He spins me around, shoves me roughly facedown onto his desk, and pins my wrists behind my back. Then he leans over and says hotly into my ear, “My mouthy little brat. You didn’t come here to talk about your fucking car. You need what I didn’t give you last night, don’t you?”
He presses his hips against my ass so I can feel his erection.
“You wish,” I hiss, struggling. “Let go of me!”
He fists his free hand in my hair, pulls my head back, and kisses me roughly, shoving his tongue into my mouth and biting my lip. Breathless, I wrench away, then glare at him.
“Oh, wife,” he says, panting. “We really need to work on that attitude.”
Shoving the hem of my dress up to my waist, he slaps me on the ass.
I yelp and suck in a breath, stiffening. Heat blooms over my skin where his palm struck me, followed by a wave of pleasure that settles between my legs and starts throbbing.
A faint moan escapes my lips.
Callum’s chuckle is low and dark. Still holding my wrists captive behind my back, he yanks my panties down to the middle of my thighs, puts his hands between my legs, and fondles me.
“Sweet girl,” he whispers, a thrill in his voice. “My dirty sweet girl. You were made for me.”
He spanks me several more times until my ass is burning and my knees are weak. When he slides his fingers inside my pussy and starts to finger fuck me, I close my eyes and bite my lip to keep from groaning.
“Oh, God, so fucking slippery. You’re ready for my dick already, aren’t you, baby? Spread your legs for me.”
I don’t have a clue how we got here so quickly, but I let him kick my legs apart without resisting, feeling cool air on my heated skin and my blood rushing through my veins like wildfire. Hot, hard flesh nudges me from behind—Callum’s stiff cock, seeking entrance.
He commands, “Ask for it, wife.”
My eyes closed and my cheek pressed against the leather desk blotter, I whisper, “I’d rather die.”
“Oh, I know. That pride of yours is so prickly.”
He slides the engorged head of his cock up and down through my wetness, teasing me with it but not sliding inside. Then he reaches under and rubs circles over my clit until it tingles, and I’m whimpering.
“Be a good girl and ask for it.”
I resist as long as I can, lying there panting and exposed, my hard nipples rubbing against the desktop as he works his hand between my legs, until I can’t take it anymore.
I whisper, “Please.”
It’s enough. Without demanding a more flowery invitation, Callum shoves inside me with a grunt.
Arching off the desk, I gasp as the huge, hard length of him fills me.
He releases my wrists, pulls my hair, and starts to fuck me, growling like an animal.
I grab the edge of the desk and tilt my hips back to meet his thrusts.
Through gritted teeth, he says, “Tell your master you love his cock.”
“No.”
As I hoped it would, that earns me a spanking.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and decide to book an appointment with a reputable therapist first thing tomorrow morning.
Gripping my hips in both hands, he fucks me ruthlessly until my orgasm hits and I cry out, shuddering. “Harder! Do it harder!”
He leans over, grabs the back of my neck, and drives into me with savage force, sending wave after wave of pleasure rippling through me until I’m sobbing.
“Yes, baby,” he pants. “Fall apart for me. Now be a good cum slut and get on your knees.”
He withdraws, drags me off the desk, and pushes me down by my shoulders until I’m kneeling on the carpet in front of him. Then he grasps my jaw and forces his erection past my lips.
I grab onto his hips as he starts to fuck my mouth, gazing down at me with devilish dark eyes and a wicked grin.
My eyes drift shut. I go somewhere inside my head, a quiet, dark place where only the two of us and this rabid need coexist. It’s a peaceful oasis where nothing else matters and I can lose myself, forgetting about what it all might mean.
When he climaxes, it’s with a violent jerk and a shout, his fingers digging into my skull and his cock gagging me.
I swallow and swallow, tears streaming down my cheeks.
He drops his head back on a guttural groan. His chest heaves with his ragged breaths. We stay like that for a moment, his trembling hands around my head as I kneel like a supplicant, my jaw stretched open wide, all my senses reeling.
Finally, he inhales a deep breath, exhales it in a gust, and looks down at me.
Stroking my cheek, he whispers, “My sweet wife. You’re so fucking perfect.”
