He spanked me again, his large hand covering one entire cheek, then the other. The pain was a fleeting precursor to the overwhelming surge of heat and the need it ignited. My hips moved of their own accord, a tiny, involuntary thrust against the edge of the desk. I was wet, achingly so, the slick heat between my legs a stark contrast to the burning warmth of my skin.
His hand smoothed over the hot, punished flesh, rubbing circles that soothed and inflamed all at once. He leaned down again, his breath hot on my neck. “You see?” he whispered, his voice thick with his own desire. “This is what honesty feels like. This is raw. This is real. No more hiding.”
I whimpered, pushing back against his hand, needing more. Needing his touch there.
He understood. His hand slipped from my heated skin,
