I see the heat flare in his eyes as he moves even closer to me. I take an automatic step backward, but am foiled by the desk. I stop, breathing hard, as he cages me in. I am wearing the button-down shirt that he abandoned on the floor when we went to bed. The tail hits me mid-thigh, and he uses his finger to trace the line of the hem, slowly easing it up, higher and higher.
My pulse quickens, and I feel the effects of his touch shimmering through me, hot and electric and alive.
Without thinking, I shift my stance, widening my legs. I want his hands upon me. I want his cock inside me. I want everything he has to give, and I want him to take everything he wants.
His hand slides between my legs and cups my sex, finding me desperately wet. “Tell me you want me,” he says, sliding his fingers inside me. I almost melt with pleasure.
“Always,” I say truthfully, and I know with absolute certainty that there will not ever be a time when I don’t respond to Damien’s presence. To his proximity, his heat. When I won’t open like a flower to him. When my body won’t crave his touch.
He thrusts another finger inside me and I grind down, shamelessly wanting more. But he denies me, and I hear myself whimper as he pulls his hand away. And then my whimper changes to a gasp when he grabs either side of the shirt and tugs it open, baring my breasts and sending buttons flying.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and I close my eyes in expectation of his mouth on my nipple. But the touch doesn’t come. Instead, he turns me around, then pulls the shirt the rest of the way off so that I am naked in front of him. I am facing the desk, my ass pressed against his erection, now hard steel beneath the thin pajama bottoms.
“I wanted you in the limo,” he says. “But I need you now. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“You know I do.” I turn to look at him as I speak, but he shakes his head.
“Eyes forward. Bend over. Hold on to the far side of the desk.”
I do as he says. I feel vulnerable. I feel him.
“I don’t think we ever took care of that little issue of punishment,” he says.
I lick my lips, my body already tight with anticipation and my sex clenching with desire.
“Is that what you want, Nikki? Shall I spank your ass? Shall I punish you with the sting of my palm, turning your ass pink and sweet, making you hot?”
“I’m already hot,” I say honestly. “And yes. Please, yes.” We both want this. Hell, we both need it. He needs to take back some of that control, and I so desperately need to give it to him. Because I need the storm to settle inside me as much as he needs my submission.
I do not turn around, but I can hear the soft rustle of material as he slips off the pajama bottoms. He steps closer, and the tip of his cock rubs along the crack of my ass. “Maybe I should just take you, fast and without warning.”
“Yes.” There is no hiding the need in my voice, and Damien chuckles.
“Soon,” he says, and then lands his palm sharply against my rear.
I cry out, more from surprise than pain, and then brace for the second blow. It comes fast, and then Damien’s palm is caressing the point of impact, smoothing out those brilliant red sparks, making them flow inside me, shifting from pain to a vibrant pleasure that pulses through me.
“More?” But he doesn’t wait for an answer, just spanks me again, and again. Eight more times, until my rear is red hot and sensitive and my cunt is so wet that I can feel my desire coating the inside of my thighs.
I am bent over the desk, my breasts rubbing against the wood with every impact, and now my nipples are as tight and hard and sensitive as my clit. I’m awash in sensation, my entire body sparking like a live wire, and with the right touch, I know that I will shatter.
I expect another smack, but this time his hands grab my hips instead. With his knee, he roughly shoves my legs apart. One hand comes down on my back, holding me in place over the desk. The other strokes my sex, opening me, readying me, though that is hardly necessary—as I am so ready for him to be inside me, I can hardly stand it.