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“Count to three,” he hisses.
I clamp my thighs together as he slaps my ass again. Without thinking, I arch back, chasing his hand as he moves it away.
“Count!”
“One,” I cry as he spanks me again, sending a rush of hot blood between my thighs.
“Two,” I yelp as he strikes me again.
“Another,” he grunts.
“Three!” I curse as the final one lands harder than the others, setting off a deep thrumming that travels through my body before culminating in my aching clit.
His warm palm flattens over my skin, massaging it until the stinging fades. “You took that so well.”
Holy fuck.
I mumble incoherently, the warmth of his praise rendering me speechless. All I can feel is a delicious energy in my skin where he struck me. I push back into his hand, wetness coating my inner thighs.
“Please,” I whimper.
“Such a brat,” he mutters as he slips his fingers between my legs from behind. He swipes them over my swollen clit and tuts as I mewl shamelessly and try to grind onto his hand. “Getting wet from being spanked, then begging for more.”
“Jet…” I breathe. He stays still, as I wriggle and writhe until I manage to position myself so that I can slide down onto his fingertips. I moan, clenching around them as I get the tips inside me.
Then they’re gone.
“Huh?” I spin around.
He takes a step away from me. “The fuck am I doing?” he hisses. His eyes darken to deep blue pools as he scowls. “Cover yourself up, for fuck’s sake” he barks at me.
“But—?” I yank my dress down, my cheeks burning as humiliation courses through me.
He slides the fist holding my panties into his pocket, then reaches forward, placing his other hand on my lower back.
“Let’s go. I have an early start tomorrow.”
I shove his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
I march ahead of him to where he parked his car. My pussy throbs with unmet need as I listen to his steady steps behind me.
I can’t believe he did it. It’s been so long since anyone touched me. The last time was a drunken night at university that I barely remember. But despite how close I was to getting off on his fingers, the fact I begged him before he ruthlessly shot me down has shame burning through my gut like acid.
I sense him behind me a moment before he leans forward, opening the car door for me.
“I told you that you wouldn’t want to play with me, Ava.” His breath touches the shell of my ear, and I hate that my clit throbs in response.
“Fuck you. And fuck your games.” I seethe as I drop into the seat. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
He waits until I’ve finished hurling insults before he closes my door gently and walks around the front of the car. He’s a picture of controlled calm in his dark gray suit and cobalt tie.
I can’t stand him. In fact, I hate him.
He opens the driver’s door and slides into his seat.
“Fasten your belt,” he instructs.
I do it, not to obey him, but because he’ll lean over and do it himself if I don’t. And the thought of having him close to me again makes me shake with rage.
