by Sam Crescent
The lust swirled in Will’s eyes again.
“Does the naughty schoolgirl need a spanking?”
I nodded my head, eager for his hard hand on my ass.
He laid me across his lap and lifted my gown to reveal my complete nakedness underneath.
“Fuck me,” he groaned and spanked me hard.
I yelped and moaned, and pushed back, wanting more. I lifted my head and peered over my shoulder. “Don’t stop until I come.”
“So, demanding.”
He smacked me again, and again. Dipped his fingers in my wetness with a groan, and another hard smack. Each slap of his hand on my skin brought me closer and closer to orgasm. I balanced on the edge of pleasure and pain.
The car slowed.
No, not yet.
Will used his other hand to thrust three fingers deep inside while his thumb pressed on my clit. The orgasm raced to a peak with his talented fingers working inside me. He smacked me again, and I came hard and fast against his pumping fingers in a quivering release.
“Sir, we’re home,” Gabe’s voice came through the speaker.
Will moved his hands, tugged my gown back into place, and set me up on the seat next to him. I sagged into the leather seats, completely satisfied with Will’s spanking. I loved being a naughty girl.
He pressed the speaker button. “Thanks, Gabe.”
Gabe opened the door. Will stepped out of the car and offered me his hand. I took it. I’d always take his hand.
The man I loved swung me up over his shoulder in a firefighter’s hold.
“Will, put me down,” I squealed. “You’re flashing Gabe my ass again.”
Will strode to the front door. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy for you.”
He shut the front door and lowered me to my feet.
“Bedroom. Now. On your hands and knees. And leave on the gown.”
I quivered with need and raced him up the stairs as fast as I could in stilettos, for Will fulfilling every one of my fantasies was the best day of my life.
Every day with Will as my husband was the best day of my life.
The End
Explore more books by Helen Walton
HEARTLESS
Beth D. Carter
Copyright © 2021
Prologue
“This is all of it?” Jason Macalik asked the head of his security team as he reached for the folder the man held out. It contained the information from the internal accounting firm he’d hired to find out where the leak within his company was coming from.
“Yes, Sir,” the man replied. “They were pretty adamant where the money was being siphoned. I think the trace is obvious.”
Jason opened the folder and read. Anger boiled under the surface from knowing someone dared steal from him, but when he read which department, a sense of satisfaction took over. He had the culprit right where he wanted him, and now it was time to spring his trap.
“Excellent,” he murmured.
“Excellent? We have a thief.’
Jason nodded as he closed the folder. “I had my suspicion a while ago, and I already had him investigated. The audit was simply the concrete proof I needed.”
The security man raised an eyebrow. “You could’ve stopped him earlier?”
“Yes, but now I have leverage. For now, keep what you know under wraps until I’m ready to strike.”
His man nodded, and knowing he was dismissed, turned and left. He closed the office door behind him.
Alone, Jason glanced at the folder before giving a small smile. He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a four-by-six glossy photo. It was of a woman who appeared startled, looking behind her with a searching glance in her big blue eyes. Perhaps she knew she was being watched and photographed. A sixth sense that something was off. And from the moment he had laid eyes on her, something dark had gripped him.
Need.
Possession.
She was his muse come to life. He’d learned everything about her, and the more he discovered, the more he wanted. Now all his chips were lining up and all he had to do was close the deal.
Chapter One
“Oh, Miss Dillane!”
Poppy Dillane turned and saw the museum director, Dr. Burnley, waving at her. She came to a stop, waiting for him to catch up.
“Good morning,” she greeted.
He absently nodded as he mopped his brow with a handkerchief. Dr. Burnley was a strict, no-nonsense type of man, hurrying everywhere within the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, hence the reason why he sweated often. He ran the place with a precise schedule that rarely included impromptu meetings, so Poppy was curious why he’d flag her down.
“Miss Dillane, I just received a call from a private collector,” Dr. Burnley said in quick, clipped syllables. “He wished to borrow you.”
Poppy blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Your expertise,” he elaborated. “Even asked for you by name.”
“My expertise? I’m just a docent.”
“Yes, but a docent entering a doctorate program on French academic art, with a focus on Theirry-Louis Courbet.”
Poppy wracked her brain, trying to think who would care about that. “I don’t understand.”
“This private collector has several of his paintings and says he just acquired a new one. He wishes to authenticate it, ergo his desire to borrow you.”
A thrill shot through her. If the painting was original, the thought of being one of the few people to examine it caused her heart to pound with anticipation. Then caution, and a touch of reality, broke through the initial excitement. She sighed.
“As much as I want to say yes, I can give the names of several experts who could provide provenance better than I could,” she said a bit regretfully.
Dr. Burnley waved his hand dismissively. “I could’ve done that, but Mr. Macalik was adamant—”
“Macalik? As in Jason Macalik?”
“I believe that was the name.”
