Page 10

10

ADAIR

I can’t shake the nervous tension vibrating in me as I drive. As the road starts to wind up the mountain, that feeling gets stronger.

I give myself a pep talk — out loud — as I drive.

“It’s no big deal, Addy. It’s just a freaking delivery. You’re going to bring in their stuff, give them the order sheet and get the hell out of there. You’ll drop everything off, turn around and come back later. For all you know, Jack’s not even in the nature center today.”

I was doing good for a bit there, but just his name in my mouth makes my brain do funny things. My mouth has gotten dry. I swallow as I turn off the road and enter the park.

My spirits lift considerably when I come into the nature center and see a woman with a ponytail and chunky glasses rather than Jack’s imposing figure. She props the door open for me so I can carry everything in and directs me to the meeting room opposite the exhibits.

Coffee, pastries, condiments. Check, check and check. And now I’m free for the rest of the day.

Like before, my relief comes too soon.

A door at the back labeled Office swing opens. His expression is surly before he even notices me. He’s got his hair pulled back in that man-bun again. Even though he’s not wearing the hat, he somehow doesn’t look any shorter without it.

He glares when he sees me there, brows lowering. I take a step back instinctively and glance around. The woman with the ponytail must be doing something in the meeting room, because we’re alone.

“The last person I needed to see this morning,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear. He looks me up and down as if appraising me. “Delivery driver?” He raises an eyebrow. “Figures,” he sneers.

“I — I don’t do this regularly.”

“Also figures,” he says over his shoulder as he turns back towards the office. “You were late.”

It suddenly seems like too much effort to explain everything. “Sorry.”

He turns back as if he just remembered something. “You have the order sheet?”

“I — shit. That must still be in the car.”

He rolls his eyes. “Bring it into the office,” he snaps.

The door is open when I return a minute later. Approaching the desk, Jack’s stern demeanor gives me flashbacks of being sent to the principal’s office. I hold out the order sheet and he points to a file box on the desk without a word. Bossy asshole.

I put the sheet where he indicated. When he doesn’t say anything, I figure I’m being dismissed and turn to go.

“Close the door,” he says abruptly.

A sort of fizzy heat sparks in my lower belly. I do as he says before I hesitate. “Should I lock it?”

“No.”

“What if somebody comes in?”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “They wouldn’t dare.”

He tips back in his chair. Lacing his hands together behind his head, he looks me over with narrowed eyes, seeming to enjoy my discomfort as I stand in front of him in silence.

“Pull your pants down and turn around,” he commands.

“That escalated quickly,” I mutter.

“Watch your mouth, Bunny, or you’re going to be gagging on my cock again.”

Goddammit. My cock perked up right as I’m supposed to pull my pants down. I try to think unsexy thoughts as I follow his directions.

“Underwear, too,” he barks. After I do as he says, he lets out a low whistle.

“What?”

“I wanted to see how that stripe from the belt looked today. You should be putting aloe on that. Are you?” I shake my head and he sighs. “I went to get some the other night, but you were gone by the time I came back.”

I’m surprised to hear that. So he didn’t just plan to leave me there. I relax enough to let out a snicker. I assume being in an unlocked office with people on the other side of the door here is a hell of a lot safer than being out in the woods. “Hey, I was just following somebody’s instructions to get the hell out of the park,” I say snarkily.

Jack blows out that sigh that sounds like a growl and I hear the chair creak. I start to turn my head, but he’s on me in a flash, one hand gripping my neck, the other holding my wrist in a vise.

“Not a single fucking sound,” he hisses. “Understand?”

I nod. I sure assumed wrong. Because now I’m standing here with my pants and briefs around my knees, my back pressed up against the solid mass of Jack’s torso and his hand around my throat just tight enough to let me know that he could choke off any yelp of pain or cry for help before it leaves my lips.

“You fucking brat,” he breathes into my ear. “I guess that’s what I get for feeling sorry for your dumb ass and going easy on you. I should have left you with your entire ass black and blue. I should have whipped you until you were squirming with your dick in the dirt, sobbing in pain and begging for me to stop. Because that was what I really wanted to do. I warned you that you didn’t know what you were getting into. Was I wrong?”

I shift uncomfortably as I shake my head, because the only thing rising faster than my mortification right now is my cock as it responds to Jack’s threats and the closeness of our bodies.

It grows and bobs up in the most embarrassing way possible. I cringe as I hear Jack snicker. He releases me. I turn to see him walking away from me towards the back of the office.

Without looking at me, he beckons with a crooked finger. “Come.” Not come here , not come with me — just come , like he’s calling a dog. Oh God, that shouldn’t be doing things to me. But it is.

I start to hike up my pants. When my belt buckle clanks, he whips around, eyes blazing. “Did I say you could pick them up?”

I freeze and shake my head again. He walks back to me and circles around behind me, giving me a push towards a door on the back wall. I shuffle in front of him awkwardly, glad that at least he can’t see my flushed face.

When we get to the door, Jack reaches an arm around me and opens it. I was expecting a utility closet or something, but it’s actually a concrete hallway that leads to God-only-knows-where.

Fuck. If I’d known Jack had a bunker behind his office, I would’ve kept my mouth shut. It’s chilly and sort of damp in here — not the kind of place where you want your pants and underwear hanging down around your knees.

