Page 9 of Finally, His

She’d turned every shade known to the color Pantone scale because she, of course, had planned to ride a stallion-sized vibrator as soon as she could. His spanking raised a raging need, which she supposed had been the point.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

“Yes.”Dammit.

“Gold star.” One kiss to the forehead, and then she was shut out into the hallway.

The next morning, Colette returned to his office at her lunch hour as directed—as she had every day that week.

On Monday, he’d programmed his number into her phone. She was to send him any question she had—anytime, day or night—and he would answer. He then spanked her, kissed her, cuddled her on that damned couch, and told her she wasn’t to come until he told her she could. He’d texted her late that night and asked how she was. His attention only made her want to come more.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday were a repeat. Spank. Kiss. Orders.

By Friday morning, she woke up pissed. An inferno raged between her legs, and there was no way she’d make it through translatingThe Elements and Architecture of Moleculesfrom English to Italian without an orgasm that would take her head off. And it was all because of him.

She’d texted Griffin with a simple question.

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She wasn’t that forward—ever. But she had an entire book to translate by the end of the month, and at the rate she was going, the language would be dead to the world by the time she finished.

His answer back was immediate.

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Bastard.Maybe the man was a sadist. How quickly he went from the most amazing man on earth to the devil.

By Friday’s lunch hour, she felt like she might kill someone. She was a cauldron of need. A glory hole of heat. A sun burning a path wherever she tread.

Had she always been so … physical?

Had she ever bared so much skin to someone in under a week’s time?

Had she ever believed she’d let her dirty desires out to play?

It was all Griffin Miles Storm’s fault. He had to show up at Accendos, stare at her hard across a ballroom full of moans and acres of gorgeous skin and turn her into his blob of someone-fuck-me-already.

Only she didn’t want justsomeone. She needed one man with dark, glittery eyes who asked her—no,toldher—to come to him. She had. She’d presented a limits list, had told him what she wanted, asked him to be her teacher, abandoned wearing panties under her skirts, let him gaze at her with those tender yet stormy eyes, and then she’d agreed to keep coming back to him for more.

Maybe she couldn’t do this—whateverthiswas—because when he laid her over his desk again on Friday, a position she was quite used to by then, she burst into tears.

His hand rubbed her bare ass. “You’re okay, little Colette.”

“No, I’m not.” She could sayDanteand end the torment. Instead, she sobbed for long minutes. He rubbed her skin, murmuring to her. When she finally could contain herself, she snuffed up her nose. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. What are those tears for?”

“You know.”

He slapped her ass.

“I can’t stop wanting … needing … I’m just so frustrated,” she gritted out and turned her head to look at him.

“Good.”

Good? Perhaps he was crazy? Most certainly sadistic. She tried to ease up, but his hand pushed her back down. “It means your desire was sustainable.”

Sustainable. What an interesting word. She’d have used intolerable.

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