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A white-hot wave of terror crashes over me. My God. He really is going to spank me. His hands are so big, his strength unreal, his anger so intense I can feel it vibrating through the air between us. “No…”
Nope.
Can’t do it.
I can’t let him spank me.
But I need my story. Should I let him do this?
How far am I willing to go in the name of research? And why am I just as wet as I am scared? Instead of making a decision, I find myself flopping around like a fish, hanging in the air by a hook.
“No!” I cry, pulling against his grip. “Let me go.”
He chuckles, fully amused by my weak attempts at saving myself. Pulling me along with him, he drops into his seat and hits a button on the side of the chair. A quiet motor whirs as the armrests lower, forming a long, tan, plush leather bench.
He tugs me over his lap. I’m scared to death of what’s about to happen. I lay over his lap, facing the window and the dark night sky.
My wide-eyed expression of terror stares back at me.
I glance around, remembering to take mental notes. It’s not worth going through if I don’t remember the details. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve outfitted these seats for this moment?”
“This, among other things that are more comfortable to do on chairs with no arms.” His tone is salacious in case I don’t get his meaning.
My thighs press together, tight. Trying to stop the hot pulsing in my pussy. Clearly, I do indeed get his meaning.
He keeps his hand around my wrists, pinning them down against the leather seat across from me. His hand comes down over the seat of my short dress, hard and flat, his palm so large the single spank almost covers my entire ass.
“Ow!” Fire explodes over my curves, my cry lodging in the back of my throat as the pain stuns me.
This cannot be happening.
I wriggle my hips, trying to get away, to avoid the next spank. My skirt inches up as I move. I’m further shocked to find his cock hardening against the softness of my inner thighs.
A deep moan leaves him as he strokes his hand over my now-bared-to-him upper thighs. His hand comes down again, a hard, biting smack on my right ass cheek, then my left. “God, you’ve got a gorgeous body.”
“Now is not the time for compliments,” I hiss between clenched teeth.
“Still. I can’t stop staring. Stunning.” He spanks me, hard, my ass burning and throbbing till my mind loses any sane thought, becoming a white blur of bright pain. “But beauty won’t get you out of this.”
He stops for a moment, and I try to catch my breath. His fingers tease the soft skin just below the hem of the dress. It’s ridden up so high he can surely almost see my panties. I shiver as he traces a line across the tops of my thighs.
A hint of wetness seeps between the tops of my thighs, dampening the gusset of my panties as he touches me. Wet, warm, wanting. Why am I getting turned on by this? Now, his finger is moving higher. He travels along the line where my thighs touch one another, slipping under my dress.
“Stop that!” I wriggle more, only to find him growing harder. He likes it even more when I struggle. Now, the tip of his finger is trailing along the curve under my ass, creeping along the elastic band of the leg openings of my panties.
As any woman in this position would do, I try to remember which pair I’m wearing.
Humiliating that I care. I should be screaming bloody murder. Trying to fight him.
And I remember…
It’s the pink pair. The cotton ones with the little red hearts. I hold in a groan. I went for comfort, knowing there was no way in the world anyone would be seeing them this soon.
Or at all.
I am naive, aren’t I? Why did I think of myself as some big shot journalist? Did I really think that I, Lindsey Gorse—child of a single mother from some no-name town’s trailer park—could pull off an investigation into the most powerful, secretive crime family in the city…
Possibly the world?
