Page 12 of Shades of Ruin (Sharp Edges Duet #2)

Chapter Ten

GREYSON

F uck . I shouldn’t have said it, but the words fell out of my damn mouth before I could stop them.

And judging from the shocked expression on her face, I won’t be able to take them back now.

Six months. Six fucking months I’ve held myself back since my ruined angel walked into my kitchen.

I have smothered the overwhelming urge to punish her and torture her for the hell she put me through.

I’ve been hard on her, sure, but everything I’ve done is to ensure that she is the strongest chef in my kitchen.

And maybe because I enjoyed hurting her just a little bit too.

“You want to spank me?” she asks, her words twisted with suspicion. But fuck me, that’s not a no .

“I think you deserve it,” I retort, sidestepping the part about my own feelings on the matter. I stand up from my desk and circle around until I’m towering over her. “Your work has been sloppy all week. If you were any other chef, I would have thrown you out of my kitchen already.”

“Oh really,” she scoffs with that familiar fire in her eyes that turns me on more than it should. “And why am I always singled out for your particular brand of favoritism , chef? What makes me so special that you’ll keep me around to torment? Do you hate me that much?”

She thinks I hate her—I’ve heard her say it to some of the kitchen staff when she assumes I can’t hear or see her. But there’s never a moment when she’s not in my periphery. I’m always watching. And I fucking wish my obsession was driven by something as pure and uncomplicated as hatred.

“I don’t know,” I drawl in an even tone. “Maybe I’m bored and you’re the first interesting thing to catch my attention in a long time.” Ten years, to be exact. My words are laced with truth, but it’s the feigned disinterest that weaves them into lies.

“Do you always go around spanking girls when you’re bored, chef?” She’s angry, and the acid in her voice only makes my cock harder.

“Sometimes,” I retort. I lean down and capture one of her loose curls between my fingers, twisting it around my index finger until she winces at the sharp tug on her scalp.

“Or sometimes I’ll take out my favorite knife and see how much blood I can draw before someone starts screaming.

” Again, I tell her the truth, and it’s the closest I’ve come to revealing myself as the demon she met on Halloween.

“You’re sick,” she hisses as heat floods her cheeks.

At first, I assume she’s angry. But when I notice her pupils are dilated, her thighs are pressed together in the chair, and the pretty little artery in her neck is thumping at double speed, I realize it’s not anger at all.

My angel is aroused . And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s remembering how much she enjoyed the feel of my knife on her skin.

Desire flickers in her golden eyes, but there’s no spark of recognition.

My identity remains safe, and I’m not sure if I should feel relieved or disappointed.

“Never said I wasn’t.” I shove my hands in my pockets to subtly readjust my erection.

Her gaze falls on the sizable bulge between my thighs before she stares up at me in shock.

Guess I wasn’t subtle enough. I can act like my feelings for Angélica are empty and shallow, but I have little defense left when my damn cock outs me like the traitor he is.

“What’s it going to be, chef? Are you washing dishes all night, or are you bending over? ”

“Wouldn’t physically punishing an employee be an HR scandal?”

“I don’t know,” I answer with a smirk. The moment she didn’t say no , I knew how this would play out in the end. “Plan on telling anyone that your boss bent you over and spanked your naughty ass?”

“No,” she snaps, the warmth in her cheeks deepening.

“Then I don’t see the problem.” I yank my hands from my pockets and cross them over my chest. “It’s your choice.”

“If I pick option two, who’s going to clean the kitchen?” At the mention of option two, my cock is damn near strangling in my pants.

“I will.”

She blinks up at me. “ You’re going to wash dirty dishes and mop the floors?” She says it like she thinks I’ve never done a day of shitty manual labor in my life. It’s insulting, really.

“My first job at a Michelin star restaurant in Paris, they wouldn’t let me touch anything other than dirty dishes for three months. It’s been a while, but I think I still remember how to hold a sponge.”

She’s silent for a moment, thoughtful as she turns over this little bit of information I’ve never shared with anyone here.

