Chapter 28 Iris
IRIS
Excitement zips through me at the promise in Aidan’s words.
“What are you going to do?” I ask breathlessly as he crosses back to me.
“You know exactly what I’m going to do.” His hand finds my arm again, spinning me around so I’m facing his desk. Then he pushes until I fall forward, bent at the waist. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say, wiggling my ass in the air. Is he going to spank me? Fuck me? God, I want it all.
He’s right. I am a brat. I shouldn’t have crawled under his desk. And when Dad entered the room… God, I should have stopped. But something defiant streaked through me in that moment. My father thinks he can control me, but he can’t control all of me. Not my emotions. My body. My desire.
Only I control those things.
So, yes, I rebelled. It was wrong to touch Aidan under that desk, but it felt so fucking good to know my father was clueless. He ranted and raved about what a disappointment I am, but he wasn’t the one in control. I was. And he had no idea.
Now, I’m giving that control to Aidan. He’s the only person I trust with every part of me, and I want him to know it.
He pulls my skirt up roughly, exposing my ass. I’m wearing a thong again, and his breath hisses out when he sees it.
“Get this off,” he rumbles, yanking it down my legs. My underwear makes it halfway before he gets impatient, letting it hang between the backs of my knees. Then his hand comes down on my ass with a loud crack, bringing with it a sharp sting.
I suck in a surprised breath, letting a moan follow when a rush of pleasure between my legs eclipses any pain. Fuck. I knew I’d love it. He spanked me at the studios when we last had sex, but not like this. Not angry, teach-me-a-lesson spanking. The kind I really want.
His hand smooths over the spot, soothing the sting, and Aidan leans over to growl in my ear. “This is what bad girls get,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “They get their ass spanked.”
And then, for reasons I don’t quite understand, I smirk.
“Is that all?” I taunt, and a muscle jumps in Aidan’s jaw.
“That’s not enough for you?” His hand strikes me again. “Not enough to teach you a lesson?”
I quiver with pleasure, shaking my head, wanting to push him. Wanting whatever he’ll give me.
A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Cupcake.”
He yanks on my underwear hard enough to tear it, then tosses it aside.
His hand hooks under my thigh, setting one of my knees onto his chair, exposing me completely to him.
This time when his hand strikes me, it doesn’t hit my ass.
It lands between my legs. The wet sound echoes off his office walls, and I inhale sharply.
Holy shit, that hurt.
But even with the pain, molten heat pools in my core.
Aidan kneels behind me, spreading me with his thumbs. “Fucking soaked,” he grits out, eyes raking over my swollen, throbbing flesh. Then he spits—spits—right on my clit. The feeling of his hot saliva hitting me there makes a moan rip from me.
Fuck. Why is that so hot?
He straightens, spanking me right there. I spasm, pain and pleasure mingling into a heady cocktail, making me breathless, and he pauses, watching me, hand gentle as it strokes through my slickness.
“You like that, baby?” he asks, checking in. Even when he’s rough with me, he’s never reckless. Never cruel. “You like getting spanked on your needy little clit?”
“God, yes.”
He tuts, shaking his head, spanking me there again.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl.” He rewards me with another spank, and my knees quake. God, if he keeps doing that, I’ll come.
Aidan seems to realize this, spanking my clit again and again as I quiver and moan on his desk. “Such a dirty girl,” he growls, fingers hitting my clit over and over. “Sucking my dick with your father in the room. Making me punish you like this.”
“Fuck,” I rasp, pleasure coiling tight in my belly. “Yes.”
But just as I’m about to come, he stops. I look back at him in disbelief, and he smirks.
“Problem, Cupcake?”
I whimper with impatience, and he spanks my clit again, sending a shock of pleasure through me.
“You’ll come when I say,” he grates out. “Got that?”
Shit. That should piss me off, but it only makes me more desperate.
“I need to come now,” I rasp. I’m like a live wire, ready to explode at the slightest touch, but he won’t give it to me. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
I pout. “Please, Daddy.”
“So impatient,” he chides, freeing his stiff length from his slacks to stroke it, his eyes burning as he looks me over. Then he spanks me again, and I shift restlessly, tilting my hips, begging for more. His hand smooths my hair, gentle at first, then tightening as he wraps it around his fist.
He yanks my head back, his other hand finding my swollen, aching clit with another swift spank.
Pleasure crests inside me, bringing me to the edge, but before my orgasm can fully take hold, Aidan thrusts inside me.
I cry out as he fills me, multiplying the pleasure.
