oh, God—I can’t—”

  Without use of my words, I have to encourage her with my touch. Smoothing the damp hair from her forehead, I tuck it behind her ear and run the back of my finger along her cheek, then ghost my index finger across her lips to silence her. Sighing, she slumps over my lap and bucks her hips. I smile to myself. She’ll likely regret this later.

  I won’t.

  I stroke harder, faster, relishing every little gasp and moan, until she keens with pleasure and loses her mind. Half-crying, gasping, she groans with exquisite beauty as she climaxes hard over my lap. “Oh, God,” she chokes, her voice rising in pitch, as I help her ride her pleasure. I stroke her to completion as she comes with abandon. In that moment, this isn’t about revenge or my own self pleasure. In that moment, I want to give her the best fucking orgasm of her life. I want her replaying her lust-filled night with a stranger in her mind over. And over. And over.

  When she finally slumps over my lap, I spread my legs and let her fall to the floor in front of me. Her sex-sated eyes meet mine and she squirms a bit. Does she recognize me? If she does, she doesn’t let on. Her gaze registers the barest sign of recognition, then she shakes her head, as if to mentally dismiss whatever reservations she has.

  I point one final time to the sign above my head as I unfasten my buckle. There’s no fear in the beautiful depths of her eyes, though. Her gaze bright and eager. I have a private room here, but I want her right here, right now.

  When I fist my cock, she swallows, then licks her lips.

  She wants to do this.

  Hell yes.

  I place the back of my hand on her neck to draw her closer to me. I can almost feel her full lips around my cock, her sweet tongue torturing me, when suddenly she freezes. Her pretty, dainty hands on my knees, her eyes come to my wrist.

  Fuck.

  I didn’t realize I’m still wearing my watch. Blinking, she looks from the watch to me in recognition, and her eyes narrow to slits.

  “You played me,” she hisses. “You fucking played me, and I hate you!” I don’t miss the way her voice catches at the end, as if she’s about to burst into tears.

  She jumps to her feet and runs. There’s so much action going on in here, no one notices but me.

  She can run.

  We’ll meet again.

  Three

  Cora

  I fucking hate him. God, I’ve never hated anyone so much in my life. I want to pound in his beautiful, haughty face.

  How stupid am I?

  I still have a shift to work at the bar, but when I take my place, my eyes are blurred with angry tears. I blink them away, but Travis notices.

  “Hey,” he says gently, coming to my side and taking me by the elbow. “You alright?” I swipe my hand angrily across my eyes. I can’t take tenderness right now, and he’s always so damn sweet.

  “I—I’m fine,” I blurt out, but he shakes his head.

  “Naw,” he says in his drawl. “You ain’t gonna lie about that. Listen, all the action’s in the dungeon tonight. So I can handle this.” He gives me a look of concern. “Why don’t you take off early?”

  I groan.

  I can’t take off early, because I need the money. “It’s okay,” I insist, taking a deep breath while I put my apron back on. But Diana is still sitting at the bar and she’s taken all of this in.

  “Cora. Honey,” she says gently. “Don’t forget you get ample personal time as part of your job here.”

  Do I? Or did she just make that up?

  I look at her warily. “You don’t need to pity me,” I say, but it’s pleading, not angry. I just want her to understand. I can work hard even when I do lose my shit, which I never do.

  Except, apparently, when stunningly beautiful men play me for a fool.

  Like that will ever happen again.

  “I’m not. So, go,” she says, waving me off. “It’s only a few more hours tonight, and Travis is right. It’s slow at the bar.”

  I want out of here so bad, all I need is for them to give me permission, and I’m halfway out the door.

  “Thanks, guys,” I say, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I owe you.”

  “Get some rest,” Diana says gently. I bite my lip and nod.

  “I will,” I whisper, not trusting my voice. I’m not used to people being nice to me.

  I gather my things and leave. At the door, Brax looks at me questioningly. “You alright, kiddo?” he asks.

  Kiddo again. Do they all see me as a kid? Ugh. King Douchebag didn’t.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I tell him.

  “You sure some asshole didn’t give you shit in there?” he asks, raising a brow and cracking his knuckles. I give him a watery grin, my throat suddenly tight. “Just say the word, Cora. I’m happy to kick some ass.”

  I can’t tell him the truth. Brax is like my overprotective big brother, and he’ll go pound King Douchebag’s head in, which might not be super smart for his job, though I’d personally find it gratifying.

  “I’m good. Really,” I promise him, then wave good-bye as I head down the street, walking at a really good clip.

  And that, right there, thanks to Brax’s friendly reminder, is my dilemma. That asshole just infiltrated my workplace, where people who really care about me are. If he keeps showing up… I don’t even know what I’ll do. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. Verge is special to me, and I can’t let him ruin that.

