Page 53 of Vance

“Lay. Over. My. Knee.” Each word is deliberate, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. He isn’t asking. This isn’t a request I can refuse. “Now.”

My mind races, desperate to explain it wasn’t what it looked like, but I find myself sliding off the leather seat as though my body has a will of its own. I bend over his lap as instructed, positioning myself until my ass is presented to him.

He grips the hem of my gown, dragging the silk upward in a slow, deliberate movement until it bunches at my waist, leaving me exposed, in nothing but my lace panties.

“Do you know,” he seethes, his voice low and terrifyingly calm as he drags my panties down to my knees, “what it felt like to see his hands on you? To see you laughing with him? To see you enjoying his touch?”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

His hand comes down on my ass with a crack that echoes in the confined space. I cry out, more from surprise than pain, my body jerking.

“I didn’t like his hands on you,” Vance growls, his palm connecting again, harder this time, leaving a burning imprint on my skin. “I fucking hated the way he looked at you.”

His hand lands again and again; the rhythm is steady and punishing. My ass is on fire, the sting radiating through me as tears prick at my eyes. Each strike lands with precision, alternating cheeks until I’m squirming in his lap with a dark heat pooling in my belly.

“You’re mine. My wife, and I don’t ever want to see you with another man’s hands on you ever again.” His hand stills on my reddened flesh as his fingers trace the handprints he left on my skin, his touch gentle, though his breathing is still harsh. “Do you understand me?”

I nod against the leather seat, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Words,” he demands, his voice dangerously low. “I need words from you.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I understand.”

His palm comes down again, harder than before, making me yelp. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I correct myself, my voice barely audible.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his hand tightening on my ass.

Without warning, he lifts me onto the seat and spreads my legs. Before I can process what’s happening, his thick fingers shove inside me, curling into the spot that makes my toes curl.

“Look at me,” he commands, and I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “My hands. Only my hands belong on your body. Only my hands get to make you feel like this. Only mine.”

He works me with his fingers, rough and relentless, as his other hand grips my jaw to keep me turned toward him. My ass is still tender from the spanking, but my body responds to him like it always does. Traitorous and desperate, climbing toward release.

“Say it,” he demands, his fingers moving faster as his thumb rubs over my clit with merciless pressure. “Tell me whose hands get to touch you and make you feel good.”

“Yours,” I gasp, my hips bucking against his palm. “Only yours, Daddy. Only your hands.”

His lips crash into mine, his tongue invading my mouth as his fingers drive me over the edge. He swallows down my cries when I come, driving deeper into my pussy as I convulse around him. His fingers continue their assault, demanding orgasm after orgasm from me until I’m a sobbing mess, soaking his hand, and sitting in a puddle of my own arousal.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against my lips, his possession burning strong. Not withdrawing his fingers, he pulls me into his lap. “Only mine. Forever.”

I slump against him, my body throbbing and his fingers still buried deep. He leaves a slow trail of kisses along the curve of my neck, his breath warm against my skin as he murmurs promises of what awaits me when we get home.

But my thoughts are still on that dance floor… and the look on his face.

While it might come wrapped in jealousy and possession—and looks nothing like the kind of love I once imagined for myself—Vance Ashford cares about me.

The hot tub bubbles around us like a cauldron, steam rising into the November air where it mingles with the scent of wood smoke and dying leaves scattered across the deck like a crimson-and-gold carpet that crunches underfoot.

The corporate celebration for the groundbreaking of the South Side project ended a few hours ago. Now that the final guests have gone home, the luxurious North Shore lake house feels like a completely different place.

While it was packed with executives, investors, politicians, and Chicago’s elite, the polished formality of the evening has given way to an unexpected family weekend. Vance and his brothers decided to stay the night. And while I’ve been trying to keep her at arm’s length from this family, Kiki eagerly accepted Kaden’s invitation to join us.

Which I’m certain was solely to piss me off, since he disappeared halfway through the evening to meet up with some woman at the lake.

With the staff handling the cleanup and the rest of the world miles away, the sprawling house feels almost peaceful.