continue. He has no idea of how ready I am for him.
I eye the pen. I want it on my breast again.
His gaze drops to my lips. We’re transfixed in a crazy moment of lust and longing.
“What do you do when you get annoyed?” I ask, there is no logic to my question, but he has led me down a tricky path and I want to lead him away from the truth, from Jamie. There is no way he can ever find out that Jamie was responsible. He’d fire him in an instant.
Besides. This isn’t such a bad outcome, if this is what he chooses to believe. The air is charged with more than guilt and accusation. We’re bound together in a thick cloud of desire and I can’t think straight.
So I won’t.
Instead, I throw caution to the wind. I turn around and place my hands on the table, jut out my bottom and ask him in a voice I never knew I possessed. “Are you going to punish me?”
He closes in on me, and I sigh with delight when his hardness presses against my bottom.
He’s erect.
And big.
He wants me.
I’ve turned him on.
I did it before, and I’ve done it again now.
He wrote my name because he can’t stop thinking about me. Nor I him. I occupy a space inside that head of his, and even with his fictional worlds and characters, he still thinks of me.
I must mean something to him.
He drops the pen onto the desk, then plants his hand beside mine. The other one slides under my skirt. I suck in a breath, and instinctively jut out my bottom, feel his steel erection poking me even harder. His hand skates over my thighs, then over my panties.
My insides turn to gloop. His touch makes me shiver. When he lifts up my skirt, tucking the hem into my waistband, exposing my panties, my legs turn to jelly.
“Do you want to be punished?”
A horror writer, a relative stranger is asking me this. A man I barely know.
And yes. I want him to punish me.
Jamie’s words come and haunt me.
Don’t rush head first into something. Don’t go for the first man you meet. Don’t make a mistake.
I feel as if I know enough about Ward. We connect on some deep, primal, raw level. I may not understand this man completely, but I understand his desire for me.
“Do you?” he growls.
I still don’t answer, because I’m gutless. Boneless. A mass of willingness. He pulls my panties to the side, exposing a bare bottom. I whimper. And then he slaps me. It’s not hard, not like a slap that makes a noise, but a light, quick slap. One that sends a signal directly to my core.
A gush of heat spreads all over my skin. I whimper some more then turn my head to the side. “Do it again,” I beg.
He kneads my buttock then runs his hand over it as if he’s admiring every inch of it, and just as I’m about to plead with him to do it again, he slaps it lightly one more time.
It’s the most turned on I’ve ever been.
“This is why you took the pen, no?” he rasps so close to my ear that I can feel his hot breath. I buck against his hardness, needing to press against his shaft.
“Mari,” he whispers. Butterflies threaten to erupt from my belly. He has me bent over in the most beautiful position, with his body pressed tightly against mine. I widen my stance so that I can feel more of his cock against me. Even wearing clothes, there is enough heat, and hardness from him, against my slickness. It is beautifully sweet, and torturously taboo.
“How did we end up like this?” he whispers, sending shivers dancing along my neck and back.
“My name,” I manage to stutter. “You scribbled my name.”
“I was thinking of you.” His hot breath against my cheek intoxicates me. He presses hard against me again, eliciting another moan from me. “I can’t help it. Ever since that day ...” He doesn’t need to spell it out. “That’s how I see you in my dreams.”
I sigh as he strokes my thigh. “Do you think about me?” he asks.
I can’t lie. “Sometimes.”
He shivers out a breath before nipping my earlobe and making me cry out from the sheer unexpectedness of it.
It’s too much. I push back, try to straighten up and he lets me. I turn around to face him. We’re both flushed, our faces red, and heated.