Page 39 of The Toy Collector

“How about you tell me what the hell I lied about?” she hisses.

Taking a step closer to where I’m sitting, she folds her arms over her chest and cocks her hip while lifting her chin.

I don’t speak, just continue to look at her.

The longer the silence stretches on, the more she fidgets. Finally, she sighs and throws her arms up in the air. “Seriously, I have a right to know—”

“Do you now?” I interrupt. “Do you lie so often you can’t keep it straight?”

Silence. Just her breath now, ragged and shallow.

“You need to be punished, Miss Harrington.”

She huffs with indignation. “Punished?” she echoes. “Do you even hear yourself? What are you going to do? Spank me like—”

I’m too distracted by the way her lips wrap around the syllables—pouty, lush, pink—to really pay attention to her words. “What an excellent idea,” I interject, loving the way her mouth falls open at my words. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Shaking her head, she retreats one step. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

I laugh. “Maybe not, but it’s what’s going to happen.”

She takes another step back from me. “I want to know what you think I’ve lied about.”

Though her defiance is a fucking turn on, I harden my voice. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Miss Harrington.”

She scrunches up her nose, opening and closing her mouth as though she has a million things she wants to say. But she wisely keeps her mouth shut.

“The easy way is you stripping and lying down across my lap of your own volition—”

“And the hard way?” she asks, unable to completely hide her curiosity from her tone.

Chuckling, I reply, “The hard way will be for you to find a way to graduate Georgetown without an internship at my company or anywhere else.”

“Y-your company?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“My company,” I confirm. Huh, I thought she’d have figured that out sooner. Especially with what I put her through at the interview.

Her breath hitches, and I almost feel bad for playing that card when her entire body and face fall with dejection. Almost. But not enough to take it back, or to let her know her future is safe because I’m never fucking letting her go.

With an almost inhuman growl, she moves, tearing her clothes from her body. There’s nothing sensual or artistic about it; it’s pure frustration, anger, and maybe a hint of hatred. It’s fucking delicious.

When she’s naked in front of me, she throws me this fuck-you curtsy, all defiance and sin. My cock swells instantly, thickening with the kind of pressure that’s almost painful. She has no idea what she does to me, standing there stripped and defiant like that.

“What else does my liege command?” she snarks.

Reclining comfortably on the couch, I guide her to me with only my voice. She complies, moving to stand before me. Even though she can’t see me, I tap my lap with a purposeful look.

“Lie down, ass in the air,” I instruct.

She pauses for a brief moment, uncertainty flickering across her features. Then, with a resigned sigh, my toy slowly closes the last of the distance between us, feeling her way onto my lap, her body draping elegantly over me. Her back arches, accentuating the curve of her spine, as her hips rise obediently, a testament to her compliance.

The visual steals my breath. My dick throbs against the confines of my suit pants, desperate for friction. Every curve of her body taunts me with promises.

The first slap resonates through the room, a sharp crack slicing through the air.

She gasps, a tremor in her voice as she exclaims, “Fuck!” Her breath is ragged and filled with a mix of surprise and pain.

“You should be counting for me, Miss Harrington,” I command, dragging my hand down the curve of her ass. “Since you’re not sexually active, this doesn’t count, does it? Just my palm marking your ass. No cock. No penetration. Just discipline.”

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