Josie is a sales associate by day and a lollipop-sucking hacker by night. She likes to stay in and feel the keys underneath her fingertips. When she decides to grace her friends at a club, she stumbles across a man who seems to send every part of he...
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I don't know what he'll do or say once we're inside. My palms sweat as I follow him through the front door. He pauses in the foyer, broad shoulders rigid, still refusing to look at me. When he finally turns, his eyes are dark and stormy. "Why must you always defy me?" he asks through gritted teeth. He steps toward me, and I fight the urge to back away.
"I didn't."
"You did. How are we going to fix this?"
"By talking?" My voice comes out almost as a question, but a cheeky part of me wants to poke the bear just a bit.
His laugh is low and not at all amused. "You think this is a time for talking?" He steps even closer, cornering me against the wall with the sheer force of his presence.
"Not...exactly," I whisper, my heartbeat drumming wildly in my ears.
Without warning, he reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering along the sensitive skin of my neck. "Do you want to know what I think?" he murmurs, his breath warm against my cheek.
I nod.
"I think you need to learn a lesson about consequences," he continues.
My breath catches. "And what lesson would that be?"
"That every action has its reaction. That for every little defiance," he presses a finger gently against my lips to emphasize each word, "There must be...correction."
The word sends a shiver down my spine. His face inches closer to mine, our lips so close that the slightest movement would be catastrophic—or divine. The room pulses with unspoken promises, each more reckless than the last.
"So," he whispers against my lips, "Shall we begin?"
I quickly shake my head.
His brow quirks up in surprise, a flash of amusement crossing his face. "No?"
I swallow hard, my body responding traitorously to his proximity. "I mean," I start, trying to regain some semblance of control, "We should define...correction."
He chuckles softly, stepping back slightly; he runs a hand through his hair, his gaze never leaving mine. "Smart girl," he concedes with a reluctant smirk. "But I'm the boss. I don't need to define shit. You defied me, and now we fix it."
I raise an eyebrow, my own defiance flaring up again. "And if I say no?"
"It wasn't really a question," he replies casually. "Undress and leave the heels on." He watches with a look that could set fire to the rain, his eyes tracing every hesitant movement I make. "Or," he begins. "You could keep pushing me; see where that gets you."
A reckless part of me wants to test those waters and see how deep and dark his patience runs. But there's logic, small and annoyingly persistent, whispering that poking the bear might have been a bad idea from the get-go, especially when the bear runs an empire and looks like sin.
