Page 10 of Daddy's Naughty Dog Trainer

Mortification floods me as I frantically lock the screen, praying Sean didn't see any of it. But when I look up, he's right there, standing much closer than he was a moment ago.

"Your friends seem very invested in our training sessions," he says, his voice dangerously soft.

My heart hammers against my ribs. "What? No, they're just... it's not..."

"You're blushing, Jessica." The way he says my full name makes my stomach flip. "What exactly are you telling them about me?"

"Nothing! I mean, just that you're a client, and Lucky's doing well, and…"

"And what else?" His eyes are locked on mine, intense and unrelenting.

I swallow hard. "Nothing inappropriate, if that's what you're worried about. They don’t know any identifying information about you or anything."

"Nothing inappropriate?" His gaze drops to the phone in my hand. "Because it seems very inappropriate and unprofessional."

"That's not true," I protest, heat rising to my cheeks. "I'm completely professional during our sessions."

His laugh is short and without humor. "Professional? Is that what you call showing up late, constantly checking your phone, and deliberately pushing every button I have?"

Busted.

Completely and utterly busted.

I lift my chin defiantly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do." He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air between us feels too thick to breathe. "I think you've been testing me from the moment we met, trying to see how far you can push before I snap."

My mouth goes dry. "And why would I do that?"

"That," he says softly, "is what I'm trying to figure out. And why I haven’t fired you. You can’t tell me you don’t feel this."

My phone buzzes again in my hand, breaking the tension. I glance down reflexively.

Maya: Did he take your phone away yet? That would be SO hot

Jackie: Maybe you’ll earn yourself a spanking…

Sean's eyes flick to the screen, and I know he's seen it. I quickly lock the screen and groan. His expression shifts, something flashing across his face too quickly for me to interpret.

"Give me the phone, Jessica."

My heart nearly stops. "What?"

"You heard me." He holds out his hand, palm up. "The phone. Now."

I clutch it tighter, heat flooding my body. "You can't be serious."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" His expression is deadly serious, his outstretched hand unwavering.

"You're not taking my phone," I say, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in my voice. "You're my client, not my keeper."

"No? Then maybe we need to reconsider our professional relationship." His voice is cool, controlled, but there's an undercurrent of something else—something that makes my pulse race. "Because from where I'm standing, you've been anything but professional."

"That's not fair," I protest, even though it kind of is.

"Isn't it? You are obviously talking about me to your friends. You deliberately provoke me. You want me to make a move? I’m making it."

I feel my face flush hot with embarrassment, and something else, something that feels dangerously like arousal. "I'm a good trainer. Lucky's making progress."

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