HER POV
“Maybe.” My breath hitched, but I forced my grin to hold. “Maybe I like playing with fire.”
His hand moved so fast I barely registered it until the sound cracked through the silence — his palm smacking my ass, hard, sharp, leaving a sting that spread like wildfire.
I gasped, half in shock, half in something I refused to name.
His fingers dug in, squeezing so hard I felt branded, owned. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his voice nothing but venom and heat.
“I don’t play, bitch.”
The words ripped through me. My knees weakened, and still, I forced a breathless laugh. “Then maybe…” I swallowed hard, trembling, “…maybe you should show me how serious you can be.”
He slammed his palm against the glass beside my head, the sound echoing in the office. I flinched
