Page 18 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

I take a small step closer, feeling the warmth of her body in the night air. “Overwhelming, yes. But also intriguing?”

“You’re so calm about it,” she says softly. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy,” I say firmly. “At least, it can be, when done with respect and consent. None of us would push you to do anything beyond your comfort.”

“And…are there any of those kinks thatyouprefer personally?”

The question surprises me, though I should have expected it. I nod, forcing myself to maintain composure. “I have my own inclinations, yes. Most dominants do—it’s not only about the safe play we provide for submissives. Some forms of role-play, certainly. I appreciate bondage done skillfully. And…impact play is a particular favorite.” I pause, letting that sink in. “Spanking, to be specific. It can be quite intimate—provided it is approached with care.”

Her pulse is visible at the hollow of her throat, fluttering rapidly. “Sp-spanking?”

A tingle of excitement pulses through me at her halting confession. “It can be a powerful release,” I say, voice soft, “both physical and emotional. If it interests you, perhaps we could explore that together. Carefully, to see if it genuinely resonates with you.”

She hesitates, biting her lower lip. “I…maybe.” A tiny, embarrassed laugh escapes her. “This is so surreal. I’m standing in a motel walkway, talking about spanking with you.”

“Life is full of surprises, I suppose. If I may be so bold…would you like to test it now?” I rest a hand lightly on the railing, my pulse thudding in my ears. “Just a small demonstration, to see if the concept appeals to you in practice as well as theory.”

Her eyes go wide. “Someone could see…”

I glance over the railing. The parking lot remains deserted, save for that stray cat somewhere in the shadows. The nearest room with lights on is several doors away. “The parking lot cat will not judge, and I promise you, if anyone else appears, I will stop immediately.”

She exhales, trembling with nervous energy. “I don’t know…”

I nod. “Then tell me no. I will not be offended. But if you wish to feel a taste of what you might enjoy later, I can oblige you.”

She stands there, indecision warring on her face. “Okay,” she breathes. “I’ll try. Just don’t laugh at me.”

“Never,” I promise, keeping my tone solemn. “Keep your feet where they are, hands on the railing.”

She gulps again, but follows the order. Her round, legging-covered ass is open to me, vulnerable. Stepping behind her, I rest a gentle hand on her lower back. Her body tenses under my touch, and I wait, giving her a chance to change her mind. When she does not protest, I raise my palm, letting it hover for a beat to ensure she feels each second pass.

Then, carefully, I bring my hand down in a light, open-handed tap against her backside. It is not forceful—merely enough pressure to make a gentle thud. The sound seems to echo in the stillness of the night. She gasps, head lifting in surprise, and her fingers tighten around the railing.

I swallow, adrenaline coursing through me as it always does the first time. “How was that?”

She nods, taking a shaky breath. Her pupils are dilated, and a hint of something fiery lights her gaze. “I—I’m fine,”she murmurs, sounding breathless. Her posture remains bent forward, as though she is expecting more.

An electric tension crackles between us. It would be easy—far too easy—to continue, to inch us both down a path that might be exhilarating yet also precipitous. My fingers twitch, and I remind myself that we are in public, however deserted this area may be. We must proceed with caution.

I lift my hand again, just enough to deliver a second tap, still gentle, though perhaps a fraction firmer this time. She makes a soft, startled noise, pressing her hips instinctively back against my palm. My heart seizes at the sight, desire surging.

A moment later, I feel her body stiffen. She inhales a sharp breath, and her eyes lose that hazy look, clearing as if she has awakened from a trance. “I—I can’t,” she says suddenly, pushing away from the railing. Her voice trembles. “Not out here, not yet. I’m sorry.”

“Very well?—”

“I need to go inside,” she mutters, stepping quickly past me.

I let my arm drop to my side, watching her fumble with the door handle. “Of course,” I say softly, ensuring no disappointment seeps into my tone. “I understand.”

She throws me a brief, apologetic glance, then slips back into the motel room, shutting the door behind her. I remain standing there, the night air feeling colder now that she’s gone.

For a long moment, I simply stare at the rusted hinges of the door, reminding myself to breathe. A swirling mixture of triumph and concern churns in my gut. I have tasted just howenticing it can be to guide Anya—and how very easily it might get out of hand.

9

ANYA

I stepinto our motel room, and the thick air hits me like a wall, laden with the faint smell of pizza and cleaning solution. My pulse thuds in my ears, and my entire body feels as though it’s buzzing. My hand still trembles on the doorknob from my encounter with Theo outside. Leaning my back against the closed door, I exhale shakily, trying to calm down.