Submitting to the Shadow (Kindred Tales #27) - Evangeline Anderson Page 0,8

Roark said sternly. “For the first lie you told. I’ll give you another for coming to work in an impaired mental state and a third for defiance. Then you may pull down your skirt and get back to work—if you can still sit down.”

Before Sammi could answer, he spanked her again and then a third time. Smack…smack!

Sammi bit her lip and tried not to cry out but little gasps of pain were drawn from her anyway and she found herself jumping with each impact.

As he had promised, Roark straightened up after the third blow and nodded at her.

“Very well, Samantha—you’ve been punished. Now get back to work.”

Numbly, Sammi pulled up her panties and pushed down her skirt. She still felt like she was in a dream—a really bizarre one—-and even now she was wondering if what had just happened had actually happened.

Had she really pushed up her skirt, pulled down her panties, leaned over her boss’s desk and let him spank her?

The stinging pain in her bottom, which was now hot and red from the “punishment” he had given her, answered the question. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or rage at him but she did neither. Stiffly, she walked back to her desk and tried to sit down.

But though he had only given her three blows, her behind was much too sore for sitting. Sammi bit back a curse as she shifted around in her chair and found she was wholly unable to concentrate on the paperwork she’d been going over before this strange little incident began.

“Are you in pain, Samantha?” Roark’s deep voice was almost gentle.

Sammi’s head jerked up and she realized he was standing over her—she’d been so busy trying to get comfortable on her tingling bottom that she hadn’t even noticed.

“N—” she started to say…and then remembered the penalty for lying. “Yes,” she amended her answer grudgingly.

“Very good.” Roark nodded, clearly having caught her almost-slip. “I have some ointment which is good for pain. I’ll give you some if you like.”

“What—you want to rub it into my ass after spanking me? No thank you!” Sammi snapped.

He nodded.

“As you wish. Though if you’re implying that I would get sexual pleasure from treating your injuries, you’re wrong.”

He went back to his desk, leaving Sammi to squirm uncomfortably—which she did, for the rest of the day. At quitting time—which today was precisely five o’clock—Roark rose from his desk and looked at her.

“Good evening, Samantha. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven sharp,” he said.

He waited until Sammi rose from her workstation and then opened the door for her to usher her out. The implication was clear—he didn’t yet trust her to be in his lab alone. Well, that much was obvious, Sammi thought with irritation. Considering there was a whole other area of the lab which remained locked and which Roark had yet to show her.

As she walked past him, he slipped something into her pocket.

“Hey! What…?” Sammi looked up at him in surprise but he had already locked the lab door behind them and was walking away, down the long silver corridor.

“Seven sharp tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder. “And please come in ready to work.”

Sammi didn’t answer him. Instead, she fumbled in her pocket and came up with a small pot of pale pink ointment. There was a little note stuck to the lid and when she unfolded it she saw a strong, masculine script.

For sensitive areas, the note read. Only that and nothing more.

For a long moment Sammi stood in the corridor, clutching the little pot of ointment in her fist so hard that the lid left an imprint on her palm. She watched Roark’s broad back retreating down the hall, seething inside as she glared at him.

Arrogant prick!

Then she stuffed the pot of ointment back in her pocket, turned on her heel, and walked in the opposite direction.

Five

Shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have added the Punishment Clause to her contract, Roark thought as he bid his new assistant farewell and turned to walk down the long silver corridor. That was dangerous and you know it!

But he’d had to know how she would react to a direct order, he argued with himself. He’d had to see if she was the one to try out the prototype—the pieces of the fertility and insemination machine he was working on. He needed an assistant who was submissive enough to agree to the trials yet passionate enough to give him a true reading on each of them. By bending