Page 77 of Dante

His cedar cologne mixed with the aroma of his arousal fills my nostrils as he leans close to my ear.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” he whispers, his voice thick and rough like he’s been drinking whiskey.

I feel his hand slide down my back, fingers dipping beneath the intricate lace edge of my panties.

His touch is torturously light as he traces slow circles over the curve of my ass, making heat rise across my skin.

He kneads the flesh possessively, his touch growing rougher with each squeeze. His fingertips dig into my skin hard enough to leave marks.

I feel his middle finger trace between my cheeks, the pad of his finger pressing against my forbidden hole. I gasp aloud, my body tensing against his lap.

What is he planning to do to me?

At the same time, the fingers of his other hand work the delicate bow at my right hip, then the left.

The silk falls away, leaving my bottom completely exposed.

As he continues to claim me with his fingers, my body betrays me with a pulse of desire.

“You’ve been a naughty girl,” he says, his finger pressing deeper into me.

I bite my lip to keep from making a sound. The intrusion doesn’t hurt exactly, but the unfamiliarity of it scares me.

His lips are hot against my ear when he whispers, “A very naughty girl.”

Before I can process his words, his palm connects with my bare skin with a crack that seems to echo through the office.

The sting spreads across my flesh like wildfire.

“Oh!” The sound escapes my lips before I can stop it.

My skin barely has time to cool before his hand comes down again, harder this time, the impact jolting through my body.

The pain explodes across my skin like white-hot lightning, radiating outward from where his palm connected with my flesh.

Tears spring to my eyes.

When the third strike lands, even harder than before, I cry out.

“Dante, no!” My voice sounds pathetic even to my own ears. He doesn’t care.

“Silence,” he commands, and I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

He grips my hair, forcing my head back.

“My wife is not a slut,” he growls, his voice cutting through me like a blade of ice. “You are never to give anyone the possibility of saying anything like that about you. Do you understand?”

I nod frantically, desperate for this to end. “Yes, Dante, yes.”

His grip on my hair loosens slightly. “Good,” he says.

For a single second, I feel a wave of relief wash over me. Then he reaches for something on his desk. I can’t see what it is. But I smell a whiff of rum in the air.

“Do you understand me?” he rasps.

His breathing has turned ragged against my ear, each exhale hot and damp on my neck.

I can’t tell if it’s from the effort of striking me or something darker.