Page 121 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

But the truth is, I want this. Want him. Have been wanting him since before he got sick.

And there are only three days left.

What’s the worst that could happen? Other than developing even stronger feelings for a man who’s counting down the days to the annulment of our marriage?

I turn slowly and approach his massive oak desk. My hands tremble slightly as I place them on the polished surface.

“Is this how you handle all your business disagreements?” I ask, aiming for sarcastic but landing somewhere closer to breathless.

His hand lands on my lower back, warm and steady. “Only with extremely stubborn wives who deliberately provoke me.”

The word “wives” sends an unexpected pang through my chest.

Soon, I won’t be that anymore. Soon—

But his fingers trace down my spine, cutting off all thought.

I tremble as he touch stops at the hem of my pencil skirt. “This is coming off.”

It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. His hands are skilled, finding the zipper and lowering it in one smooth motion. The skirt pools around my ankles, leaving me in just my blouse, underwear, and stockings.

“Fucking hottest ass in the world,” he murmurs, and despite everything, I feel a flush of pleasure at the approval in his voice.

His palm smooths over the curve of my ass, gentle at first, then with more pressure. “Do you know why you’re being punished, Tatiana?”

I swallow, suddenly finding it hard to form words. “For challenging you during the call?”

“For deliberately trying to provoke me,” he corrects. “For not coming to me directly with your concerns.”

His hand leaves my skin, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting. When the first smack lands, the sensation is more surprising than painful, a sharp sting that quickly blooms into warmth.

I gasp, my fingers curling against the desk.

“Too much?” he asks, his voice softer now.

“No,” I manage. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” His hand connects again, slightly harder this time. “Because we’re just getting started.”

What follows is a meticulous, measured punishment, each smack precisely calculated, followed by a gentle caress that soothes the sting. He works methodically, covering every inch of my backside until I’m squirming, caught between discomfort and a building, insistent arousal in my center.

“Still okay?” he checks in, his hand resting on my heated skin.

“Yes,” I breathe, surprising myself with how much I mean it.

His fingers slip beneath the edge of my underwear, finding me embarrassingly wet.

“Hmm,” he says, satisfaction evident in his tone. “You’re fuckingsoaking. Someone’s enjoying her punishment.”

I should be mortified. Instead, I push back against his hand, seeking more contact.

“Please,” I whisper, past the point of pride.

“Please what?” His fingers dig deeper into my panties, and tease my pussy, never quite giving me what I need.

“Touch me.” I bite my lower lip. “Properly.”

He chuckles, the sound dark and promising. “All in good time.”

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