  So, for tonight, I’ll go clear my head. I’m a stupid, stupid girl for letting myself be attracted to that dumbass to begin with and letting him—oh, God. The memory heats my cheeks. I’m mad at him for ruining my first taste of kink. I wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of pain and pleasure like that… I’ve fantasized about it now for months. And then my first real taste, and I come apart at the seams.

  How was I supposed to know that when I laid over his lap for a spanking it would turn me on that much? How was I supposed to know that when he slapped my ass it would feel like a live wire attached directly to my clit, and that my fucking body would respond like that? Hell, he didn’t even touch my bare skin to make me come. I was fully clothed. Just his hand between my legs… over clothes… was all I needed to hump his hand and climax.

  Like a fucking slut.

  “Grrrrrr!” I’m so mad at myself I groan out loud and kick the side of a concrete building. I’ve marched away from Verge intent on getting to the grocery store so I could grab food and go home, and I haven’t paid the slightest bit of attention to where I am.

  Shit.

  I look around me and my stomach tightens. NYC is not a good place to get lost any time of day, but at night? Not a brilliant idea.

  I pull my sweatshirt tighter around my body and hold my bag close, trying to get my bearings. My phone is one the most basic plan there is, but I know I have some GPS thing on it, though I’ve never used it. I pull it out of my pocket and fumble with it, trying to figure it out, when I finally get the GPS to work. The store I need to get to is about ten minutes from here. I’m not gonna waste money on a cab, and it’s nice out, but walking there means walking right through this seedy part of the city.

  I need to check on Bailey and Ben, but when I glance at the little battery icon on my phone, it’s low. My phone’s six years old, which makes it a senior citizen in cell phone years, and the battery life is shot.

  But when you’re a college student barely making ends meet, new cell phones aren’t part of the plan. So I tuck my phone in my pocket, and hope that they call me if they need me.

  A loud crowd of guys ahead of me, jostling each other in the street, grows quieter when I near. Without looking their way, I cross to the other side of the street and quicken my pace. I ignore their jeers and catcalls. I don’t have far to go now.

  I turn the bend fairly running and run smack dab into a couple pressed up against a wall.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, but I can tell instantly they’re high or drunk, and I just ruined their damn night. The girl’s wearing hardly anything, her top pushed up to reveal her silky red bra, crimson lipstick smeared all over his cheek. The guy is big and bulky, wearing leather and jeans, his eyes flashing as he comes my way.

  “Sorry?” he says, taking a step toward me. “You bitch. You just walked right into me and my girl. Weren’t you watching where you’re going?”

  The girl giggles and wobbles on her feet like she’s about to topple over. He grins at her and grabs me by the arm, glancing her way. He’s trying to impress her by manhandling me, and it’s working.

  “Let me go,” I tell him, trying to appear brave though my voice wavers. “My friends are on the NYPD, and if I tell them you assaulted me…”

  He snorts. “Like fuck they are.”

  “I’m not bluffing,” I tell him, and I’m not. Zoe and Zack would throw his ass in jail for this.

  I scream when he throws me against the wall. My head hits concrete and my phone falls to the ground, shattering. He’s advancing on me now, and I can’t help but defend myself. I kick him, hitting him right in the shin. Doubling over, he curses, and when he stands he shoves me into the wall. Without warning, he backhands my jaw. Pain blossoms across my mouth and I taste copper. I lift my hands to defend myself; the two of them are no match for just one of me, and the girl is at me now. She grabs me by the hair, and I scream, when the guy reaches into his pocket and flips open a blade.

  At the sight, I scream and twist, trying to get away.

  “You little bitch. Could’ve gotten away if you didn’t fight back,” he says. “You know,” he says to the girl. “I think our night just got a lot more interesting.”

  The girl’s got my arms now, pinning them to my side. I’m writhing and squirming but her grip on my hair is immovable. I do the only thing I can. I scream as loudly as I can, trying to shake them.

  Will anyone hear me?

  I scream again, and again, making myself hoarse, when the blade nicks my collarbone. Searing pain lights my skin on fire, and I twist as far away from him as I can. Dazzling white headlights illuminate the street. He freezes, suspended above me, and my pulse races. The light’s blinded me so I can’t see a thing. A door slams, and footsteps approach us.

  “Let her go.” The voice is deep, commanding, and fucking pissed.

  Immediately, the girl releases me and runs, her hulking boyfriend right behind her. I fall back, panting against the wall, my heart still hammering in my chest. I’m dizzy with fear, and I can’t see anything with the blinding light in my eyes.

  I freeze when King Douchebag himself rounds the car and comes my way, still dressed in his mime costume from earlier, minus the mask. Though I’m relieved I’m not slashed to bits by the fucking asshole with the knife, it’s creepy as fuck that this guy just showed up like a stalker.

  “Why?” I ask, bending down to pick up my shattered phone. This has been the worst night of my life, and I want to go home to nurse my wounds. Literally.

