touch.
I return the favor, helping him remove his shirt. His chest is tan and smooth, the muscles carved like a statue.
Our gazes dance over one another’s bodies. The feel of his eyes gliding over my chest makes me ache, my nipples further pebbling against the thin fabric of my bra.
His stare is appreciation, desire, wanting.
But we need to make one thing clear before we go any further; he will not be spanking my ass again. “This is nice but I think we need to lay some ground rules.”
“Like what?” He nibbles at the lobe of my ear.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I press my breasts against his chest. “Like the fact that your little discipline session in that closet will not be repeated.”
He wraps his arms around my waist, claiming me, holding me to him. He places a soft kiss on my lips. Then moves his mouth to my ear, whispering, “You disrespect me? You get your ass lit up.”
He must be joking.
I pull away. Stare into his eyes. His face is only inches from mine, his steady gaze making my heart beat harder in my chest. The teasing, flirty look is gone.
He’s not joking.
Mustering up every ounce of woman power in my body, I state, “I’m telling you—you will not be spanking me again.”
His hands slip to my hips, holding me firm in place as if what he’s about to say might make me run. He gives me a cocky, smoldering grin. “Be a good girl and I won’t have to.”
My brow furrows as I pull my head back. “Are you for real, right now?”
His grip tightens on my hips. With stone-cold eyes, he says, “Yes.”
The authority in his voice, the memory of the spanking in the closet, all cumulate, making my panties damp and causing a growing throbbing between my legs.
But he’s crossed a line, confusing his co-worker responsibilities with the right to stake a claim on me. To correct me.
Anger rises in me. He lets me wriggle from his hold. I take three steps back, sure that I’m out of his reach. I throw my hands on my hips. “You don’t own me.”
He’s so calm, it only makes me madder. He gives me an ice-cold look. “I don’t know how to make this clearer—you disrespect me, you get spanked.”
My temper flares. “But I was pissed, and I had every right to be. You told the men to stay away from me! That was none of your business.”
“I was just doing my job. Keeping trouble away. And yes, you are turning out to be a lot of trouble.”
I can’t believe two minutes ago I was kissing this man, letting him take my shirt off, getting ready to give him my body. Fury rises in my chest. I could pummel him. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
He shakes his head, making a tsk tsk sound. “Such ugly language for such a pretty mouth. I ought to take you over my knee for speaking like that.”
“How dare you!” Blinded by rage, I make a foolish decision; I’m going to slap him.
I pull my arm back, open my palm, and aim for the cheek of his cocky face. “You had no right!”
He’s so fast, again, like in the closet, his reflexes seem superhuman. Before my hand even comes within a foot of his face, he’s towering over me, my wrist trapped in the circle of his hand. Fury flashes in his eyes. His irate words send a shiver down my spine as he growls, “Do you really think I would let you slap me, little girl?”
I’m trembling with anger, with fear. The hold he has on me is strong and I can’t think. I stand there, frozen.
“Apologize.” He tightens his hold and his fingers dig into my wrist as his gaze bears down heavily on mine.
His commanding actions, his rough hold, they make my body respond in a shameful, unexpected way. A gush of arousal leaves me, my core hot, pulsing for touch.
Physically, I’m powerless but finally my brain comes to, engaging the weapon of my sharp tongue. “I never apologize to assholes!”
He raises one brow in a threat, lifting my wrist higher in the air. “Then I’ll make you.”
What is he going to do to me? How stupid was I to come to his apartment, alone, to get involved with a man I obviously didn’t know as well as I thought? My heart pounds in my chest, the blood whooshing past my ears.
I ask, “What are you