Page 5 of Vows in Sin

S eraphina

Why am I challenging this stranger? He’s massive, twice my age, and angry as a cage of hornets.

He’s dragging his fingertips over the backs of my thighs up to my ass. He’s threatened to punish me. I’ve never been spanked in—or out of a bedroom. The idea of his hand spanking my ass somehow has my core throbbing.

I should run. Scream. Fight. Something.

Instead, I take a shaky breath, my entire focus on his touch and the dangerous warm wall of muscle and man that traps me here. I want the sting. I need it. Bad.

Could the pain somehow erase the kind I can’t let go of?

I soon find out.

I jolt as his bare skin presses against my ass—his growl in my ear like a promise and a warning. The feeling of those calloused hands—grown ass man hands, working man’s hands—it’s almost too much by itself. The fire lights between my thighs; a wet warmth and a pulsing throb of need.

And all I can focus on is the sensation and his power over me.

He drags the firm heat of his palm down, following the curve of my ass. He stops at the top of my thighs. His curious finger inches beneath the leg band of my panties, hooking into the lace like a fisherman making a prized catch.

He pulls away the elastic lace, letting it go with a snap against my skin.

The humiliating gesture wakes me up from the trance he’s put me under. How dare he! I flip my head over my shoulder. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Then I remember I’ve not fought him. At all. I should be kicking, screaming, and calling for Sideburns while telling off this beast of a man.

He growls, “Cute little panties,” pressing that same palm harder, letting me feel every ounce of restrained power in his fingers. “But they’re not gonna save you.”

He lifts his hand, palm hesitating in the air, hovering over me. My mouth snaps shut. The anticipation has me tight with tension.

I forget to fight.

He’s going to do this.

And I’m going to let him.

I bite my lip to keep from moaning.

The first smack lands sharp and precise, and the crack of skin-on-skin echoes like a gunshot in my chest. I gasp, my hips driven forward into the desk’s edge.

“Oh—!” I cry out. He stands behind me, shadowed and commanding, my moan betraying me.

I lean back against the desk, my skin humming, and I dare a glance over my shoulder. His chest rises and falls, each breath a promise of more. My throat is swollen, heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

I don’t know what comes over me. “Fuck,” I gasp. “Do it again.”

He pauses a moment. Did my response surprise him as much as it did me?

Not only am I not fighting him, I’m begging for more?

“You want it?” His voice is low, gravelly. One finger traces the line of my spine to the swell of my ass.

I want it all. Everything he can give me. “Hell yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want…” The question is poison in my mind. Temptation on my lips. I arch into that touch. “I want you to ruin me.”

The sound he makes is part hunger, part delight as he brings his palm down. I cry out, but it’s more a plea than a protest. He follows the smack with a gentle brush of his fingertips, smoothing the heat into a different kind of fire in my pussy.

He lets my shaky whimper hang in the air, savoring it, then delivers another strike—firmer, harder—branding my other cheek. My hips dance involuntarily with each impact, a whine of desperation slipping past my lips.

“Count,” he commands, voice thick with hunger.

Can I? Humiliate myself in front of him? Obey every one of this stranger’s devilish demands.

He’s tired of waiting. I get a sharp swat to let me know.

“O-one…” I stutter, the word trembling on my tongue.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I flush with shame and something dangerously like pride as he pauses, letting anticipation coil. Then his hand falls again, and again.

Each spank is methodical, each strike designed to heighten my sensitivity, alternating cheeks until I’m writhing helplessly against the desk.

“Three…f-four… five…” My count is fractured with every spank. Each number feels like surrender.

He leans close, his breath hot at my ear. “Let this be a lesson to you, doll. Stick to your own streets and don’t go nosing where you don’t belong.”

By seven my voice cracks, unshed tears gleaming at the edges of my eyes. By eight I’m arching toward his hand, chasing the sting like a drug. By nine, I’m trembling with need for him.

God damn. This man… he’s fire and danger and brutal strength wrapped up in a single devastating package.

I need him. I need this. And I have no idea why.

“Ten,” I sob.

His palm lingers over my inflamed skin, heat radiating through me, and I close my eyes as his fingertips trace the reddened crescents he’s left behind. My pulse gallops in my ears, alive and achingly vulnerable under his touch.

Why am I here? Begging? Needing? Craving? Telling a man I’ve never met before to ruin me.

He drops his voice to a rough whisper of promise: “And if I ever catch you sneaking around our turf again… next time, it won’t be my hand. It’ll be my leather belt.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I murmur.

He helps me up, swivels me to face him. It’s just the two of us in this office.

He’s punished me and should be sending me away and calling a car, assigning a driver, yet his hands are back on my body already, claiming me like I belong to him.

Would I betray myself if I let him slip his fingers between my thighs again?

My breath catches as he leans in. I can’t fight the tremor that runs through me when his fingers brush under the damp lace of my panties. My knees weaken; I lean against him, hands clawing at his shoulders.

“Please, don’t stop,” I moan, body pressing into his.

His lips hover at mine—a beat away from kissing me. I meet him, tongue parting for his, tasting heat and danger.

We should not be kissing. Yet, here we are.

He works his way under the gusset of my panties. He slides one finger inside me, then a second, and I cry out, my breasts pressing against his chest as I kiss him back with hungry need.

Our moment shatters when his phone explodes in his pocket.

It’s strange—hearing something as ordinary as a phone ring—during such an unexpected tangle between strangers.

We break apart, breathless, sweat-slicked.

“Do you need to get that?” I whisper, eyes heavy-lidded, body still aching with want.

His jaw tightens. He pulls the phone free. Shame flickers across his face, telling me…

He’s as exposed as I feel.

“I need to return this call,” he says, voice clipped. “I’ll walk you out.”

My heart twists as I nod. “Okay.”

And just like that…it’s over?

I move in a dreamlike state, half wondering if I imagined the entire thing. I can feel the heat, power, and whatever energy exists between us as he walks beside me, reminding me that the whole encounter was very real.

He gestures for me to go ahead, unlocking the door. “I’ll have someone drive you home.”

“I can call a cab,” I offer, the fight in me flickering. I rearrange my clothing. Pretend this didn’t just happen.

“It’s late. You’ll go with one of my men.” His gaze pins me until I relent.

“Fine.”

He leads me down the hall to the staffroom. He waves away the smoke from Sideburns’s cigarette. “Put that out,” he tells him. Then to another, “Budgie. I need you to give this young lady a ride home.”

I avert my eyes as he speaks to Budgie, a man with a large, friendly face and a parrot tattoo climbing to his brow.

Reign clears his throat, unsure how to address me now. Or if he even should.

I don’t give him the power to make that decision. I don’t wait for a goodbye. I turn the other way.

His bootsteps fade down the corridor, and I’m left with the faint scent of cloves lingering on my skin.