His hands, suddenly gentle, turned her limp body to face him. She was exposed, her skirt bunched at her waist, her blouse torn open, her thighs glistening. He didn’t look at her face; his blue eyes tracked the evidence of his possession with dark satisfaction, moving over the red marks on her skin, the slick shine between her legs, the tremble in her stomach she couldn’t stop.

In that humiliating scrutiny, she saw not just conquest, but a raw hunger that mirrored her own—a crack in his control that made the world feel intimate and dangerous. His breath wasn’t steady. A vein pulsed at his temple. The perfect, punishing composure from minutes before was gone, replaced by something more primal, more real.

He said nothing. The silence was thicker than any command. His gaze was a physical touch, warmer than the air on her wet skin. It lingered on the mess he’d made of her, on the proof that her body had betrayed every professional protest she’d uttered at dawn.

Nelly tried to find her voice, to muster some shred of dignity. A sound caught in her throat, half-gasp, half-sob. She was leaning back against the cold, hard edge of her own desk, completely open to him. The position was more vulnerable than being bent over it. She was on display, and he was studying her like a finalized report.

Jeff’s hand lifted. She flinched, expecting another strike, another correction. His fingers didn’t land with force. They brushed, almost curiously, against the inside of her thigh. A feather-light touch over sensitized skin.

She jerked as if burned. A full-body shiver racked her, uncontrollable. Her hips twitched forward, seeking the contact he’d withdrawn. The movement was instinctive, shameless. Heat flooded her cheeks, deeper than the blush from the spanking.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice a low rasp she’d never heard. It wasn’t his boardroom tone. It was stripped bare. He finally lifted his eyes to hers. The dark satisfaction was still there, but it was blurred by something hotter. Awe. Possession. Need. “Absolutely look at you, Nelly.”

His thumb returned, not brushing this time. It pressed. It slid through the wetness on her thigh, collecting it, then dragged upward in a slow, deliberate stroke that made her cry out. The sound was sharp and loud in the quiet office.

He brought his thumb to his own mouth, his eyes locked on hers. He tasted her. His tongue swept over the pad of his thumb, his lips closing around it. A low, rough sound vibrated in his chest. His eyes fluttered shut for a second. When they opened, the blue was almost black.

“You’re dripping,” he said, the words blunt and obscene. “All over my hand. All over your desk. Is this the consequence you were worried about?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped into the space between her knees, his own trousers still undone, his shirt rumpled. His hands came to her hips, his grip firm, anchoring her to the desk. He was still mostly dressed. She was utterly ruined. The contrast was a new kind of power play.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice dropping even lower. “Tell me what you are right now.”

She shook her head, biting her swollen lower lip. Words were impossible. She was a shuddering, exposed, aching thing. She was wet and wanting and completely his.

“Use your words, Nelly.” His thumbs dug into the soft flesh of her hips. “You had plenty this morning. Defiant ones. Professional ones. What are you now?”

“I’m…” The breath hitched in her chest. His gaze was unbearable. It saw everything. “I’m yours.” The admission was a whisper, torn from her. It felt truer than anything she’d said in years.

A slow, devastating smile touched his mouth. It wasn’t kind. It was triumphant. Hungry. “Yes,” he breathed. He leaned in, his lips hovering a breath from hers. She could smell herself on his skin, mixed with his sandalwood and sweat. “You are. And I am not finished with you.”

He kissed her then. It wasn’t like before. Before was punishment, domination. This was consumption. His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping in to claim hers. He kissed her like he was starving, and she was the only thing that could fill him. Her hands, which had been lying limp at her sides, flew up to clutch at his shoulders, his shirt, anything to keep from dissolving.

One of his hands left her hip, slid up her torn blouse to cup her breast. His thumb circled her nipple, rough through the lace of her bra, and she moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to break something in him. He pulled back from the kiss, his breathing ragged. He looked from her eyes to her breast, to the wet junction of her thighs, and back again. The crack in his control widened. She saw the moment his own need overrode the lesson.

“Again,” he growled, his voice raw. “I want to feel you come again. Now. For me.”