Page 120 of His Good Girl

I did, and then his hand came down between my thighs, smacking my pussy directly. I cried out, my back arching.

“Quiet,” he reminded me, spanking my pussy a bit more firmly this time.

He alternated between spanking my ass and my pussy, each smack stinging and making me wetter and increasingly more desperate.

“Please,” I whispered.

“Come for me,” he growled, his fingers rubbing my clit between smacks.

I did, with a muffled cry, my body shaking as the orgasm crashed through me. He didn’t stop, drawing it out until I was limp over his lap, completely spent.

He helped me up, pulled me in and kissed me softly. “Good girl,” he murmured against my lips.”Now, fix your skirt and get back to work.”

* * *

I put myself back together in Callum’s private bathroom with hands that were only mostly steady.

The woman in the mirror looked composed if you did not know what to look for. Her hair was smoothed back into place. Her blouse was buttoned properly. Her skirt sat neat and professional at her waist. Her lipstick was a little faded, but not disastrously. Her cheeks were flushed, but offices tended to be warm.

I took one last breath, straightened my shoulders, and went back out.

Callum was at his desk again, looking like the kind of man who had never done anything inappropriate in his life and would be deeply disappointed in anyone who suggested otherwise. He had his jacket on, his tie straight and he was reading a file that wasopen in front of him, pen in hand. He glanced up when I came out, and the heat in his eyes was there for less than a second before it vanished behind all that impossible control.

“Good?” he asked.

My body unhelpfully answered before my mouth did.

“Yes, sir.”

His pen stopped moving. For one dangerous heartbeat, neither of us breathed.

Then he looked back down at the file. “Get to work, Avery.”

I did.

Or I tried to.

For the next hour, I stared at the training module on my laptop and absorbed perhaps six, maybe seven percent of it. The rest of my mind was still bent over his desk, still trembling, still hearing the low scrape of his voice calling me his good girl like it was both praise and possession. I typed notes because typing looked productive. I nodded at the screen because nodding looked engaged. I shifted in my chair exactly once, winced, and then held very still because there were only so many indignities a woman could survive before three in the afternoon.

Shortly thereafter, Dana appeared in Callum’s doorway. She did not knock so much as arrive with enough authority that the door probably considered opening itself.

“Callum,” she said, holding a marked-up packet, “your statement is too elegant.”

He looked up. “That’s a new complaint.”

“It reads like a man who believes if he arranges the facts beautifully enough, politics will become ashamed of itself.”

From my desk, I made a mistake. I laughed, but not loudly or even on purpose. Dana’s eyes moved to me, as did Callum’s, and I immediately became fascinated by the laptop.

“Something funny, Avery?” Dana asked.

“No.”

“Lying this early in the day shows initiative.”

Callum’s mouth twitched and I stared harder at my screen.

Dana walked farther into the office, handed Callum the packet, and pointed to a paragraph. “Less symphony, more hammer. You’re not asking the public to admire your integrity. You’re reminding them it exists.”