He hooks a hand under the leg on his chair, hoisting it higher onto his desk to open me more for him, and drives himself deep.
I lose all sense of reason at this point. I can’t think, can’t speak. All I can do is take his thrusts, drowning in pleasure. Every stroke into me obliterates all sense of time and space. The only thing grounding me is Aidan’s hand in my hair, his voice in my ear growling filthy things.
“You take me so fucking well, baby,” he grits, hitting a place inside I didn’t know existed. “I love how dirty you are. Such a good girl for me.”
I want to reply, but words elude me. I just take each punishing thrust, a limp rag doll of pleasure and sensation, hoping he never stops.
His hand finds my throat, fingers brushing my windpipe, and heat slams through me, my eyes rolling back in ecstasy.
Wow, okay, I didn’t know I was into that. Apparently, I am.
When I don’t respond, he moves to pull his hand away, but I scramble to put it back. “Yes,” I rasp, pressing his fingers there again. “Yes.”
“Fuck, Iris.” His voice is a rough shred as he slows his thrusts. “You are so fucking perfect, sweetheart. Perfect.”
His fingers flex on my windpipe, and I moan, needing him to know how much I love it. How much I love all of it. This is exactly what I need in bed. Something as intense as all my other emotions, so this doesn’t get lost, so I can feel this fucking alive.
“You’re perfect,” I breathe. “Everything about you, Aidan. The way you fuck me…” What I don’t say is the way he looks out for me. Defends me. Makes me feel like my emotions, my thoughts, my creativity, matter. “I’ve never felt like this,” I whisper.
He’s quiet behind me, and I wince. Was that too much? Why did I say something so intense? But before I can overthink it, his hips move again, hastening.
“I need to feel you come, baby,” he says hoarsely. “Come for Daddy.” His thrusts grow more urgent, fingers pressing firmly. “Come with my hand on your throat.”
Fuck.
Pleasure surges through me as his grip tightens on my windpipe, his other hand finding my clit again. It only takes a few more rough strokes to get me there, and I shatter into a million pieces, the room spinning around me as he plants himself deep, hips stuttering with his own release.
Aidan’s heart thunders against my back as I come down from the high, breathing ragged.
At last, he peels himself off me, fetching a tissue to wipe me clean.
Then he tugs my dress back into place, helping me stand on wobbly legs.
He glances around for my underwear, grimacing when he sees they’re a torn shred.
“Shit,” he mutters. “I’m sorry.”
A laugh escapes me. “I’m not. You can tear my panties off whenever you like.”
His eyes darken again, and he balls them into his fist. “I’m keeping these. And I’m buying you more,” he adds, slipping them into his jacket pocket.
I wave this away, but his hand catches my wrist, pulling me in close.
“I am,” he says firmly, making it clear this isn’t up for debate, because that’s who Aidan is. He wants to take care of me.
And God, I want to let him.
He kisses the inside of my wrist, feather-soft. “Can I take you to dinner?”
An unsteady breath slips from me. I desperately want to say yes. I want to eat delicious food in a dimly lit restaurant, sipping wine and kissing him slowly.
But my father’s words from earlier echo through my head: She doesn’t know the meaning of hard work.
If I go out to dinner with Aidan, I’ll either end up at his place or invite him back to mine.
And if that happens, I won’t want it to end.
I won’t finish the lighthouse plans, and I won’t get the team-building task organized.
All I’ll do is prove my father right.
But as I gaze up at Aidan’s open, expectant face, something else tugs at me. Something unsettling. Something I can’t name. It forces me to take a shaky step back.
“I, uh, should probably go home,” I mumble, dropping my gaze. “I have a lot of work to do.”
“Will you please let me help with the team-building event?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but… I need to do it. And I need to do a good job.”
He touches my shoulder. “Don’t make yourself crazy over this, okay? Just order pizza and play a TED talk about teamwork. That’s the sort of thing we usually do.”
I snort a dry laugh. As if my father would ever accept something so pedestrian from me, even if it is their usual approach.
No, this needs to be different. Something that gets people excited and engaged. Otherwise, what’s the point?
More than that, I want to prove my father wrong. He thinks I’m not trying, but when everyone raves about what a memorable night it is, he’ll have to admit I pulled it off.
“At least let me drive you home?” Aidan asks, and I soften. How is he so wonderful?
“I’d love that,” I say, smiling. That sense of unease gnaws at me again, and I try to push it away.
But even as Aidan walks me to my front door and kisses me goodnight, it lingers.