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She shivers, rustling the plastic covering her enticing curves. My lips lift into a smile. She’s a pretty little present I need to unravel, and I’m not just talking about her wrapper.
I want to break through that timid little shell and see what layers I discover beneath. I want to expose the killer queen. I want her covered in those men’s blood with their entrails between her fingers as she demands more of my cock.
Fuck. From the first letter she sent, I knew she had potential, but last night’s performance took my appreciation for her to a new level. I can’t tell if she’s a sleeper agent with repressed memories or a natural. Either way, she has me intrigued.
“Answer my question, Amethyst,” I say.
“Why? Are you going to spank me again?”
“Nothing so arousing,” I reply with a chuckle. “At least not for you.”
“Then why should I move from this corner?” she squeaks.
“You have two options. Accept your punishment like a good girl and I might even let you come, or I’ll wrestle you into submission like I did last night and punish you anyway.”
“That’s hardly a choice,” she mutters.
“You heard the man downstairs,” I say. “His boss wants you electrocuted for views. I want to make sure you can fight your way out of any predicament with any number of assailants.”
“But you already captured the men.”
“Their boss is still at large, as are other employees who will come after you to make that movie.”
She glances over her shoulder, her eyes widening. “What are you saying? This punishment will help me survive?”
I nod.
Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. “Alright, then.”
I raise a finger. “Take off the gown.”
She pulls it over her hips and lifts it off her head, stretching the silk across her glorious breasts. The fabric rides up, exposing a peek of her rounded belly.
I groan, my cock hardening at the sight of her perfect curves, but my smile fades at the first peek of her scar. It’s too thick to be surgical. Either the story about the car accident was true, or someone stuck a blade in her flesh and tried to tear her open.
The only person who knows the truth about what happened to her is her mother… Or perhaps that seedy-looking man who lives in her mother’s house.
She tosses the lab coat on the floor and takes her first step in my direction.
“Crawl to me on your hands and knees,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because it’s an order.”
Huffing, she drops to her knees, making those breasts bounce. Resentment burns through those fiery green orbs as she prostrates before me on the floor.
Her generous breasts sway with her movements, making me wish I’d ordered her to remove the camisole. Next time. Her perky little ass wiggles with each step, putting a strain on my self-control.
I move backward, giving her the space to crawl and decide against walking around her to see if groveling for me is making her wet. Why bother, when I can make her change position?
“You’re doing so well,” I saywith a smirk.
Her features harden with resentment, yet her eyes glaze with arousal. I know she fantasizes about being made to crawl. As she reaches my feet, I fight the urge to reach down and cup her breasts.
“Good girls get rewards. Bad girls get taught a lesson,” I say, my voice thickening with lust. “Now, lie on your belly.”
“What are you going to do?”