“My father works for him,” she said, stunned. “And I’ve been dying to use that leverage in order to ask to see his two Courbet paintings. This might be legit!”
She knew the location of every Courbet painting, of course, but had only seen three up close and that was when they had been sent to LACMA on tour.
“So you’re willing to go?”
Desperation clawed at her. She wanted to go so bad she had to bite her tongue from screaming yes. She cleared her throat. “Like I said, there are others with better—”
“Miss Dillane,” he interrupted with an impatient tone. “Yes, we all realize there are others with more extensive expertise, but he asked for you.”
The abruptness in his tone startled her. “Um, then yes?”
“Good, because he’s making a substantial donation to this museum and has a private jet waiting for you. There’s a car to take you to the Santa Monica airport.”
“Right now?” Poppy’s mouth dropped open as she tried to grapple with the suddenness of it all. “But … but I have to give a tour—”
“Already taken care of,” Dr. Burnley said with an impatient wave of his hand. “Go, go. The car is waiting out front.”
Bewildered, Poppy watched him walk away. Everything about the conversation had been so bizarre she didn’t know what to make of it. Two things propelled her to leave the LACMA grounds and find the limo that waited on her. The prospect of seeing a newly discovered Courbet and the fact that her boss had basically sold her off for a heavy donation.
****
The flight to Las Vegas was only forty-five minutes. It took longer to drive through Los Angeles traffic than it did to arrive at Jason Macalik’s office. Actually, it was an entire building, reaching up toward the blue sky, the hot sun causing her to squint. As she stepped into the cool interior, people seemed to recognize her, directing her to the elevator up to the top floor.
This is crazy, she though
t. Although she kept reminding herself she really had no business being there, it was pushed aside by the excitement rising with every floor that fell away. She was about to see a potentially undiscovered Courbet painting. It could be life-changing.
Career-changing.
And then the elevator door opened and she got her first look at the gorgeous man waiting to greet her. Midnight-hued hair peppered with silver. Eyes so dark they looked black focused unblinkingly on her. She suddenly had a brief sensation of falling, as if the world had tilted off its axis. Or maybe it was just her.
“Welcome,” he said in a deep baritone that caused an awareness to slide over her senses like an intimate caress.
Life inside the world of art had not prepared her for someone like Jason Macalik.
Chapter Two
“Sir, Miss Poppy Dillane is here.”
A sense of satisfaction swept through him. Finally, she was right where he wanted her.
“Send her up.”
He rose and left his office, ignoring his assistant’s curious stare. He waited by the elevator, and when it opened, there she stood. Beautiful and poised, looking a little bewildered. Dressed in a pale-pink dress, she held her purse in front of her like it was a shield. He supposed in a few minutes she would need all the armor she could muster.
“Welcome,” he greeted as she stepped off the elevator. Her long hair cascaded in an ebony wave past her shoulders to almost touch the curve of her ass. “I’m Jason Macalik.”
“Nice to meet you. And thank you for flying me here. And back home.”
“Of course.” He swept an arm toward his office, and when she walked past him, he placed a hand at the small of her back. She gasped and looked up at him with wide eyes, lips parting a little. He had the urge to swoop her up in his arms and kiss her, but he knew it was far too soon to show his hand.
Once inside his office, he closed his door, sealing them in privacy. “Please, have a seat.”
Hesitantly, she sat down and watched him as he leaned against his desk. He stayed close enough that his knee brushed against hers.
“You have a beautiful office,” she said. “Great view.”
He didn’t give a shit about the view right then and there. All he wanted to do was stare at her.
“So, I’m, ah, a little confused as to why you invited me here. Or how you even know about me at all, really.”
He cocked his head. “Did your boss not explain it to you?”
“Oh, he did,” she assured quickly. “But I’m not qualified enough. A simple docent. I just give tours, Mr. Macalik.”
“You’re just the person I’m looking for,” he said, interrupting her. “Your focus is on French academic art. More specifically on Theirry-Louis Courbet.”
She nodded. “His work has always inspired me. But how did you—”
“Me too,” he replied, cutting her off. “I’ve always been drawn to the way he used mythological themes to interpret modern subjects. I actually have several of his paintings in my personal collection.”
“I know.” She smiled. “That’s why I came. My director said you’ve acquired a new, undiscovered painting. I’m really excited to see it. Where did you find it?”
“I’ve actually had it for over twenty years,” he said, loving the way her mouth opened a little in surprise. “I did a summer study abroad when I was eighteen and found the painting in an antique market. The person who had it for sale obviously didn’t know what it was. I didn’t even know. All I knew was that it captivated me so I asked my father to wire me the money I needed and I bought it. I’ve kept it in my personal collection all this time.”
Confusion swept over her delicate features. “So, you’re ready to bring it out now? And how do you need me?”
