“Discretion?” I wish my voice had the same weight, the same presence hisdoes. As it stands, he’ll have to settle for my banshee shriek. “You put meover your knee like a spoiled child and you want me to be discreet? Well,f**k you! And f**k your discretion!”
His expression is hard to read. It’s as though the black rage in his eyes hasdissolved into nothing. And when I say nothing, I mean nothing. Noemotion, either good or bad.
Then his gaze flickers past me. I turn slowly…
To find Vittorio Zanetti’s filmy blue eyes fixed on me.
“It seems silly to ask if I’m interrupting when I so clearly am.”
Shit. I was so riled up that I didn’t even hear him enter. How much did heoverhear? Is there any conceivable way to make a conversation aboutspanking sound like it’s work-relat
