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He snaps his fingers and points to the floor. His eyes go dark when I don’t come to him right away. “So that’s how we’re playing this?”

My heart thumps in my chest when his voice drops to a low register.

"Crawl to me."

I’m instantly wet.

"Take off your shirt," I counter. I want to see his tattoos, his scars. Everything.

"This isn't a negotiation," he says, but his eyes twinkle with something like mischief.

His voice drops to a lower register, and I want this. I want this so fucking bad.

When he hurts me, when he stares at me, when he touches me, when he makes me come—he makes me feel wanted in the best possible ways, and everything else fades to vapor.

"Are you testing me? You do not want to test me.”

Oh, but I do. I so fucking do.

"I'm not gonna warn you again."

Excitement bubbles in my chest. I throw him a look of challenge.

"Yeah? Fucking make me."

With slow deliberation, his hands go to his waist, his eyes meeting mine.

At the sound of his belt unbuckling, my stomach clenches. My mouth is dry, and a quick panic sets in.

Did I push too far?

He's a dangerous man.

He'smydangerous man.

"I warned you," he says.

At the same time, he stands and pulls the leather belt out in one swift move, folding it so the buckle rests in his palm, forming a loop.

I look around the room because now seems like a really good time to run.

But it’s small in here. Kind of cramped. And even if I did…

I turn.

Too late.

I scream out loud when his hand grabs the back of my head, yanking my hair so hard it hurts. My pulse spikes. My clit throbs.

He pulls me forward and bends me over his desk.

Books fall. Pencils clatter. Trinkets click to the floor.

My hands scramble to find purchase on the gleaming top of the desk, and it reminds me of that first night at the bar.

Only this time, he has a belt.

No pool stick.