He wanted so badly to tell her the real reason, but he knew it wasn’t the right time. He couldn’t risk that she would dismiss him and leave. What he had planned might be underhanded and sneaky, and although it gave him a moment’s pause, he pushed down the small bit of conscientiousness warning him to stop. From the moment he had seen Poppy Dillane, he knew he had to possess her.
“And why did you ask for me? I mean, how did you know what my area of study was about?”
If she only knew.
“I’ll get to that soon, but first, do you know who Courbet used for his muse?” he asked, bypassing her question for the moment.
She shook her head. “Er, no. I don’t believe there’s any record of his models.”
“I said muse, not model.”
She gave a little frown. “I’m not sure if he had one particular woman he used as a muse.”
“The painting I have is different than his others. It’s not a mythological portrayal. It’s a woman, one he took extreme measures to get every detail right.” Jason couldn’t help staring at her face because the resemblance was uncanny.
“I thought, maybe, that I can give you my opinion on the painting and then I can leave you with names of authenticators that can give you provenance—”
“No need,” he interrupted. “I’ve already had it authenticated years ago.”
She blinked. “Oh. Then I don’t understand why I’m here.”
This was it. The moment he could forget and change his mind, to discard his plan. But as he stared into her wide blue eyes, and the beauty and innocence, he knew he couldn’t chance her walking away. Something dark gripped him inside, twisting up his need to possess her, and at that moment, he settled on the plan he implemented months ago.
“Let me show you the real reason why.” Jason hit the intercom button on his phone. “Send him in.”
A moment later, the office door opened and her father walked inside. Albert Dillane was a short man, balding on top. Wire-frame glasses made his face seem very round. He was the stereotypical-looking financial advisor.
“Dad? What are you doing here?”
Albert opened his mouth to answer, but Jason cut him off. He wanted to make sure Albert knew his place. “Your father works for me.”
“Yes, I know.” She reached out to her father, and he took hold of her hand. “I admit I had thoughts of using his connection to you in order to come look at the Courbet paintings I knew you had. But now I’m confused.”
“For God’s sake,” Albert begged Jason. “Please don’t do this.”
“I’m afraid that’s no longer an option,” Jason said pointedly.
“What is going on?” Poppy demanded, looking back and forth between both men.
“Well, Albert? Do you want to tell her, or should I?” Jason asked.
In response, her father dropped her hand and turned away. She stared after him, a mixture of confusion and concern flashing over her beautiful face.
“Your father has embezzled a large sum of money from my company,” Jason stated blandly. He decided not to sugarcoat it. “He stole from the very clients he was supposed to have been helping save for retirement, lining his own pockets instead.”
“What?” she exclaimed. She shook her head. “No, that can’t be true. Dad, tell him he’s wrong.”
But her father remained silent.
“Dad?” she asked, unsure.
“He can’t tell you that I’m wrong because I’m not. I had an internal audit done to confirm my suspicion.”
“Then your internal audit is wrong!” she cried. “My father is a good man. He’s decent. When my mother died, he made me his priority by putting me through college—”
“Your entire education has been funded by me,” Jason interrupted.
“That can’t be,” she whispered, shaking her head. “He told me he had a promotion.”
“While he was head of a department, the position certainly didn’t merit a seven-figure salary,” he said coldly.
Poppy’s jaw dropped. “Seven figures? Oh, my God,” she muttered again. “I can … I can begin to pay you back if you give me time.”
“The reality is that’s not even feasibly possible on a docent salary. You’d be paying me for years.”
/>
“Then I’ll pay for years!”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you not understand the gravity of your father’s situation? I had to step in for damage control, paying back the millions he stole. He’s facing prison time, Poppy.”
He saw she struggled to maintain composure, her chest heaving as she seemed to try to clamp down on her emotions. He admired her for not breaking down hysterically.
“Only if you press charges,” she said, her voice cracking a little. She cleared her throat, likely in an effort to gain control once more. “I’m sure we can reach some type of deal.”
“It’s interesting you propose that. I’ve already made a deal with your father.”
Her eyes widened and she shot another dark look at her dad, who still faced away from her. His shoulders slumped a little lower. Poppy took a deep breath and looked back at Jason.
“What type of deal?” she asked brokenly.
“You become mine.”
Chapter Three
“What does that mean?” she demanded.
“Exactly what I said.”
Oh, she knew what he’d said. She couldn’t believe he was bartering for her body. She could only imagine he meant to use her body in dirty subjugation.
She shook her head. “No, I won’t have sex with you. Are you mad? That’s crazy! And … and illegal.”
“More than sex, Poppy. You will marry me.”
Astonishment rendered her mute for a moment. Denial screamed through her head.
“This is crazy. You’re crazy.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe this. I … I don’t even… Dad! Say something. Please.”
Albert sighed and finally turned toward his daughter. “What do want to hear? That I’m sorry? I am sorry that you got involved.”
“But not sorry you stole,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “These clients who need financial help, how much money do they really need? They wouldn’t have noticed a few hundred missing here and a few thousand there.”