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Then, without another word, he turns to the drawer, searching for what comes next.

He pulls out two silver paper clips and a sleek platinum credit card. His fingers skim over my skin, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment. Then, he rolls my nipple between his fingers and pins the paper clip to it.

Holy fuck.

A soft gasp escapes me, the sensation sharp but not unbearable—more of a whisper of pain tangled with pleasure. My body reacts instantly, heat pooling low in my stomach.

He watches me carefully, searching my face for any sign of hesitation. “You’re going to repeat after me,” he says, his voice steady.

I nod, breathless. He fastens the second clip, and a sweet ache pulses through me, making my toes curl.

“Then you can come.”

“I’m really sorry,” I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion.

He trails the cool edge of the platinum card along my skin, the sensation sending a shiver through me. Then, with a swift flick of his wrist he slaps me with it between my legs. I have to bite back a scream. It hurts like the best hurt. Like the ugliest package under the tree that explodes into sparkles and song when opened.

“This is the only punishment you get for betraying me,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. Another, harder slap. I clench my jaw. “After this, consider yourself forgiven. We move forward. No more guilt. No more bringing this up.”

I swallow hard, my breath uneven. “Okay.”

He tilts his head, watching me. “Okay?”

Slap. Not painful, but enough to make my body hum with awareness.

“Yes,” I whisper, then add, “Yes, sir.”

He trails the edge of the card over my skin, the coolness making me shiver. Then, with a tap against my clit, a gasp slips from my lips. My body is wound tight, teetering on the edge of ecstasy. Right now, nothing else matters—only him, only this moment. I don’t care if I still feel guilty. Don’t care if I get hurt. I want this drug right now, for as long as I can have it.

“Repeat after me,” he murmurs, his voice like silk and steel. “’You own me.’”

Another teasing tap. My breath catches. “You own me.”

“My body is your toy.”

A slow slap with the card, sending sparks dancing up my spine. “My body, oh God. My body is your toy.”

“You will never obey anyone but me.”

His fingers trace my trembling thigh, then glide over my clit with deliberate slowness. I whimper. “I will never… God. Anyone but you.”

He lifts my chin, his dark gaze locking onto mine. His voice is low, reverent. “You’re exquisite like this. So beautiful. So mine. You’re perfect. I want to fuck the breath out of you. I want to hurt you. Mark you. I want you to beg me to stop and love it when I don’t.”

His fingers slip inside me again, his touch claiming, worshipping, guiding me higher. I feel my orgasm build.

“Don’t come.” He reaches behind me and swipes things off the desk. “Lie back and hold your legs open,” he murmurs.

I lean back and put my hands behind my knees. He puts his slick fingers in my ass, deep.

Looking at my cringing face, he says, “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“What do you say?”

“Thank you?”

“That’s right.” With his other hand, he plucks the paper clips off my nipples and watches me closely.