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“Ah, a shame.” Killian grinned and placed a hand over his heart. “I had hoped to enjoy the show. You know, for my troubles and all.”
With any other sub, Braden would have jumped at the chance to add a dash of humiliation to a punishment by inviting an audience.
But not Charlotte. She was his even if it was only for this one night. And he didn’t intend to share.
8
FAILED NEGOTIATIONS
LOTTIE
She still wasn’t sure how this had all spiraled so completely out of her control so fast. One minute she was sitting down for a drink with a gorgeous hunk of a man who she would have happily let punch her v-card, the next she was in Mr. Elliott’s car on the way to his house so he could put her over his knee and spank her like a child who’d been caught misbehaving.
And the worst part of all of it wasn’t even the burning humiliation or the looming threat of a painful punishment on the horizon. It was the thrum of desire low in her belly as she tried to imagine exactly what the rest of her evening would entail.
It was all Frankie’s fault. She was the one who had filled Lottie’s head with all those ideas of how hot it was when her Daddy punished her, and now Lottie’s libido was just confused.
That didn’t stop her clit from throbbing painfully when Mr. Elliott pulled his sleek sports car into the garage and told her to stay put in that no-nonsense tone he’d been using with her all evening. A little voice in her head told her this was her chance to make a run for it. She’d run track in high school and if she left her shoes in the car she could make it to her house well before he was able to catch up with her.
But if she did that, she’d have to come clean to her father. Or risk Mr. Elliott doing so. And while she didn’t regret the choice she’d made, no matter how badly everything had turned out in the end, she didn’t want her father ever knowing what she’d done.
So when the door opened and Mr. Elliott held out a hand to help her out of the car, she drew on every ounce of courage she had and lifted her gaze to his. “I’ll only go through with this on one condition.”
“Do you really think you’re in a position to be negotiating, little girl?”
Ignoring him, she tilted her chin up without breaking eye contact. First rule of negotiation: never let the other person smell fear, even when you’re fucking terrified. Especially when you’re fucking terrified. “I don’t want my father to know about any of this. Ever.”
“Worried he’ll cut you off?” Mr. Elliott winced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come off the way it did. I just meant?—”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t, because obviously he still saw her as a spoiled little girl who couldn’t survive without Daddy’s money. Which, to be fair, she was. “But, no. I just don’t want him to worry about me. You’ve seen him. He’s… fragile.”
Surprisingly, Mr. Elliott’s expression softened, making him look almost sympathetic. “Alright. This is just between us, then.”
“Thank you.” Placing her hand in his, she allowed him to help her out of the car. But instead of releasing her once she was on her feet, he pulled her into him, much like he’d done in his office.
“You played your hand too early, Lottie-bug,” he murmured in her ear. “I would never want your father knowing about what I have planned for you tonight.”
Oh, she was so fucked. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“So eager to get that pretty little bottom turned red. Come on, then. We’ll take care of this in my office.”
“Pink,” she said primly as he led her into the house, still holding her hand in his.
“What?”
“You said my cosmopolitan would give you a color to match. Cosmos are pink, not red.”
Pausing in front of his kitchen island, he turned to her. And, in yet another surprising move, threw his head back and laughed, the first genuine laugh she could remember hearing from him in what felt like forever. “You’re right. I’ll be sure to aim for a nice, bright pink instead.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, believe me, it will be entirely my pleasure.”
And there went her traitorous pussy again, making her weak in the knees just when she was feeling steady again. The bitch.
She tried not to think about how good it felt to have her hand firmly clasped in his, though she was pretty certain he was only holding it to keep her from bolting.
He finally released her when they reached his office, which was refreshingly modern, especially compared to the rich ‘old-money’ feeling of the club. The couch he pointed her toward was more comfortable than it looked, and she tried not to think about how it might feel beneath her as he pounded her into the cushions.