Jack stops me in front of a metal table next to a locker. The fluorescent light illuminating the hallway, which was already buzzing, begins to flicker. I know better but I open my mouth anyway.

“I like the decor. Very murder-dungeon minimalist.”

Jack doesn’t make a sound in response. There’s just that same quick rush of air before his hand lands on the mark left by his belt. I let out a cry of pain.

That gets a laugh out of him. He shoves me against the table and slams my upper body onto the cold metal. I’m still gasping for breath when I hear the sound of his belt buckle. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“What do you think?”

“Um, I — I don’t know.”

When he slaps his belt into his hand again like he did the other night, the sound makes me jump. He laughs again. “Really? Even a dipshit dumb bunny ought to be able to figure this one out.”

Fuck me. There’s no way in hell this should be turning me on. But everything about it — from Jack’s mocking insults and threats whispered in my ear to the way he manhandled me in his office and forced me, exposed and half-dressed, down this dank hallway — has me so twisted up and turned on I can’t think straight.

The most humiliating part? He hasn’t even touched my dick, which is improbably hard and aching with need. I shift my weight from one foot to the other nervously, my unease growing as the seconds tick by and Jack does nothing.

“Count,” he says. As I open my mouth to ask what he means, his hand lands hard on my ass again. My response is a squeak. I hear Jack chuckle before he says, “You better start counting, Bunny, or you’ll be here a long time.”

I’m afraid to ask how high he plans to go. I take a deep breath as I hear the movement behind me. When the next blow comes, I grit my teeth and whisper, “One.”

He goes to a count of five with his hand before I hear the hiss of leather being swung through the air. I drop my head and howl my pain into the table before I remember and jerk my head up.

“Six — oh, wait, or one again. I don’t know.” My voice wobbles and I’m fighting not to burst into tears.

“That was six.” His tone is steely. “Don’t worry, I won’t go higher than a stupid brat like you can count.”

I’m crying by the time I get to ten. When he tells me to stand up, I see his eyes go to the tears and snot I’ve dripped onto the table. I hurriedly wipe the metal clean with the sleeve of my windbreaker as he puts his belt back on. He watches me with his lip curled before nodding towards my pants. “Put your fucking dick away.”

Jack makes me walk in front of him again. I wipe my face dry with my hands, my heartbeat still rapid, my breathing ragged and my ass throbbing from his belt.

Two steps before the door that will take me out of hell, the devil swings an arm around my neck and snarls into my ear. “Did you think I was fucking with you?”

As I shake my head, the light goes off. I’m plunged into a darkness with nothing in it but Jack: the heavy bulk of his arm around my neck, the heat of his breath, the tickle of his beard against my ear and the deep pitch of his voice. And oh God, the way he smells — I fight a perverse desire to beg him to push my head down between his legs and suffocate me there.

“Did you learn your lesson?” I nod vigorously, biting down on my lip to muffle the whimper of pain and need that bubbles up inside of me.

B ack in his office, Jack saunters over to a little refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. He holds it out to me, a look I can’t read in his eyes.

I hesitate for a second, but my throat is scratchy from crying. “Thank you,” I say.

Jack settles back into his desk chair. His expression says he hates my guts again. Or still. I don’t even know anymore.

He indicates my ass. “You’ll want to give that a few days. So don’t come back later today,” he says.

I shouldn’t be so disappointed to hear those words. I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I protest, although I’m faking it badly because my voice is still shaky.

Jack laughs. A look of surprise steals over his face before his usual scowl chases it off. He sort of snorts. “I haven’t touched your dick,” he points out. I want to tell him, so glad you noticed , but I don’t have it in me to take whatever punishment he’d be sure to dish out for that.

“I know.”

“I didn’t play with your hole this time.”

“Uh, yeah.” I’m not sure how best to be polite about this. “I know that, too.”

He evaluates me for a minute in silence. Finally he says, “Don’t come by until at least Thursday. Put some fucking aloe on your ass this time.”

“Anything else?” I’m not exactly trying to be snotty, but sometimes it just comes out that way.

“Get the hell out of my office,” he snaps.

I ease myself carefully into the driver’s seat of my car. My ass hurts anyway. Maybe it’s a good thing Jack put the kibosh on… whatever tonight was going to be. Not a date. Whatever the opposite of a date is. Whatever I’m supposed to call a hookup where I end the night aching, humiliated and disheveled… and so turned on I can’t stop reliving it every time I jerk off.

So much for my free afternoon. I never thought I’d be into being derided, ordered around and manhandled, but Jack just does something to me. I don’t understand what or why, but his hands and his voice set off firecrackers inside of me — even the part of me that’s scared of him seems to be hard-wired straight to my cock.

That evening, I’m flat on my bed — an ice pack under my ass — when there’s a knock on the door. There’s nobody there by the time I open it, just a small box with a same-day shipping sticker on the step. At first I think it’s for the house next door, but it’s addressed to me.

After I open it, I probably stand there for a solid five minutes, just staring down at the bottle of aloe gel in my hand. At one point, I blink back tears because I don’t understand any of this. I hate to admit it, but Jack was right. I definitely have no idea what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.