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My cock thickens immediately at the thought of Willow and my bed together. She runs a hand over her honey-colored hair. Her fingers shake lightly at the tips. My girl's not as confident as she wants others to think. I get that, though. When I was young and hungry, I put forth the most baller image I could conjure so that no one would see how fresh the dirt was under my nails.
She doesn't need to pretend with me. Nor does she need to make decisions on where to go, what to eat, how much to save or spend. She doesn't need to be in charge, worrying about how everything is going to come together. Not while she has me. I straighten and turn to lock the door.
"Go to my office, baby girl," I order over my shoulder. She moves immediately, without an ounce of hesitation. My blood pounds in anticipation. She’s so responsive that I suspect she could have an orgasm simply at my order. "Don't touch yourself. Not one ribbon or button or zipper," I add, detouring to Tim's desk.
She halts at the doorway, a hand at her throat. "But I can prepare myself for you."
I give her a stern shake of my head. "No, Willow, you won't. It's my privilege to both dress and undress you. If you truly want me, then you will wear the clothes I buy. You will eat only food from my hand. You will do as I tell you at all times or suffer the punishment."
Her cheeks heat up and her pink tongue darts out to lick her lips. I slam my palm on the desk. "Did I tell you to taste yourself?"
"What?" Her mouth opens in a surprised circle.
In my pants, my cock lurches in excitement. It wants inside that circle so fucking bad. "Did I stutter? You don't do a thing until I tell you to, got it?"
The minx lifts her chin. "You mean even touching myself here?"
She raises a hand to cup her pert breast through the fabric of her shirt and bra. Her other hand drifts down and pauses at the top of her skirt.
“I’d stop there or you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”
My hand tingles in anticipation. Hers disappears behind her waistband, her knuckles poking out against the plaid. The fit is too tight for her to delve any further. I grin evilly as her dilemma gives me an idea.
Watching her struggle to touch herself, I pick up the phone and ring the receptionist. “Hold all my calls for the rest of the day.”
“Of course, Mr. Romano. Anything else?”
“Yes, make sure I’m not disturbed—cancel all my meetings.”
I disconnect the call and tug at my tie as I stalk toward the naughty brat wrestling her hand out of her skirt. I snap the loosened tie around one wrist and spin her around to face the wall.
“You’ve been a bad girl,” I whisper into her ear. She trembles beneath me. “And now you’re going to get your punishment.”
CHAPTER 6
WILLOW
My mouth goes dry at Con’s words. After three long years, is it finally going to happen?
He secures both wrists with the tie behind my back—tight enough I can’t free myself. I test the bonds and he slaps my fingers lightly. My pussy convulses at that light admonishment.
He stays behind me. His fingers grip the closure to my skirt, first unbuttoning and then unzipping. Rough hands push my skirt down over my hips and legs until it falls to my feet. I make a move to step free of the fabric but he stops me.
I still immediately, listening to the sound of his harsh, deep breaths. His knees make a thud when he hits the floor. I quiver, biting the side of my lip as evidence of my arousal drips down one thigh.
He jerks one leg of my panties aside. His teeth closing on my skin. I cry out with shock—the bite on my ass is hard enough to bruise. I jerk in reaction, but he holds my hips securely and I can’t break free. He sucks me into his mouth, his tongue flicking over my delicate flesh. I lock my knees and whimper—a sound of pleasure not pain. It hurts so good. I could come from this blatant act of possession alone.
Too soon he releases my throbbing flesh. I give a cry of dismay—I’m not ready for this to be over.
Con chuckles. “Don’t worry, little girl, that was for me—we haven’t gotten to your real punishment yet.”
Carefully, he guides one leg out from the circle of my skirt and then the other. He rises until his large frame once more blankets my back. With his hand around my tied wrists, he guides me to his desk. Gently he pushes me forward until I’m bent in half, my cheek and torso resting between his telephone and a stack of manila file folders. Cool air skims across my bare thighs. My blood throbs under the bite mark.
