His Mafia Queen

A Spanking

A Spanking

RILEY

By the time I reach Gabriel's bedroom, I'm shaking.

I also can't decide if I should do what he wants. After a night of surprising answers—namely, that he doesn't want a virgin, a fact that I still don't fully believe—he asked me to do the most predictable thing ever.

Wait for him, naked, in his bed.

I step into his bedroom, and it's unchanged from earlier today, the same orderly, dark, sensuous space. A floor lamp in the corner is softly illuminated, a tall monstrosity that looks like it's made out of the same harsh iron as the bedposts.

My gaze goes to the bureau that I peeked into, and I look away quickly, ashamed.

It seems that Gabriel is inspiring me to do things I otherwise wouldn't. I'm not the kind to snoop. Even though I'm a reporter and curious, I've never done something like that for any story. For one, it's illegal. For another, it's an invasion of privacy.

But if I crossed that line to find out more about Gabriel, what other lines will I cross tonight?

I walk slowly to the canopy bed and grasp one of the posts. It's metal, possibly cast iron, and the sensation is rough and cool against my fingers. I bend my knee and with my free hand, slide off my heel. Then the other.

I don't arrange the shoes or set them neatly aside, because I suspect it will affect Gabriel more if I introduce a bit of chaos into this orderly, sterile room.

My bare feet are warm against the cool tile as I walk toward the full-length mirror in the corner. Since I'm not wearing the heels, the long black dress drags against the floor, making a soft swoosh sound. I pause in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection.

With my heart in my throat, I slowly gather the dress at my hips and lift it inch by inch over my skin. The cold air sends goose bumps down my arms. I struggle to lift the black dress over my head. Why didn't Gabriel want to do this himself?

Control. This is another way to control me.

When I pull the dress over my head, my long hair gets staticy and tangled in the cutout dress for a moment, and I struggle to undo the damage. Crap. I can't even do this sensually—how am I going to fare tonight with a man like Gabriel?

Finally, I untangle my hair and the dress and fling it to the floor. It drops in a pooled heap of fabric in the middle of the room. With a little sigh, I shove my panties down. That feels good, since they're dreadfully wet and even sticky from our earlier encounter in the hall.

My clit is still pulsing from that, and the fact that he's making me wait here, naked, sends a fresh rush of wetness between my legs.

I stand before the mirror, staring at my naked body in the wan light. I've always thought I was a little too much. Too fleshy, too curvy, too obscenely sexual. Over the years I've tried to hide it with baggy sweatshirts and jeans, ill-fitting sundresses and oversized t-shirt dresses.

But tonight, in that dress, and now that I'm standing in a stranger's room naked, I feel sensual. Ready. Not obscene at all, but erotic. I cup my own full breasts, wondering what it's going to be like when Gabriel finally touches me.

My hand skims down my torso, and just as I'm about to touch myself, I stop and smile. He told me not to, but that doesn't mean I have to abide by his rules.

I pad over to the bed and climb on, sitting on my heels. There's something different from earlier: the restraints.

There are leather straps on each of the canopy posts. Those definitely weren't here this afternoon. Holy fuck.