Best Women's Erotica(43)

His lips curled into a smile. He seemed to appreciate my feistiness. In a very patient tone he said, “Tomorrow night, Lia will get to listen to me punishing you. I’m going to put you over my lap and turn your pale cheeks the color of a red, velvety rose.”

How had he guessed that at night I fantasized about a man spanking me? That the thought of handcuffs turned me on? That the image of a dominant man in control was all I ever needed to get off…? Vincent’s eyes were such a pretty green. I stared at him and imagined him doing all those things to me. But then I remembered what he’d proposed. The thought of her getting pleasure from my pain made me shake my head.

“No way.”

Vincent laughed, which incensed me.

“No fucking way,” I repeated, adding the expletive to let him know my feelings. I was so pissed at her. We’d been friends. There was no way on earth I was going to let her enjoy the sound of her boyfriend spanking me. What did he think I was? A tool?

“You’re going to change your mind,” he said.

“What makes you think I’d let you do that to me?”

“Same reason she’s going to let me do it to her. You want it.” And then he left the room.

Well, fuck him. I slammed the door to the bathroom. Let them have their own kinky little spank fest. I would have no part of it. I put my headset back on and returned to my typing. I’d been hired to abridge an ancient Chinese morality fable, and I knew that I could easily lose myself in my work. At least, I could until the sound of Lia crying out reached me even through the earphones. First, I turned up the volume. Come on, Anthony. You and your Peppers have more power than a bitchy blonde, don’t you? I got closer to the computer. I continued nipping and tucking—a word here, a line there. I had to cut nearly a third of the book—but my first pass was in slow, steady spanks. I mean, slices. Fucking hell.

Her cries increased in volume. I responded by turning my sound up louder. I could feel the rhythm in my core.

But then the song ended. And before the next one started up, I could hear her. I let my thumb caress the volume control. I thought of Vincent’s big hands. I turned off the iPod.

Would they know if I moved into the bathroom, if I got closer so I could really hear and maybe see? They couldn’t possibly. I stood and walked as quietly as I’d ever walked before across the floor. The sounds in the other room didn’t stop, didn’t pause, didn’t change in any way. Silently, I opened the door to the bathroom and stepped inside. The noises were louder now—sobs and sighs. I stood entirely still. Had they heard me? Did they know I had given up all sense of decorum and headed into no-man’s-land?

If anything, the sound of Lia’s cries upped in intensity. There was no way either one of them could have heard my stockinged footsteps.

Still, I held my breath as I tiptoed my way across the cold tiled floor then aligned my face with the crack in the door and peered inside. There were candles. Everywhere. Who knew Vincent was so romantic? That fact made me hate Lia even more. Fat ivory candles burned on the windowsill. Twisted black spirals flickered on the dresser. Candlelight provided the only illumination in the room—but it was enough. Enough for me to see…

My thighs clenched involuntarily. I felt a jolt of arousal zing through me. I’d never watched anyone fuck before. Never eavesdropped. Never peeked. No, they weren’t fucking—not yet, anyway. But what they were doing was definitely a turn-on.

Vincent had Lia over his lap, and he was punishing her sweet, sassy ass with a paddle. I’d seen that ass swish down the hallway. I had seen it when she’d bent over to unload the laundry, seen it when she went prancing out the door in a far-too-short, schoolgirl skirt, which I now saw was in a crumpled ball on the floor. But this was my favorite time. Because he was wielding that paddle with finesse, and Lia continued to cry out and kick her heels and pound her fists uselessly in protest. Or mock protest. I wondered if she could have gotten free if she had tried hard enough. But then I saw Vincent grimace and grab both of her hands in one of his. He pinned her wrists neatly at the small of her back and then let go a volley of blows on her hindquarters.

Damn. That must have hurt.

I swallowed hard, and then I did something completely unexpected—to me, anyway. I put one hand down under the waistband of my yoga pants, and I touched my clit. Just touched it, mind you. I didn’t rub. I didn’t press. I simply set my middle finger right against my clit and watched.

Vincent discarded the paddle on the bed and lifted Lia in his arms. Was he going to console her? Was he going to kiss away her tears? No. He moved her so that she was right in the center of their bed, and he picked up a pair of handcuffs.