  “Why me? Are you following me? How did you know I was here?”

  “Get in the fucking car,” he seethes through gritted teeth.

  Charming.

  “What?” I say. Even though I could cry with relief, I’m not really sure that he’s a much safer option. “Are you out of your mind?” But no, I already know in my own head that I’m crazy if I think leaving the protection of his car and walking alone where my assailants are likely lying in wait, is a good idea. It’s a really dumbass move and I know it. God. This night. I want to go home.

  I pause and look at him. Actually, I scowl at him. I need a minute to gather my thoughts. Logically, I know he’s a member of Verge. My best friends are members there, and I know they’re super careful about who they let in. It’s clear he’s wealthy and powerful, which is not a point in his favor, because wealthy, powerful men often get away a hell of a lot more than the average male.

  “Cora,” he says, and hearing him call my name somehow clears my head. “Get in the fucking car, before I throw you over my shoulder, put you in there, and buckle you in myself.”

  He’s so huge and furious, he just might do it. Jesus, he’s beautiful and arrogant, when the streetlight catches his blue eyes, sapphires under the glint of moonlight.

  “Fucking now,” he bellows.

  “Fine!” I fume. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to get my ass kicked, and not because I think you’re my knight in shining fucking armor, got it?”

  “Whatever,” he growls, opening the door.

  It’s then that I realize he’s opening the door to the passenger side of the car, and he has a driver in the driver’s seat. Is this like a mini limo or something?

  Who is this man? I slide into the back seat, and immediately feel on edge. The sprawling, luxurious interior is bedecked in rich black leather, fragrant and expensive. I’m afraid I’m going to ruin it with my bloody lip, but he’s bossed me in here and he can deal with whatever mess since it’s his fault.

  A second later, he folds himself into the car and slams the door, pushes a button on his watch, and speaks into it like he’s fucking Batman.

  “Hospital,” he says.

  “Jesus! I’m not going to the hospital. I don’t have time for that,” or money, I think. “That’s such an overreaction. I bumped my head and have a little scrape.”

  “A little scrape,” he growls, pulling a tissue out of his pocket and dabbing at my neck. It stings, so I squirm, but his hand on my shoulder stills me. He’s breathing heavily and so am I.

  “Stay still,” he orders. “You need to doctor that up.”

  “Fine,” I say. “I will when I get home. No hospital.”

  I avoid his probing eyes and keep my back ramrod straight. I can be stubborn when I need to be, and right now, I need to be.

  He lifts his wrist to his mouth again. “Take us on a ride,” he orders. “Out of here. Head in the direction of my place.”

  “I’m not going to your place,” I protest. “No way. Just take me home.”

  He glares at me. “I’m not taking you to my place,” he says. “I said to drive in that direction, because we need to talk about a few things, and I know the drive there will give us time. You won’t be getting out of the car there.”

  Makes total perfect sense. I roll my eyes.

  I bite my lip and look away. Now I feel stupid to think he was taking me home, even though that’s what he said. Why would he do that? He humiliated me. Insulted me. And he’s clearly a powerful, wealthy man. What would he want with a poor, messed up girl like me?

  “Great,” I mutter. “That makes total perfect fucking sense.”

  “Be quiet,” he snaps.

  I open my mouth to snap back at him, but he shuts me down with a glare and I’m not sure what I’m going to say anyway. He did just save me.

  Jerk.

  “I don’t want to argue with you right now,” he says. “So keep your mouth closed.”

  “No,” I counter, just to be quarrelsome, because who the hell does he think he is?

  Narrowed, beautiful eyes meet mine when he responds. “No?”

  “That’s right, rich guy,” I say. “Just because you can throw your money around and buy gilded fucking toilet paper to wipe your arrogant ass, doesn’t mean you can cart me around and tell me what to do like you’re a fucking god.”

  “That mouth of yours—”

  “You mean the one you wanted wrapped around your cock?”

  It gives me a little thrill to see his Adam’s apple bob up and down, though he otherwise maintains perfect composure.

  “You are so lucky you’re not mine, little girl.”

  “Oh?” I counter. “The age-old threat. Is intimidation really your only play? I’m disappointed.”

  “I don’t give threats, Cora.” There’s something about the cold, determined way he says this that makes me squirm a little, but I hide it. I don’t want him to know that I remember the way it felt to have my wrists pinned helplessly behind my back while his palm spanked against the fullest part of my ass. “And hell yes, I intimidate.” He smirks. “And if I recall correctly, you were pretty into the whole intimidation thing earlier.”

  “Fuck you,” I say, oh-so-eloquently.

  The dangerous down-turn of his lips is his only reaction. “Do you always mouth off to people who save your ass?” he asks. “How pleasant.”

  “Save my ass?” I repeat. “More like, stalk my ass. How did you know where I was?”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19