I’ve always hated the rags to riches story the public likes to spin when someone rises to fame or success on their own.

So I’ve kept quiet about my own background.

Cooking in Paris sounds flashy enough that people don’t feel the need to ask how I got there.

And I’d rather not dwell on the hell my life was before I became a chef.

“Fine,” she answers finally.

“Fine, what ?” I demand, excitement flickering through my veins.

“Bend me over the fucking desk.”

Fuck me . I search her face for any sign of doubt, but all I see is burning determination.

This version of her is the same brave, reckless girl who looked me in the eyes at Pandemonium and begged me to scare her.

She wants me to hurt her. I can smell the scent of arousal on her skin, and if I were to dip my fingers into her pretty little cunt, I know I’d find her hole slick and sticky with the sweetest cum.

“Option two it is.” I grin like the devil himself as I walk to the other side of my desk and give her enough space to lie across it.

“Stand up.” She obeys with less hesitation than I expect, rising to her feet without an ounce of fear.

I survey what she’s wearing—a grey apron that’s still covered in sugar and flour, her usual white button-up, and a pair of light jeans that are so tight on her perfect ass that I don’t have to rely on memory to imagine what that ass would look like naked.

“Take off the apron,” I command. Usually, I’d make her strip completely, but I don’t want to push her farther than I should tonight. She does as I ask and drapes the apron over her chair. “Unbutton your pants and pull them down to your knees.”

“I didn’t agree to taking off my clothes, Greyson,” she snaps, a panicked look in her eyes as she glances down at the hardness jutting from between my thighs.

“Jesus Christ, I’m not trying to fuck you.

” As much as I would love to. “But if your ass isn’t bare in the next ten seconds, I’m spanking you with something a hell of a lot harder than my hand.

” I brush my fingers over the leather wrapped around my waist until I reach the metal buckle.

“You want me to take off my belt and give you a whipping? Or do you want to pull down your pants like a good girl so I can warm your pretty cheeks with my hand?”

Arousal flares in her eyes, and she doesn’t look away from me as her hands slide down to her jeans.

She quickly fumbles with the buttons before pulling her pants down low on her thighs.

She was bare on Halloween night, so this is the first time I’ve seen her in panties.

And goddamnit, that little scrap of lace between her thighs is red .

She’s my fucking destruction without even trying.

“Stand here.” I point to the spot in front of me, and there’s barely enough room for her to squeeze between my body and the edge of the desk.

Her almost naked ass brushes against my erection as she obeys my order.

Even though she knows what’s coming, she stands with her back straight, making no move to bend before I tell her to.

“You never answered about hard touch. Is it okay?”

“Y-yes,” she whispers.

“Good.” I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and force her down against the desk. A sweet whimper falls from her lips, but she doesn’t protest as she remains in position. “Safeword?” I ask without explanation. She knows how this game is played.

“Caramel,” she answers in a breathy moan. It’s the same from Halloween. The memory of that bittersweet night leaves me determined to hit her even harder.

She jumps when I drag my fingers over her ass.

I’m careful to keep my touch harsh. I still remember her panic when I slipped and stroked my hands over her hips during her interview.

And after months of keeping myself from stealing the little touches I’ve craved more than anything, finally having my hands on her again soothes the burn in my chest more than I could have hoped.

I grab the lacy edge of her panties that brushes below the twin dimples in her back and jerk upward, leaving the red material wedged between her crack with her plump cheeks on full display.

I don’t want anything coming between my hand and her naughty little ass until I’ve turned it a perfect shade of red.

She doesn’t move or make a sound as I rake my fingers across her skin and watch five pretty pink trails form.

“Will you cry for me, Angélica?” I purr, continuing to drag my nails over her skin. I already know her answer.

“No.”

“We’ll see.” I line my palm up with her right cheek, loving how the round curve of her ass fits perfectly in my large hand. “Do you want me to give you a number? Or do you want to see how many you can take before you’re begging for relief?”

“I can handle anything you dish out, chef. Just let me know when your hand gets tired. Wouldn’t want you to endanger your precious hands and culinary career over a spanking.”