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“You’re not wrong.”
“You’re not wrong…” he prompts, expectantly. I scowl. No way. I amnotone of those girls.
“You’re not wrong, North.”
He makes an obnoxious buzzer noise that makes me jump. “Try again.”
“You’re not wrong, boss.” I clamp my lips closed. That’s as good as he’ll get from me, even if the throbbing between my thighs is on board with calling him anything he damn well likes. Mypridewon’t allow it.
There’s a knock at the door and North barks at whoever it is to enter. I start to get up but North freezes me in place with a glare.
How embarrassing. I hope it’s not anyone I know at the door.
“What’s going on here, boss?” An amused and familiar voice drawls.
I pray for the ground to open and swallow me whole. It’s Don. I don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him, and my embarrassment – no, mortification – ratchets up a notch.
But there’s another feeling swirling in my stomach too. One which I don’t care to name or examine too closely.
“I’m about to punish the new recruit. Want to watch?” North offers.
“I’d love to.”
I gasp and splutter indignantly, even as my cheeks flame and my core temperature rises.
“But I’ve just come to grab the keys to the cellar for the delivery. I’ll leave you to your fun. Later, Candy.”
“It’s Grace,” I reply, but without heat. I don’t want to turn around and meet Don’s gaze. Not after last night. Not like this.
He exits and once the door closes and we’re alone once more, it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Goosebumps cloak my skin, and I don’t need to look down to know my nipples are hard and prominent too.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Where were we?” North asks softly.
He stands beside me and points out of the window to the bar below. Don is crossing the room and stops to speak to Frost. I don’t know what’s said but Frost looks up.
“They could watch you know,” North says in a seductively low tone. “At the moment they can’t see us, but if I flick on the lights, it’ll be like being inside a shark tank.”
I shudder and North chuckles.
“I’ll spare you the audience this time.”
“This time?”
“As it’s your first punishment.”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t be earning another.”
“We’ll see.” His tone is an equal mix of disbelieving and amusement.
He steps before me, places a finger under my chin to lift my head, and uses his free hand to undo his belt, the button on his jeans, and then his fly.
“What are you doing?” I squeak, panicking.
“Punishing you for throwing your footwear at me. You’re going to suck me off.”
“No, I’m not.”
