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“I believe there’s something else you need from me first, isn’t there, little girl?”
His tone lowered seductively, dipping with promise and intensity and everything I ever wanted in a single man. The only thing left for me to do was take what I wanted by giving in. I knew what he wanted to hear.
I just had to say it.
Last night, he’d told me I needed a spanking after slapping him and throwing my glass at his head in an attempt to end him. I’d spent the whole day replaying that single word over and over in my head like it had been a song stuck on repeat. I swallowed hard, trying to imagine how it all might play out. I’d seen enough references in the media to know how it could happen. He could put me facedown over his knee and slap my bottom with his hand, or maybe pin me down to the bed and whip my backside with his belt, but I knew those were only two very simple positions that I’d heard about.
What if there was more? Would it hurt? Did I want it to?
My pussy clenched, my curiosity getting the best of me. I knew myself. If I didn’t ask him for this, I wouldn’t know what it was like, and I would hate myself for missing out on the chance when I woke up in the morning.
I wasn’t a woman that lived with regrets.
Plus, what I had donehadbeen a little naughty, and maybe it would be hot to have a man discipline me like that for once. The more I thought about it, the more my pussy pounded with need. Licking my lips, I met his eyes and squirmed a little in my chair, trying to build up the confidence to say what I needed to get what I wanted.
“I need… I need you… I need you to spank me,” I said, proud of myself for how confident I sounded at the end despite the very slight hesitation in my voice at the beginning. A sense of relief fell over me as soon as the words fell from my lips, and I knew that regardless of how this night went, I had taken a leap of faith, and that meant something.
His eyes lit up at my admission and he smiled warmly. There was nothing vindictive or cruel or even judgmental in his gaze, simply acceptance. His respect for me had only strengthened. I liked that, too.
“Then I think it’s time we went back to my place, isn’t it?”
He threw back the whiskey and placed it down on the bar, abandoning it so that he could press his fingers over mine. I sighed, expecting the fiery surge, and enjoying every moment of it when it hit me.
“I think I would like that,” I replied.
His fingers squeezed around mine, not in a domineering way, but with unexpectedly warm appreciation. I met his eyes, and he released his hold on me. When I expected him to lead me out, he didn’t. Maybe he knew that he didn’t need to, or maybe he knew that him leading me out that way would make me seem weak to those watching. Either way, I appreciated the thoughtful consideration of my reputation.
He picked up his coat and turned on his heel. I followed. To my surprise, there was a limo waiting outside. He didn’t wait for the driver to come out but opened the door for me himself. I nodded my thanks as I climbed inside and scooted to the other side of the car. He sat down next to me and closed the door behind him.
Without saying a word, he pressed his hand over mine. Now that we were out of the public light, his grip was much more possessive, and I found my excitement growing like wildfire before I tried to temper it back to a calmer flame. I turned my hand over and his fingers wound with mine, squeezing tight.
We said nothing to each other on the drive to his apartment. The heated tension between us only intensified that much further, and by the time we walked past the footman at the door of the Beacon Residences, it was ready to explode. He didn’t let go of my hand as he led me inside and into a private elevator that went straight up to the top floor.
I sucked in a breath when the doors slid open.
Shane may have hired an interior designer, but he’d hired an especially good one. I could tell that it was a bachelor pad, but not in the typical sense. Everywhere I looked, there was a woman’s touch—from the array of flowers on the kitchen table, to the embroidered towels hung in the kitchen, to the soft pillows and blankets on the beige canvas oversized couch.
Whoever he’d hired had made this contemporary penthouse feel like a home.
The elevator doors slid closed behind us, and he finally released my hand. His fingers crawled up the length of my spine and settled on my upper back. His palm was flat as he led me down the hallway. I glanced at the paintings along the walls, taken in by the abstract brushstrokes, but soon my gaze was fully narrowed in on the doorway the two of us walked through.
He’d brought me straight to his bedroom.
There was a massive king bed in the center of the room with a few extra pillows, but not so many that it was overdone. The gigantic headboard was made of quilted, grey fabric that took up much of the wall. The blanket on top was a soft grey color embroidered with a dark navy threading. There was a wallpapered feature wall with swirling, silvery greys set on a slate blue background. There was a raised texture to it that caught the eye and spoke to the cost of just that one single part of the bedroom.
There was a cute little seating nook set in the front corner of the room with windows overlooking the river, a soft leather couch set along the wall, a contemporary style desk with a closed laptop on top of it, and two matching nightstands that completed the room.
It was just as nice as the rest of the penthouse.
He’d stopped behind me and let his hand drift to the top of my shoulder. He squeezed it and I sucked in a breath, catching the very subtle dominance in the simple gesture.
“What do you need, Ada?”
The question took me by surprise. I’d already answered it, and a twinge of annoyance washed over me like a sudden rainstorm.
“You know what I need, asshole,” I spat.
His grip tightened on my shoulder, and he chuckled under his breath.
