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"What do you say; shall we put it to the test?"
I shake my head.
"So, you admit, you’re aroused."
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. I nod my head slowly.
"Good girl."
His approval sends a zing of sensations bursting up my spine. Oh, my God, why does his approval mean so much to me?
I squeeze my eyes shut. "I can’t believe this conversation is happening."
"It’s a bit unorthodox I admit"—he nods—"but it's never too late to explore one’s affinity for kink."
"What? No! I’m not into kink," I protest.
"Then you don’t have to worry that you’ll enjoy feeling my palm connect with your arse." He holds out his massive fingers and squeezes them into a claw-like gesture, and I can’t take my gaze off of them.
I should be more shocked at the filthiness of his words, but somehow, I’m not. And I don’t understand it. Maybe, a part of me always expected that, one day, he’d take notice of me and want to introduce me to the lifestyle. Is that why I finally lost my patience at being ignored by him and threw the bottle? Because I wanted him to notice me? No, no, I’m not that needy… Am I? I shuffle my feet, then tip up my chin. "Uh, you really are going to be late for the gallery opening."
"They can wait." He settles himself back against the doors. He looks comfortable and cool as a cucumber. Unlike me. Sweat pools under my arms and makes me want to hold them out at my sides so I can air dry them.
"I… Uh, I’m really not comfortable with this," I murmur.
He seems disappointed, like he can see through the lies I’m telling myself. I do want to find out what it's like to be spanked by him. But if I do, I’ll lose all respect for myself.
He rises to his feet and hits a button on the panel. The elevator begins to move. I slip my oversized specs up my nose and stare at the numbers.
So, that was it—my brush with kink. My brush with finding out how it could be to have him spank me. My brush with finding out how it feels to have him touch me. I should hate him for not noticing me all the time I worked for him, but there’s something about finally having his undivided attention that sends a frisson of excitement up my spine.
He probably won't notice me again. I’ll go back to being the assistant who fades into the background, and he’ll move onto his next weekend at the club and whatever he does there. Everything will go back to normal and… And I’ll always wonder how it would have been if I’d let him have his way with me. I’ll always wonder how it would have felt to be at the center of his focus. Something I’ll never have again.
Live a little, June Donnelly. For once, throw caution to the wind and take this opportunity. Without giving myself another chance to think this through, I reach over and slap the stop button. The elevator whines to a halt one floor from his penthouse. I steel myself then turn to face him. If I expected to see any gloating on his face, there’s none. Only curiosity and, dare I say, an expression that’s almost understanding.
"I have a few conditions."
"Need I remind you, you’re the one who hit me with the bottle?"
I wince. "And I’m going to take the punishment you give me, but only if you agree to my stipulations."
He widens his stance, drawing my attention to his thighs, but I manage to keep my gaze above his crotch.
"Go on then. As you reminded me, we have a gallery opening to attend."
I swallow, then square my shoulders. "One"—I hold up my forefinger—"this will not change our working relationship in the slightest."
"It won’t for me. It’s you who’ll have to watch out for any lingering feelings from our little tryst."
I scoff, "As if."
His eyes spark with what I recognize as challenge, but when he opens his mouth, all he asks is, "What’s your next condition?"
"We forget this ever happened."
He cuts the air with his palm, and the confidence in that gesture makes me stiffen. I know, I’m the one who asked that we both forget this encounter, but damn, if I don’t want him to remember what he did to me.
"You get one last stipulation. You'd best spit it out before I change my mind," he warns.
