Chapter 4
DANE
Iwatch Whitney on my phone screen as she steps into the shower. The water runs over her body, and she tilts her head back to let it soak her hair.
My sons are talking to each other across the desk in my home office, but I’m not listening. I’m watching my wife’s hands move over her skin.
Her hand slides between her thighs.
She pauses there. Just for a second. Her fingers press against her pussy, and her mouth opens slightly. Then, she jerks her hand away and finishes rinsing off like nothing happened.
But I saw it.
She might not have made herself come, but she touched herself.
My cock hardens at the thought of what I’m going to do to punish her when I get my sons out of my house.
“Dad?” Fox’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Are you even listening to us?”
I lock my phone and set it face down on the table. “No. But there's something you all should know. I got married last night.”
Nobody speaks.
Tate straightens in his chair. Thorne’s feet drop from the table with a thud. Fox just stares at me with his arms crossed.
“What the fuck?” Tate stares at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.
“Married,” Fox repeats slowly.
“To Whitney Marsh. She’s now Whitney Sinclair. She and her daughter are part of our family now. And that means they are under our protection.”
“You went to the auction last night?” Thorne asks. “And you married Gerald’s widow?”
“Yes. To both questions, obviously.”
“But . . . why would you want to marry her?” Fox doesn’t appear pleased.
“Do I really need to explain to you boys about what goes on between a man and a woman? You’re all in your twenties and I’m certain you have managed to find your way between a woman’s legs.”
“Dad,” Thorne wrinkles his face. “We don’t need to hear about whatever it is you—”
“Besides,” Fox cuts in. “What was wrong with the parade of sluts you’ve fucked since Mom died? You didn’t need to marry to get pussy. What is this really about?”
I knew they weren’t going to let this go without asking questions.
“I wanted her. I bought her, and now she’s mine. I don’t need more reason than that, son.”
Tate jumps in this time. “How much did you bid?”
“Fifty million dollars.” It’s my fucking money, and if they have a problem with it, they can say it to my face.
Fox leans back in his chair. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dad.”
“Fifty million dollars,” Thorne repeats. “That’s excessive, even for you.”
“I would have paid more.”
Tate exchanges a look with Fox and then Thorne. “Sounds like we all deserve a raise and a new car, brothers.”
I roll my eyes. “If you need a ninth car, be my guest. But you will accept Whitney as my wife. Do I make myself clear?”
My three boys all nod.
“Good.”
“Will you get off my ass about marrying now?” Fox asks, refilling his glass with the whiskey from my desk.
I'm not in the mood to argue with my oldest at present. But he’s going to fucking marry and carry on the Sinclair line.
If I hadn’t done what was expected of me, his ass wouldn’t be sitting here right now.
But right now I want to get this conversation done and get them out of my house so I can punish and fuck my wife.
“For now.”
“Is there anything else?” Thorne asks before kicking the leg of Tate’s chair, who is focused on his phone. “I assume that is why you called us here.”
“I have some things I need you all to take care of.” I look at Thorne. “I want you personally to oversee Sloane’s security. Ensure that everything is in place the way I expect.”
Thorne nods. “Done. She’s with me at Harvard, too?”
“Yes. So it’ll be convenient for you to keep an eye on her when you actually show up for classes.”
“Why do we need to keep such a close watch on her?”
“Because I fucking said so. And it’ll make her mother happy.” I wave my hand at them. “Happy wife, happy fucking life, sons.”
“Fine. I’ll check in with her security detail today.”
I turn to Fox. “I want you to dig into Harrison Lockwood. I need everything you can find about him.”
Fox raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Since when do you all question my orders? Just do what I fucking say. He intentionally sent me the wrong time for the auction. Amateur-hour bullshit, and I want to know why he didn’t want me there.”
“You think he’s a threat to her?” Fox asks.
“I think he wanted her for some reason. And I fucking want to know why.” I shift my attention to Tate. “Son, I want you to look into Gerald Marsh’s death. The Council was informed it was a car accident.”
“Should I also ask why I’m doing this?”
“Tate, I swear to fucking—”
Tate held his hands up. “I’m kidding, Dad. Jesus.”
“You think Gerald’s death wasn’t an accident?” Fox eyes me curiously.
My sons just aren’t going to make anything easy today.
“I think we do what we always do and get all the information so we have full control of the situation.”
“Let me see if I have this right. You think Harrison killed Gerald so that he could buy Whitney?” Fox waves his hand in the air. “But why?”
