I should be a lot of things right now, including horrified, petrified, creeped out, but standing here so shamelessly hot and embarrassingly wet is definitely not one of them.
Damn him and his surprisingly dirty mouth. It’s like I’m getting to know a completely different Creighton.
“I’m asking you for the final time. What are you playing at, Annika?”
“No games,” I murmur. “I’ve just been thinking about your warnings and decided to take them seriously. I won’t bother you anymore. I swear on Tchaikovsky’s grave, cross my heart and hope to die.”
His expression remains the same, short of a slight tic in his jaw. “Too late.”
“What?”
“I’m not letting you go.”
My heartbeat skyrockets and my whole body seems to mold into his hold. “But—”
“Shut up.”
“Shouldn’t you want me gone? That’s what you’ve been campaigning for since we met.”
“Shut the fuck up, Annika.”
My lips purse and I tighten my thighs. This controlling side of him affects me in ways I refuse to admit and rushes to places I refuse to name.
He releases my hands and steps back. My stomach sinks as I consider that maybe he thought things through and decided it’s not worth it, after all.
But Creighton doesn’t leave.
Instead, he shoves a hand in his pocket, and I realize he does that when it seems like he’s stopping himself from doing something.
Like a storm that comes to an abrupt ending.
“Sit on the table.”
My gaze flicks to the only table in the space—my small desk that’s pushed against the wall with a stack of paperwork on top.
“W-why?”
“Quit asking questions. When I say sit on the table, you sit on the fucking table.”
I startle, hating and loving the tightening between my legs. It’s impossible to be in control of my body when he’s around, not when he confiscates and incinerates that control as if it’s his birth right.
After a futile attempt at calming myself, I climb onto the table. Once I’m sitting, he tuts.
“Open your legs as wide as you can. Feet and palms on the table.”
My cheeks heat and I can feel the thudding pulse in my neck. A part of me wants to fight this, but I’m unable to under his scrutinizing gaze, so I lift my legs and get into the position he asked.
My dress pushes back to my middle, revealing my bare thighs and the lace of my panties.
Panties that Creighton sees as soon as he walks in front of me. He remains there, as still as a statue, while I tremble and feel completely out of my element.
I start to close my legs, but a mere stern look from him is enough to make me abort the idea.
Damn it.
Why does he look like a completely different person right now and why am I reacting this strongly to it?
“That’s one.” He pulls the chair from my desk and throws his weight on it, sitting at eye level with my pussy. “Disobey me again, and it’ll be ten.”
This close, I’m drowning in his intoxicating scent while his dark eyes devour what’s between my legs.
“You said you were taking my warnings seriously, no?”
I nod, trying and failing not to focus on the angle he’s seeing me from. This is so intimate, the type of intimacy that leaves my lungs heaving for air.
His hand shoots up between my legs and I gasp when he cups me through my panties, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh.
“So how come you’re soaking wet, little purple?”
My palms turn sweaty as I purse my lips.
“Where’s that smart mouth now?” He tugs on my panties so the seam rubs against my folds. “Or is that only saved for spouting lies?”
The friction from the taut fabric on my overstimulated folds is both pleasurable and painful. I’m starting to think maybe those two sensations go hand in hand with Creighton.
“You’re such a cocktease, walking around with your little skirts and lace panties, begging to be disciplined.” His hand comes down on my pussy. Hard. “But you can’t pull out now. That’s not how this works. Do you know why?”
My whole body jerks from the power of his hit, tears spring into my eyes, and more arousal coats my panties and his hand.
His savage eyes meet mine, dripping with carnal, animalistic sadism. “Because I’ve decided you’ll be my toy.”
And then he’s on me.
His veiny hand wraps around my thigh, making it look so small as he dives between my legs. His stubbled jaw scratches my sensitive inner flesh when his teeth nibble on my pussy through my panties, then he all but tears them from my core.
My body trembles, but it goes into a full shock when he thrusts his sharp tongue inside my opening.
I arch off the table, jerking, but his hold brings me back down.
Holy. Hell.
It takes everything in me to not move too much. I try to clench my legs together for some friction. Something, anything, but his ruthless grip on my thigh forbids me to.
My head rolls back as sparks of pleasure spread from my core and across my whole body.
He expertly rolls my clit between his thumb and forefinger at the same insane pace that he tongue-fucks me.
My hips jerk forward and I only realize it once the frantic rhythm of his tongue nearly unravels me. I lift my hands to grab onto his hair and I basically ride his face as stars dance across my vision.
A powerful orgasm washes over me.
It’s more desperate this time, so absolutely unhinged in its strength that I’m surprised I don’t pass out.
My lids lower, camouflaged by my lashes as I attempt to muffle my shameless moans.
Creighton’s head peeks from between my legs and he slaps my pussy so ruthlessly that I yelp.
Pleasure mixes with pain and I have no clue if the tears clinging to my eyes are due to the former or the latter.
“Did I say that you could remove your hand from the table?”
I shake my head and he glares.
“No,” I murmur as my sweaty palm falls back on the table.
“And what did I say your punishment would be?”
“Oh.”
“Oh isn’t an answer.”
“Ten.”
Frightening excitement covers his features at the promise of punishing me. He gets off on the knowledge that he’ll inflict pain, that my flesh will bear a map of his making.
“Start counting.” His hand comes down on my pussy again and I flinch, gasping.
The pain of his slaps mounts with each one, offering a minimal amount of pleasure, enough to make me want to come yet not enough to allow me to.
He’s savage, absolutely merciless, in the delivery of his punishment. He doesn’t stop when I yelp, scream, or sob.
Especially not when I sob.
My tears deepen that sadistic glint in his eyes, the need for more, more, and so much…more.
A beast.
That’s what he is right now with his sharp features, set jaw, and thinned lips.
And control.
He drips with it. Every time my legs falter or fall, he straightens them back up so that I’m in the right position.
So I’m at his disposal to do with as he wishes.
By the time he’s finished, I’m crying my eyes out. My pussy feels like it’s on fire, even as arousal coats my inner thighs.