Broken by His Hand - Piper Stone Page 0,36

had already been determined that I would surrender to him. As he approached, I had the opportunity to get off the desk, to refuse to abide by his rules.

But I didn’t.

“Spread your ass cheeks for me, Sophia. Wide open, please.”

I found myself reaching behind me, doing exactly as he commanded, prying apart my bottom and exposing my asshole. I was trembling even more than before, certain that someone would come bolting through his door, humiliating me even more.

He moved in between my legs, taking his time and sliding the damn rubber piece down my spine before slipping the tip against my asshole. “Relax as you did before.”

I wanted to retort, to scream at him that he had no idea what he was talking about, but I remained quiet, gritting my teeth. The feel as the rubber was pushed inside forced a whimper. This was so far out of my comfort range, my entire mind finding it difficult to wrap around what was happening.

The pressure was intense, a wash of pain floating through me, but as my muscles began to accept, the sensations died down.

“Excellent.” Michael caressed my bottom, even dragging his fingers down the inside of one of my legs. “You’re going to wear the training instrument until I say otherwise. Is that clear?”

“Yes. Sir.” I heard a new wave of rebellion in my voice. He was testing me much like I’d pushed him.

“Good girl.” As he eased me off the desk, pulling me into his arms, his look of carnal desire was even darker than before. “We’re going to exchange phone numbers, Sophia. I will text you at times to ensure that you’re following the rules. If I command you to do something, you will, certainly within the confines of your profession.”

There was a sparkle in his eyes. The man was without a doubt a master manipulator. “Why, yes, sir.”

He seemed surprised by my answer, a wry smile forming on his face. “Make no mistake, Sophia. Now, I own you.”

* * *

Own me.

Michael had tossed the words around as if I had no choice. Maybe he wasn’t just dangerous. Maybe he was psychotic. He definitely wasn’t romantic. While he’d kissed me longingly after exchanging numbers, he’d sent me on my way, even walking me to my car. I had no idea whether I’d see him again or even if I wanted to.

I’d spent a sleepless night attempting to rationalize what the fuck I was doing. There were still no good answers at seven-thirty in the morning. However, I would be forced to put him out of my mind. I had an early shift, and I had a feeling that it was going to be a rough one. It was a full moon after all. All the crazies came out when the moon was high in the sky.

As soon as I grabbed my keys, I was reminded of two distinct things. One—I’d received one hell of a spanking the night before and two—I’d followed his rules, cleaning and wearing the plug. In my bottom. Like some bad girl.

Huffing, I stared at my muted reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator, angry with myself. I should go into the bathroom and drop the thing in the trash.

What if Michael calls? What are you going to tell him?

What the hell did my inner voice give a shit? I could lie with the best of them. I headed down the hallway then stopped, leaning against the wall. When I grabbed my jacket, heading toward the door, a warm flush crept up my cheeks. Maybe the dirty little secret would keep me going during the day.

When I opened the door, I was shocked to find roses sitting on the stoop. I peered out, looking up one side of the street then the other. It was way too early in the morning for a flower shop to be open. I stood back, gazing at the open plain brown cardboard box the vase had been placed into. There was no name of the shop or from I could tell even a card. As I picked it up, the sweet fragrance was almost overwhelming.

I tried to bite back a smile, but it was impossible. An anonymous dozen roses seemed exactly like something Michael would do. As I took them into the kitchen, I took another deep breath. They were exquisite flowers, the buds nearly perfect. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d received flowers from anyone, especially from a very dominating man.

Maybe there was a little romantic bone