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how he’d ached to do this. Ever since he’d seen her in the club.
    Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He’d always wanted this.
    His hand fell with a sharp crack.
    She cried out in surprise, pain perhaps, but didn’t lunge up or away.
    He rubbed the reddening mark with his thumb. His heart pounded as the print of his hand rose on her flesh. His mark.
    He slapped her again and again and again, biting his cheek against the absolute pleasure of his palm against her ass, her muted mewls.
    “You may cry out.” He slapped her again, lower, over the underside of her curvy bottom. He wanted her to cry out. Wanted to hear her passion.
    And cry out she did. With each loving lash.
    His palm drifted over his handiwork. She flinched as it rasped over her sensitized flesh. His handprint was no longer distinguishable in the glowing red landscape of her ass.
    He delivered five more smacks in quick succession just to hear her sighs and then turned his attention to the sopping nest between her legs. Her cunt, her thighs, were smeared with cream. He found her clit between the swollen folds of her labia and circled it. She moaned.
    “Do you like this, Tess?” he whispered into her ear. He drew in the scent of her sweat and tears and then, unable to resist, kissed, lapped her forehead. She was damp there too. “Do you?”
    “Y-yes Master.”
    He toyed with the throbbing nub. “Would you like me to spank you here?”
    “Ah! Yes Master.”
    He didn’t miss her shudder. Hell, he didn’t miss anything. Not one tiny detail. “Spread your legs farther apart.”
    She whimpered and complied, nudging her thighs wide. Her muscles tightened, preparing for the slap to her clit she knew was coming. So he teased her, toyed with her until she relaxed, until she moaned in pleasure.
    When she didn’t expect it, when she was panting and twitching with delight, he landed the blow directly on her open, sopping pussy. The jolt of electricity sizzling through her body shot through his as well. Her cry was garbled, wrenched from her gut.
    He followed the smack with a grinding, circular stroke. She spread her legs even more, inviting him to continue. To torment her more.
    And he wanted to. He wanted more.
    He wanted to fuck her. He wanted to fuck her so bad he could practically taste his own arousal.
    But training before pleasure. With any luck—or perhaps skill—they would be one and the same.
    He patted her bottom. “Stay put.”
    Reluctantly, he made his way to the bar and poured himself a drink. He needed the space, the distance from her weeping body, from her scent. He needed to remain in command.
    The thick cream coating his fingers didn’t help.
    Confusion flickered over her face at his retreat. Good. Let her wonder. He leaned against his desk and pretended to riffle through some papers. Then he picked up his phone and dialed a number.
    It was his own voice mail but she didn’t need to know that. Quivering, she perched over the couch cushions with her legs splayed wide and her arms immobile over her head. He watched her from the corner of his eye as he pretended to have a long, drawn-out conversation with his voice mail. It continued long after the beep.
    He really shouldn’t test her like this. He knew he shouldn’t. She was a virgin. She was new to this. But he couldn’t help himself. When she didn’t whimper, didn’t shift, didn’t complain, an odd warmth trickled through his gut.
    Yes, she was a virgin. She was new to this. She’d never been trained. But somehow, instinctively she knew.
    Why this thought annoyed him, he couldn’t say.
    He left her there for half an hour, hoping against hope she wouldn’t disobey him and move. Hoping against hope she would. An excuse to punish her, really punish her, would be sublime.
    This break was meant to test her resolve—and to calm the fire in his blood. Unfortunately, it had no effect on the latter. In fact, her unwavering compliance—posed in an uncomfortable position, unsure and