"I can see that punishing you is going to be a regular occurrence."
Her hand went to her elbow, a protective gesture, and his suspicions were confirmed. Punishment had been meted out, but not to discipline. It had been to break her, demean her. "You need to know what true punishment is."
She spun in her seat and fire blazed in her eyes once again. "I have been punished. I know what it is. There's nothing you can teach me about that."
Against his better judgment, almost instinctively, his hands shot out to grip her shoulders and pull her over the console, her breasts barely grazing his chest. "You've been abused, not punished. This is punishment."
His lips hovered a hairsbreadth from hers, his gaze tangled with hers. Her hand slipped between their bodies, presumably to shove him away, but it only rested on his chest. Her breath caught, and she melted toward him, arousal bright in her dilated pupils, in the warmth of her flushed skin.
He could have her here, show her the pleasures to be had from someone who knew what they were doing. God knew he wanted to. But he set her away from him and leaned back in his own seat, hardening himself against her sob of frustration.
"That was punishment," he whispered. For both of them. But he had to be firm with her.
"You bastard." She spat the words.
"Tsk. Tsk. You've let your training slip." He pulled a card from his wallet. "Be here tomorrow night. I'm having a party. You know the dress code. You can begin your month with me then." He gazed at her steadily. "If you don't show, I won't give up." He smiled. "By the way, my name is David Peters. What's yours?"
She snorted and shook her head. "My name is Lee Sidle, and I won't be there tomorrow night."
"As you wish," he said calmly though his blood boiled at her refusal. "But let me tell you this. If you let the fear win, you'll always be a slave to it. Always."