Owned by the Bad Boy(5)

By: Vanessa Waltz

A deep chuckle reverberates from his chest and I feel it through my back. “Who?”

He lifts himself, allowing me to glance at the stunned group of men staring at me. My heart sinks as I point him out. “Him. His name is Jean-François. He lives at 743 Oak Grove Street.”

The target’s face pales. “Jesus. She’s right.”

A long sigh leaves Luc’s chest. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll destroy the footage on the tape.” Then his voice darkens. “And she’ll be punished.”


I straighten, heart hammering again, but he flattens me back over the table.

“Fuck you!”

“Not yet, sweetheart.”

Chimes of laughter echo around me, heating my blood.

Fuck these fucking fuckers.

His finger slips under my thong and snaps it against my ass.

“What a tight ass.”

The purr in his voice sends a jolt of unexpected pleasure through my core, his hands still all over me. Good fucking God—how can you be turned-on right now?


A fierce heat floods my cheeks as he gently strokes me, knowing he’s giving them a full view. He snaps my underwear again, and it makes a loud sound. They bray like donkeys. I grit my teeth. He digs his hand in my hair and he turns my head, forcing me to look at the men crowded around me.

“Apologize to him.”

My chest heaving, I clench my teeth together. “Go to hell.”

Their faces crinkle with laughter, and Luc’s teeth flash at me.

“Maybe instead of giving a video of him gambling, we’ll send your boss a video of you getting spanked.”

Another wave of guffaws tenses my muscles.

Just the thought gives me hives, but the heat of his palm distracts me as he strokes my ass. My guts twist with humiliation at the same time that my core clenches.

“Fuck that—I’ll save it for myself.”

“No, you won’t!” I roar, twisting myself around.

He slams me back down. “Apologize.”


A yell tears from my throat as his hand strikes my other cheek, the pain stinging hard. He rips his hand down—again and again—the blows knocking the anger out of me until I only feel humiliation. Somehow I’m fucking turned-on, and even that’s humiliating.

“I’m sorry!” I finally scream.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

His tone brings another fresh wave of boiling heat up my throat, and then he soothes the burn spreading like hot little needles. He spreads his palm and strokes the smoldering flesh. My ass stings like a bitch, and tears cling to my eyelashes that I can’t wipe away. The massage is sensual—erotic. He grabs a handful of my ass and squeezes. Then he makes a guttural sound that makes my heart skip.


The hand disappears from my skin and my ears burn as the whole room explodes with sound, and my limbs shake as the harsh laughter rips apart every shred of dignity I have. He yanks me upright so that I fall against his chest, the dress falling back over my ass, and I take a good look at that piece of shit’s face. A wide grin stretches across, making his eyes sparkle. He’s having a good time. They all are.

Something inside me snaps.

I close my fist and throw my weight behind the punch, but he grabs my wrist a second before I hit his jaw. His eyes widen with amusement as I scream in frustration, and he yanks me before I can knee his balls.

“You fucking bastard!”

“Easy, sweetheart.”

I fight him like an angry cat, trying to claw and punch, but he seizes my other wrist and pins both behind my back easily. Then his mouth is at my neck, his lips dragging on my skin. A flare of desire explodes, quickly snuffed out by rage when he laughs in my ear.

“Calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He covers my mouth to smother the sound of my yells, and I realize that he’s steering me toward his office.


I dig my heels into the carpet, and a frustrated sigh blows over my ear.

“You’re going into my office. Either I drag you kicking and screaming, or I can let you go and you can walk inside.”

I look around the room wildly for help, but the men are already seated back at the poker table. They don’t give a shit about what happens to me in that office. The door is right there!

There’s no way I’ll get within two feet of it.

Fuck him.

I let my limbs go slack and he cautiously releases my arms, dropping his hand from my mouth. Without looking at him, I stride forward and grab the brass knob of his office door. It swings open and I stomp through, anything to get away from the bastards who just watched me get spanked. My stomach turns. A deep, sickening feeling that reminds me of humiliating memories of primary school burrows into my stomach.

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