Page 3 of Fallen Dane

My stomach twists, and my pussy wants what’s coming, but I force an even expression. I can handle whatever it is he wants.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my father and brother leaving. Thank fuck they won’t stay for this part.

“I’m going to give you instructions.” Dane’s voice is low. His thumb presses hard against my pulse. “And you’re going to follow them exactly. Do you understand me, kitten?”

“I understand.”

“Good girl.” He releases my throat and gestures to someone offstage. “Bring me a chair.”

The attendant hurries forward with a heavy wooden chair and sets it center stage. Dane moves to take his seat. He leans back placing his arms on the armrests.

He doesn’t question for a moment that I’ll do exactly what he wants. I suppose he isn’t wrong.

“Come here.” His voice booms across the stage.

I walk to him on shaking legs. My six-inch heels click against the platform floor. Every eye in the room follows my movement.

“Turn around.”

My eyes narrow on him. Then, I turn away from him to face the crowd.

“Lift your dress over your hips.”

“What?” I glance over my shoulder at him.

He smacks my ass. “Don’t make me tell you again, Mrs. Sinclair.”

Fuck, I liked that far too much. I grit my teeth and bunch the side of my dress, pulling it up over my hips. The cool air hits my exposed skin. Every eye in the room is on me—on the black lace panties covering what they want to see.

Several men whistle from the crowd.

I should fight back with some sense of feminism, but my pussy has a mind of its own. And a sick part of me wants whatever Dane has planned.

“Take off your panties and hand them to me.”

I hesitate for a moment, but there’s no use delaying the inevitable. I hold my dress with one hand and hook my other thumb into my panties and slide them off.

They’re soaked.

Fuck. He’s going to know exactly how wet I am. My body’s already responding to him, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.

Gerald never made me feel like this. Anytime he touched me, I was dry as a fucking desert. Five minutes with Dane Sinclair and I’m dripping. I hand them to him, my face burning.

His dimples appear as his lips curl into a smirk. Not quite a smile, but close. He tucks them into his front coat pocket like they’re his new fucking pocket square.

“Good girl. Now sit.”

I lower myself onto his lap. The moment my ass settles onto him, his hard cock presses against me. A normal woman would feel mortified, disgusted, concerned . . . anything besides this intense arousal. My traitorous body responds with a rush of heat between my thighs.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

His hands grip my hips and pull me back harder against him. Then, he uses his own legs to spread mine wider.

He grips my thighs and pulls my legs even farther apart. The men in the crowd roar their approval.

“Lean back against me.” His breath is hot against my ear.

I let my back rest against his chest. His body is solid muscle and radiates heat through his suit jacket.