He pulls out of my mouth, drags me to my feet with his hands under my armpits, and hugs me so hard, I can’t breathe.
My knees are rubber, so I sag against him for support. My entire body trembles. My bare kneecaps burn, my jaw aches, and my ass stings where he spanked me.
And oh, God, how I love it.
I love it all so much, it frightens me.
I must make some small sound of distress, because Callum strokes a gentle hand over my hair, shushing me. Then he kisses me deeply, holding my head and delving his tongue into my mouth.
When I open my eyes and look up at him, he’s gazing down at me with a look of adoration.
“You taste like my cum.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
He chuckles. “And you brought me lunch.”
“Yes.”
“I love that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He gathers me into a hug and rocks me until my trembling stops. Then he kisses my damp forehead and murmurs, “I ruined your lipstick, sweetheart. The restroom is through that door.”
With a gentle push, he sends me in the direction of the bathroom. I wobble unsteadily across the room, go in the restroom, and close the door behind me.
When I see my reflection in the mirror, I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry.
My lipstick is smeared all around my mouth in messy streaks of red that make me look as if I’ve been gorging on crayons. My hair is disheveled, and so is my dress. My cheeks are flushed, and my mascara is running.
I look exactly like I feel: as if I’ve been fucked to within an inch of my life.
With a shaky laugh, I walk to the sink and splash cold water on my face. I dry my cheeks with paper towels from the dispenser, blot away the streaks of mascara, then attempt to smooth my flyaway hair.
It’s when I’m thinking I should ask Tracy to borrow her lipstick because it’s the same shade as the one I always wear that it hits me how much the two of us look alike.
Same hair, same height, same lipstick, same complexion. She even has a figure like mine.
We look so similar, we could be sisters.
A sudden pang of jealousy sinks sharp claws into my heart.
Is Callum fucking his secretary?
I shove that thought aside, but it roars right back, despite me trying to reassure myself that I’m overthinking it.
Maybe he has a type. Short brunettes with hourglass figures and questionable taste in fashion. That orange jumpsuit she’s wearing that I thought was so cute is definitely not something I could see any of my friends in. It’s more appropriate for a women’s correctional facility than the office of the CEO.
Maybe Callum appreciates more than Tracy’s quirky sense of style. Maybe her efficiency with an Excel spreadsheet isn’t her only valuable attribute.
Maybe he really likes her obvious terror of and deference to him.
Maybe he enjoys punishing her for disobedience the way he does me.
Maybe I’m not the only one he’s calling his sweet cum slut and putting on her knees.
Queasy, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
A sharp knock makes me jump. Through the door, Callum says, “You all right in there?”
“Yes. Be right out.”
Heart racing, I toss the paper towels into the trash can and take a deep breath to steady myself. Then I don a brittle smile and open the door.
He eyes me warily. His spidey senses have obviously caught a whiff of disquiet in the air.
Avoiding his gaze, I say, “I should get to work.” I try to brush past him, but he grips my upper arm and pulls me against his chest.
“Wife.”
The word is a warning.
I know he’s demanding an explanation from me, but I feel too unsettled and vulnerable. Too raw. I’m not sure what’s happening between us, only that my emotions are all over the place.
Jealousy isn’t a thing for me. It never has been. I don’t know why it should be now, considering that my husband and I are strangers.
Except for our genitals, which are quickly becoming best friends.
Still avoiding his eyes, I say quietly, “I need to get to the shop.”
“In that dress? I don’t think so.”
“I’ll choose my own outfits for work, thank you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Look at me.”
I send him a leery, side-eyed glance.
“What the fuck is wrong, Emery?”
“I don’t like it when you say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s a weapon.”
He’s about to snap something, but before he can, a crackle comes over the desk phone intercom, and Tracy’s voice interrupts.
“Mr. McCord, Cole is here to see you.”
Callum mutters, “Fuck.”
I remember the night I had dinner at Dani and Ryan’s, and she showed me the picture of Callum’s family she found on the internet. I remember the scowling, handsome middle brother whose name she said was Cole.
Guess I’ll be meeting the family sooner than Callum anticipated. Or wanted, judging by the sudden storm clouds darkening his face.