“That is what you all are going to piece together while I tend to my wife.”
“Goddamnit, Dad. We don’t want to hear that shit.”
I laugh at them. I know my sons. They are each going to be balls deep tonight in pussy they’ll fuck and never call again, but heaven forbid their forty-four-year-old father fucks his new wife.
“Then get the fuck out of my house if you don’t want to hear what’s about to go on here. Because I’m a fucking newlywed, and you all could use a little brother or sister.”
All three of them jump from their chairs.
“You can’t be serious,” Thorne snarls.
I wave them off. “Of course not. But I’m going to fuck my wife now. So leave.”
They all cast me annoyed glances, but the threat is effective, because I’ve never seen them leave my office so fast.
“Let me know as soon as you have the information,” I call after them. I don’t even know if they heard me. I better not see their faces again until they have it.
I pick up my phone and see that Whitney is dressed now. I push the button on the intercom. “Come to my office, Whitney.”
She jumps, and her eyes dart around the room.
“Third floor, second door on the left. Don’t keep me waiting.”
A few minutes later, there's a light knock on the door, and she pushes it open.
The minute I see her, my cock aches against my pants.
Her hair is still damp from the shower. She’s wearing jeans and a white tank top. She doesn’t have any makeup on. Damn. I won’t get to see those pretty streaks down her face when I punish her.
She comes further into the room, and I stand from my chair to meet her on the other side. I grip her throat and walk her backward until she hits the bookshelf. I can’t wait another second to have her.
“You touched yourself in the shower, didn’t you?”
She blinks. “I was washing—”
“Don’t lie to me, Whitney. That’s one thing I won’t stand for.”
“You were watching me?”
“I’m always watching you, kitten. And what did I tell you about touching yourself?”
She swallows hard. “That I’m not allowed to unless you say so.”
“Damn right. So now tell me what you did.”
She juts her chin out, and for a second, I think she might actually lie. That would be a big mistake.
“I touched myself,” she says finally, “but barely. It was just for a second—”
“You are going to learn to do as I say.” I release her throat and step back. “Take your fucking clothes off.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment. Then, she reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head.
Underneath is a white lace bra. She unfastens her jeans and slides them down her legs, revealing white lace panties to match. Fuck, I should frame those, too.
I grab her by the front of her panties and pull her against me. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
She reaches behind her and unfastens her bra, letting it fall loose between us. Her eyes meet mine, and there's all fire in them. “I am, too. Did it ever occur to you that you are doing exactly what I want?”
“Take these fucking panties off before I rip them off, Whitney.”
I know I’m giving her what she wants. It’s toxic and fucked up, but it makes me hard to spank the fuck out of her and even more so to know her panties are already wet waiting for it.
And when it gets too easy for her, I’ll make it hurt more.
She slides the panties over her hips and lets them fall down her legs until they hit the floor.
“Bend over my desk.”
She hesitates and I smack her ass hard.
“Now, Whitney.”
She leans forward over the desk. I adjust her position—bare chest flat against the wood, arms stretched forward, ass raised high, legs spread wide. The height is perfect.
I pull thin ropes from my desk drawer. I bind her wrists to the desk legs and then I secure each ankle to the legs on the other side, forcing her thighs wide apart. When I’m finished, she’s completely immobilized. Her ass is hanging off one side and her head on the other.
I run my hand over her ass. “You disobeyed me. That means punishment. Then, if I believe you’ve learned your lesson, there might be a tiny reward.”
I bring my hand down hard on her ass.
She cries out. Then laughs. “Is that supposed to hurt?”
“Oh, someone is going to be a brat, I see?”
“Because it doesn’t. It feels good.” Her voice is full of challenge. “Do it again, Dane.”
She’s pushing every button I have.
“You think you’re clever,” I say.
“I think you like that I’m not afraid of you.”
I spank her again. Harder this time. Hard enough to leave a clear handprint.
She moans. “Yes. Like that.”
“You want more?”
“Fuck yes.”
Damn, I already need to come. This woman is better than I knew she’d be the first time I saw her. Knowing that I could have had this for the past twenty years pisses me off again.
I spank her repeatedly. Hard, brutal strikes that turn her ass bright red. She gasps and moans with each one, but she doesn’t beg me to stop. She pushes her ass back toward me like she wants more.
She’ll take the punishment for the anger I feel toward all the fuckers who kept me from her.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“So fucking spank me harder.”