My heart feels like it’s beating through my rib cage. I could swear Mason just asked me to take off my clothes, but that can’t be right. “Excuse me?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “By now, I think you’d know that indecision isn’t a quality I value, Miss Landers.”

My entire body begins to quiver. His eyes burn through my jumper and burrow under my skin, deep into my bones. I chew on my lower lip, unsure how to proceed. Surely this must be some kind of joke.

“Shoes first,” he says, sweeping his gaze over my feet.

A numbness washes over my skin, transporting me from reality to this surreal moment.

“You can’t be—“

“I am,” he says darkly. “Now take it all off. Or leave immediately.”

My mouth goes dry.

What is happening?

“You want me to take off my clothes,” I say, astonished.

“I think I’m speaking plainly enough.” He folds his arms, seeming a bit bemused, but still deadly serious about his demands.

“I don’t think this is allowed.”

“I’m allowing it,” he replies. “Not only am I allowing it, I’m making it a condition of your employment. Now strip or leave.”

My thoughts race through all the possibilities, calculating the risks and rewards of various responses and actions.

In the end though, I operate on pure instinct.

It’s as though my mind and body are disconnected, signals crossing even as I slip first out of my heels, and then slowly unzip the front of my jumper. My stomach fills with butterflies and my head with trepidation. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is wrong. Unethical, even. But that knowledge isn’t enough to make me pause.

Mason commands the room. This moment. Even my traitorous body.

What the hell is going on?

I slide the jumper off my shoulders and down to my waist, fingertips skimming the soft flesh on my hips.

My cheeks burn red.

Knowing the kinds of women he’s used to seeing naked makes this that much more horrifying.

At the same time, I can’t deny that I actually like this at some level.

I like knowing he wants to look at me.

Mason’s eyes lock on my chest, and I’m acutely aware that my taut nipples peek through my bra. My breath hitches. I exhale slowly, as if to pause the inevitable. A low growl emits from Mason’s throat, and it flips a switch inside of me.

He leans back in his chair and crosses his feet on the glass surface of his desk. “Don’t stop now, Miss Landers. Things are just starting to heat up.”

Jesus. He isn’t kidding. My teeth sink into my lower lip hard enough to sting.

Turning away for a moment to gather my courage, I unclasp my bra, then lean forward, cradling my full breasts with my cool hands. As the narrow straps slide over my shoulders, I turn back to him and let the bra fall to the floor. Every nerve ending in my body snaps to attention, truly awakened for the first time.

Looking down at my chest, I see that my nipples are tightly puckered, their color deepened by arousal, and as round and firm as two ripe berries. A flush of embarrassed heat creeps up the side of my neck and behind my ears.

“More,” Mason says, his voice a low drawl of lust.

My hands trail across my stomach and along my sides, pausing as I hook my fingers under the thin material of my jumper, so that I can shimmy it down my hips. The cool, conditioned air nips at my skin, leaving tiny goose bumps along my flesh.

“I…I didn’t…” My words fail me as I hesitate to take it all the way down.

“All of it must come off,” he states flatly, and finally I comply.

I’m now completely nude and at his mercy.

Mason’s eyebrow quirks. “No underwear?”

I lick my lips. “They didn’t, uh, work with the outfit,” I say, voice cracking with humiliation. Every part of me wants to melt into the floorboards, disappear into thin air.

“Perhaps I underestimated you, after all.” He nudges his head toward me, narrowing in on the soft curve of my stomach, bloated from too much wine and ice cream. I’m sure he can see my heart beat under my skin, can hear its rapid thump of fear. “Continue.”

My chest fills with air. I allow the jumper to fall to the carpet, leaving me with only a thin pair of nude nylons, pressed tight to my skin.

“Fuck me,” Mason says in a low growl that curls my toes. “You’re so god damned sexy.”

No one has ever said that to me before, and my pussy clenches in response. The musky scent of my juices whispers under my nose.

Mason kicks his feet off the desk and stands. He walks toward me and shoves his hands in his pockets, drawing my attention to his groin. Beneath his trousers, his hard cock points erect. A rush of unexpected power—and desire—radiates from my core.

In one swift motion, Mason grabs my waist and spins me around. Before I know it, I’m bent over his desk, my cheek flat against the glass surface, blood rushing to my head. He pushes up against me, hard cock tight against my ass, and grinds his hips. “What does your gut tell you now, Miss Landers?”

A lump of unease inches up my throat, rendering me speechless.

His fingers curl under the waistband of the nylons and gently tug. I can hear the material begin to tear as he pulls them down over my buttocks to reveal my naked ass. My butt muscles clench.

Mason’s breath feathers across my neck. “Do you remember why you’re being punished, Miss Landers?”

I swallow hard. “Yes, Mr. Wood.”

“Good.” His fingertips drift along the curve of my ass. “Lovely.”

Without warning, the flat of his hand connects with my skin, sending a tingling vibration down from my buttocks to my thighs. The first slap is gentle, little more than a pat, and strangely sensual. I suck in a gasp.

“Did you like that?” he asks, catching me off guard with a stroke much firmer, more painful than the last. The sting takes me by surprise but I can’t lie. “Yes,” I say, so softly I barely hear it myself.

My mind just keeps repeating:

This isn’t happening.

Mason Wood did not tell me to strip naked and then put me over his desk to punish my bare bottom.

He spanks me again, twice in succession and with increasing force. I bite my lip to stop from crying out and barely have time to recover before he paddles me again. This time, I bite back a scream that is also a moan. Tears spring to my eyes but I blink them back. Why do I like this?

Mason flips his hand over and trails his fingers along my skin, soothing the stinging sensation with a gentle caress. “The markets can be very unforgiving,” he says, whispering. “They ebb and flow with unpredictability.”

My butt glows, throbs, pounds with hot blood that races through the tissue. It hurts, no question, but I’m reluctant to ask him to stop, because beneath the discomfort there’s something else. A low, deep throb of erotic pleasure.

His hand dips between my thighs, fingertips just grazing the tip of my clit. A delicious wave of ecstasy ripples through to my core. I let out a noise that is more whimper than moan, an almost plea for him to continue.

His palm connects again with my skin, harder. I dig my fingers into the side of the desk, arching and squirming. My flesh is pins and needles, stinging and numb. An intense yearning aches between my thighs, unlike anything I’ve ever before experienced.

“Sometimes, the markets can be cruel,” Mason says.

The ominous tone of his voice makes me clench, and yet, I’m still shocked when his hand hits my ass with another sharp slap. His fingertips drag across the tip of my clit and I feel the last of my willpower unravel.

My orgasm comes swiftly, unexpected. One second I’m biting down to stop from crying out, and the next, my pussy is clenched and throbbing beneath his touch. A wave of pleasure spasms through me, and in the throes of my climax, I whisper Mason’s name.