He says, “That’s my brother. I’ll introduce you.”
“And then will you jump out the window, like it looks like you’re planning to?”
“No,” he snaps. “And try not to disrespect me for the next five minutes.”
I smile at his obvious discomfort. “Okay. But it’ll cost you.”
He gives me an evil glare that Satan would be proud of, then walks over to the desk and jabs his finger on a button on the phone. “Send him in.”
Then he starts to pace behind his desk in agitation.
The door opens. Through it walks a slightly younger version of Callum dressed in black slacks and a pale blue dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up. He’s as handsome as his brother, but his energy is even darker, if that’s possible.
He stops short a few feet inside the door, looks at Callum, looks at me, then looks back at Callum and demands, “What the fuck is going on?”
If a lit stick of dynamite had legs and an attitude, it would be this guy.
Callum props his hands on his hips and glares at his brother. “Good morning to you too.”
“Cut the shit, Callum. You’re married? When the fuck did that happen? And why didn’t I hear about it?”
Callum snaps, “I’m not obligated to tell you, that’s why. And how did you find out, anyway?”
“Because when I came up to see you just now, your secretary informed that you were in with your wife. What the hell kind of way is that for your own brother to find out about something so important?”
Callum scoffs. “We both know how important you think marriage is, Colton. Once again, cut the shit.”
Oh boy. I think the McCord family skipped some much-needed family therapy sessions.
Bracing myself to have my hand bitten off, I walk forward and offer it to Cole.
“Hi. This is awkward, but your brother doesn’t understand simple human customs like introductions, so I’ll take it upon myself. I’m Emery.”
He looks taken aback for a moment, but quickly recovers. “Hello,” he says gruffly. He gives my hand a bone-crushing shake. Then he releases it, points at Callum, and demands, “You know this guy is a wild animal, right? You married an actual animal.”
Callum barks, “Cole!”
Cole says dismissively, “Oh, shut up. You’re a rabid gorilla, and everybody knows it.”
I can’t help myself. I start to laugh.
The McCord brothers stare at me as if I’ve lost my marbles.
“Sorry, guys, but it’s been a morning. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. Cole, it’s nice to meet you. And yes, I’m aware that your brother is a primate, though comparing him to a gorilla is actually an insult to gorillas. I like to think of him more as a baboon.”
“Thank you, darling,” says Callum drily. “That first insult didn’t even take ninety seconds.”
Cole’s eyes bug at hearing his brother call me darling. He shakes his head, looking utterly confused.
“You two obviously have a lot to catch up on, so I’ll get out of your hair. Cole, it was a pleasure. Callum…” Smiling, I look him up and down. “I hope you enjoy your sandwich. I made it especially for you.”
I walk to him, go up on my toes, and kiss him on the cheek.
He looks at me with overt suspicion.
Gazing up into his eyes, I murmur, “Have a wonderful day.”
I feel two pairs of eyes on me as I walk out of his office. I wave goodbye to Tracy, swallowing around the tightness in my throat when I see her smile, so much like mine.
Ten minutes later, when I’m back in the car with Arlo and we’re on our way to the store, the batphone rings. I dig it out of my handbag and answer it with a bright and cheerful, “Hello?”
Callum’s furious voice fills the car. “I bet you think you’re extremely funny.”
I say innocently, “Whatever can you mean?”
“This will cost you, wife.”
“Honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No? So you don’t remember what the ‘special’ ingredient is in the sandwich you made for me?”
“Let me think. Was it baloney?”
Into his thundering silence, I start to laugh.
“Oh, wait! Now I remember. After I spent the entire night shackled to your bed, I stopped at my friend Dani’s before coming over to your office. She has the sweetest little girl. Mia’s her name. She’s two. Just starting potty training as a matter of fact, but, conveniently, she’s still in diapers.”
He snaps, “You made me a baby shit sandwich!”
“With love, darling. With oodles of love.” I sigh in satisfaction. “And the next time you think about handcuffing me to the furniture again, remember that an angry wife is a dangerous thing. Tread carefully.”
I disconnect the call, then roll down the window and toss the batphone into the wind.
