“I agree,” the guy from Nashville echoes.

“Gentleman.” I force control into my tone. “I can assure you this is the best schedule for the convention. I should know. I organized it myself.”

“But you didn’t take into consideration the fact that–”

“–did either of you take into the consideration that the highly sought after speakers I’ve hired, industry geniuses and revolutionaries I might add, have busy schedules? And that maybe, just maybe, those were the only times we could make those seminars work?” My words bark and bite. “I’m slightly insulted that you would accuse me of chopping some hack job schedule together with no consideration of scheduling conflicts.”

“Dane,” Nashville says. “That’s not what we meant.”

“This is the schedule.” My voice escalates, deeper and faster, and Bellamy’s movements correspond like we’re completely in sync. “This is how it has to be. All lectures will be recorded, and all attendees will be able to take home audio recordings on flash drives. No one will miss a thing.”

My cock electrifies, pressure building up in the base. I’m seconds from erupting, and I fully intend on doing so before one of those numbskulls utters another word and yanks me out of this erotic stupor.

I slam the receiver against the table and grip the sides of my chair as Bellamy licks and sucks and manipulates my throbbing cock with her perfect mouth.

I explode.

Bellamy doesn’t miss a beat. She keeps going until she’s sucked me dry.

“Dane? Dane you still there?” Their voices come through the receiver like they’re millions of miles away. I press the phone back up to my ear, nodding at Bellamy. She rises in one fluid movement and gently wipes the corners of her mouth before sauntering to the bathroom to change.

I haven’t given her permission to change, but there she goes.

I can’t feel my face, and I can hardly feel my body. I don’t feel anything but a potent mix of pleasure and power.

“Still here,” I bark. “Next item. Corporate sponsorships…”

NINE

BELLAMY

I never once swallowed with Cortland.

My hands smooth along the bustier, stopping momentarily to hoist my breasts up. I can’t deny how sexy this thing makes me feel. It’s a power trip disguised in crushed velvet. The girl in the bathroom mirror stares back at me, and I catch her grinning like she carries the biggest secret in the whole world.

Dane’s aftertaste lingers on my tongue. It’s slightly sweet and deliciously sinful. A part of him resides in me now.

Literally.

If that’s not a trust building exercise, I don’t know what is.

I reach back, unzipping the garment and freeing myself. The bones of the corset have left marks across my ribs, but they’ll fade soon enough. A small, reddish bruise just below my collarbone pulls my attention.

My fingertips rake across the spot where Dane kissed me, bit me, then called me his. For some reason, it’s different with him than it ever was with Cortland. He’s opened up this brave new world for me. Despite my initial reservations and skittishness, so far I feel remarkably safe with him.

Shit. I’m safer with Dane than I am with Cortland. At least Dane prefers his conquests in a consensual state of mind.

I slip the panties off and fold everything neatly along the counter before changing back into my skirt and blouse. Delightful soreness claims my swollen lips, and I run my fingertips across them before heading back out.

Dane hangs up the phone the second I emerge, spinning his chair to face me.

“I didn’t give you permission to change yet, Angel.”

I look for a smile or some kind of tell that he’s joking, but I find none. My hand threatens to fly to my mouth, and then I remember what happened yesterday. I’m not supposed to flinch or retreat or so much as hint that I’m afraid of his retributions.

“You disappointed me. How do we resolve this?”

My shoulders pull straight. “You should punish me, Master. I disobeyed you, and I deserve to be punished. Please.”

“Good girl.” He rises, his pants long-since refastened.

There’s a lump in my throat when I realize I never fully appreciated the size and girth of his, ahem, appendage. I was in the moment, focused on pleasuring him as best I could, and it never occurred to me that someday soon, I’m going to be impaled with that monster.

A ball of anxious anticipation resides smack dab in the middle of my chest as he approaches me. His hand lifts to my chin, drawing my face up to meet his gaze. His cold eyes crinkle and relax.

“I’m not sure what I should do with you,” he says. “I’m not sure whether to bend you over my knee or pleasure you until you can hardly stand it anymore.”

I can’t breathe thanks to the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

His hands pull at the fabric of my skirt, lifting it until the hem is against my hips, exposing my panties. His fingers run the length of my inner thigh until he reaches my sex, where he wastes no time slipping a finger beneath the soaked fabric.

This was supposed to be an act. I was supposed to hate every minute of it with an agreeable smile on my face. None of this was supposed to physically turn me on, but my body betrays me with his every touch.

Dane’s finger slips between my folds, massaging my clit with slow circles and just enough pressure to leave me wanting a tiny bit more. Now I know why foreplay is the gateway drug of sex. It’s just enough to get you going, but not enough to leave you fully satisfied.

“How does this feel, Angel?”

My cheek presses against the dark gray silk-blend of his suit jacket, and I breathe him in while his finger slides inside me.

“It feels incredible.” My cheeks blush, but I don’t care. His jacket soaks in the heat, and I’m thankful he can’t see my face. I never spoke this openly with Cortland, and we never discussed what we were doing while we were doing it. There was never dirty talk, only exhilarating shame.

His hand pulls away from my wetness, and I’m certain that is my punishment. He’s teasing me, leaving me wanting more, and then pulling away.

It’s a difficult punishment, but one I have to accept.

“Come over here,” he says motioning to his desk chair. His hands pat his lap. “Face down, Angel. It’s time for your punishment.”

That wasn’t it?

I follow his orders, finding it difficult to swallow as I’m face down, staring at the tightly woven cream carpet beneath his desk. He’s moving around, shifting, opening drawers, but I can’t see any of it. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. I don’t like being bent over someone’s knee, staring at the carpet fibers with every sense of mine on high alert.

From the corner of my eye, I notice him slipping on a pair of leather driving gloves.

His hand tugs the back of my panties until he pulls them all the way off, and then he lifts my skirt until it’s hiked all the way to my low back.

“Forty,” he says. “Count.”

WHACK!

I haven’t been spanked since I was a little girl. It doesn’t hurt as much as I remember.

“Count, Bellamy. That was one.”

WHACK!

“Two,” I say, my legs splaying out below me as my knees lock.

He smacks my ass once again, only harder this time. Quicker. It’s more of a slap, and it half-stings, half-burns whenever his hand comes up for air.

“Three,” I say.

Again and again he smacks, and again and again I count.

My cheeks are on fire, and a blush of warmth spreads throughout my lower body before settling between my thighs and transforming into liquid arousal. My bare flesh burns after each smack, but by the time it starts to subside for even a split second, I find myself craving another.

Equal parts dread and anticipation fill the space between the smacks.

It hurts.

It hurts so good.

“…thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…forty.” It’s over. I’m not sure how I’m going to sit after this.