Dirtiest Lie Read Online Free PDF Page B

denied,” he says with relish, and it reminds me of our first meeting. Expense disallowed!
    “Why?” I ask.
    “Because manners matter.” He smacks that wicked ruler against my ass, and it stings.
    But it’s not enough to stop me from rubbing my thumb over my clit. Because in the end, he can’t stop me from playing with my own body.
    I’m close. Very close. Just twenty, maybe thirty seconds, and—
    Hawthorne drops the ruler and lifts me off his lap.
    For a moment I’m in the air, then he easily flips me onto my back. He jerks my hands from between my legs and holds them over my head.
    It doesn’t matter how much I struggle; Hawthorne is much stronger than I am. Plus, he’s clearly done this before.
    The futility of my situation doesn’t stop me from trying to escape. Hawthorne doesn’t seem to mind, though; he easily maintains control of my body.
    Damn, it feels good to physically oppose him.
    He leans over, washing me in his masculine scent, to retrieve the ruler. “Open your legs,” he says.
    Eying the punishing piece of wood in his hand, I consider my options. “Why?”
    He grins, a flash of perfect white in his face, which is lightly tanned from playing tennis outdoors. “Because I told you to,” he says, and he underscores his point by slapping the ruler’s flat tip across my mound.
    It doesn’t hurt at all. In fact, it’s just a tiny bit of stimulation.
    I open my legs for him. One of the garter belt’s straps gets caught and pops open.
    “Good,” he says, and he leans over to kiss me.
    Instead of a real kiss, I receive a sharp nip. Another one of Hawthorne’s kisses, a type that I forgot to categorize. I mentally add it to the list.
    He rotates the ruler and begins tapping it against my pussy. At first it just feels good, but within thirty seconds, it hurts.
    Really hurts.
    He’s not punishing my clit. It’s my thighs that are taking the brunt of the punishment.
    “Now,” he says, tap, tap, tap , “are you going to behave?”
    “Yes,” I moan. I can’t look away from him. He’s unfairly attractive, which is one of the things about him that drives me crazy. I’m getting used to it, and how unfair that he gets to be effortlessly hot and how that lets him get away with all kinds of crap that an average-looking man would never dare try.
    Like denying women orgasms.
    The taps slow. “Turn over,” he says, only loosening his grip on my wrists by a tiny amount—just enough so that I can flip across his lap.
    Now I’m facedown again. The underwire in the bra is a bit uncomfortable. It wasn’t before.
    He tightens his grip around my wrists, and I moan.
    “You like when we physically control you, don’t you?” he murmurs.
    He slams the ruler across my buttocks so hard that for a moment, I don’t see anything, and in the next breath, what I can see—the edge of the chair, my arms stretched out, the floor, the bookcase in the corner—is blurry with tears.
    “Breathe through it,” he says. “Fill your lungs, then empty them slowly.”
    Which I do. As I inhale, I feel that his cock is completely hard against my expanded ribs. As much as I like this, he probably likes it even more.
    Apparently we’re a couple of perverts, but because he’s the one in charge, the one directing things, I decide that makes him the bigger pervert.
    Slowly, I breathe out, and Hawthorne allows me to slide onto the floor.
    “I have work to do,” he says. “Go under my desk. You’re to keep my cock in your mouth, and it stays there unless you have something to say. Something genuine.”
    “Whatever that means,” I murmur.
    He points, and I crawl under the desk. I have to keep my head bowed, and it’s dark and not exactly comfortable.
    Hawthorne rolls his chair in, and I grab his cock. There’s not much room to maneuver, but I get him into my mouth.
    I can hear the rustle of paper as Hawthorne resumes his work.
    The phone rings. Hawthorne answers it. He’s not even breathing hard, and when I start