Punished Read online

  Punished

  Penelope Bloom

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Logan

  2. Emmaline

  3. Logan

  4. Emmaline

  5. Logan

  6. Emmaline

  7. Logan

  8. Emmaline

  9. Logan

  10. Emmaline

  11. Logan

  12. Emmaline

  13. Logan

  14. Emmaline

  15. Logan

  16. Emmaline

  17. Logan

  18. Emmaline

  19. Logan

  20. Emmaline

  21. Logan

  22. Emmaline

  Epilogue

  23. Thank you

  Prologue

  She’s already glistening wet for me. My Kitten.

  I grip the leather paddle in my hand, dragging the edge down her spine slowly so I can watch goosebumps form in its wake, rippling across her milky soft skin.

  “You’re mine,” I say. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

  She moans softly, arching her back and pushing herself toward me imploringly.

  I smirk, wanting nothing more than to plunge my rock hard cock into her warmth, but that would be too easy. She has been hiding something from me. I’ve been seeing the signs for weeks now, and I’ve given her long enough to tell me on her own.

  “You don’t get to keep secrets from me,” I say, lowering my voice. I pull the paddle back and she tenses. I bring it down. Whack! She jolts, sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly with another soft moan. A bright red circle forms on her ass. Beautiful. I caress the heated mark, basking in her response to my touch. My voice is a whisper in her ear. “It’s your choice. Tell me now and I’ll give you what you came here for. Or you can keep hiding the truth from me and we’ll start every session this way.”

  She turns her head slightly. I can see just the tip of her pert nose and her long eyelashes. “I’m not hiding anything, Sir,” she says. There’s a tone of defiance in her voice that makes me clench my teeth and grip the paddle tighter. She turns her head to look toward the wall again, clutching the sheets tighter in her fists to brace for the paddle.

  I smirk. Fine by me. She can drag this out as long as she likes, but I’ll get what I want in the end. I always do.

  1

  Logan

  Two weeks earlier

  “Mr. Steel?” asks a hesitant voice.

  I look up to see my new secretary poking her head into my office. I gesture roughly for her to hurry up and come in. She straightens her skirt and noisily crosses the distance to my desk. Click. Click. Click. Her cream colored heels look uncomfortable, and there’s no way the tight pencil skirt she wears isn’t cutting off her circulation. She sets the file on my desk, making sure to lean forward enough that I could have an eyeful of her cleavage if I wanted.

  But I’m not in the mood. She’s not my type, for starters, and the last thing I need right now is to get entangled in another relationship that could hurt the image of my company. I’ve spent too long trying to fix the public’s opinion of me to throw it away now. A few years ago I might have taken her up on her obvious offer, adding fuel to the public’s opinion of me as a playboy billionaire. I was young, successful, filthy rich… and filthy between the sheets.

  Eventually, my business partners started to wonder if I was taking the company seriously. The fuckers tried to maneuver behind my back to take my own company out from under me. Their mistake. I left every last one of them in financial ruin. No mercy. No regrets.

  Now, I trust very few people. There’s my little sister, and my business partner, Dean. That’s it. Everyone else can go fuck themselves as far as I’m concerned.

  “Sir?”

  The secretary has worked her way around the side of my desk and I can smell her perfume. It’s nice, but she’s wearing too much. She’s trying too hard, and I can practically hear her heart thundering in her chest.

  I snatch the thick envelope from her hands and let it flop loudly in front of me. I temple my fingers in front of my forehead, breathing out my frustration. It’s not her. It’s this week. Hell, it’s this year. My patience has been pushed too far. I can feel myself on the verge of snapping. “That’s all,” I say, forcing a calmness into my voice that I don’t feel.

  I turn in my chair, looking out the floor to ceiling windows lining the back wall of my office. The view should be beautiful. I can see the entire city laid out before me. From up here on the 92nd floor, I can imagine it’s all mine. In fact, a lot of it is mine, but the realization brings none of the pride I thought it would while I was fighting and clawing my way to the top. For as long as I can remember, striving for more was enough. It was what got me out of bed in the morning and what helped me fall asleep at night. I knew I attacked every day with an intensity most men can only dream of, and I knew no one was better at this than me.

  I hear the click of my secretary’s heels and the door closing gently behind her.

  I huff a humorless laugh as I turn back to my office, taking in the opulence on display. “Living the fucking dream,” I mutter to myself dryly as I open the manilla envelope the secretary brought. I only need to read the first few words on the thick packet to know what it is. More of my ex-wife’s bullshit. I scan through the first page and realize she’s trying to get money out of me again. I guess the last check I cut her has dried up already.

  I flip through the pages of the document, knuckles turning white as I unconsciously grip the armrest of my chair. The lines keep referring to “the Newbury family” as potential recipients of the money they are seeking. Family. When I think of what she did to me, my reputation, and most of all to our unborn son… Fuck. It’s no wonder I have anger issues. I slide the packet to the side, making a mental note to deal with it later.

  It’s not like me to put something off, but today would have been his birthday, if she hadn’t…

  I sigh, shaking my head. It figures she would serve up some bullshit like this today of all days. I stand from my desk, sliding my arms into my jacket and adjusting my tie. I make my way through the empty office. Everyone else has gone home for the night. I’ve always been last to leave. Some might call it a point of pride, but it’s just how I operate. I have always out worked every last fucking person I’ve met. Nobody puts in more hours or more effort than me. That’s why I am where I am. I take my dreams by the fucking throat and beat them into submission. Maybe that’s why I don’t like the way they look when I finally reach them.

  I have a missed call from my sister, so I call her back as I pass through the darkened office. She picks up as the elevator dings and I step inside.

  “Hey, loser,” she drones.

  I smirk. Nothing like my sister’s perpetually sarcastic and dry personality to cheer me up. “What is it?” I ask.

  “Oh, I just wasn’t feeling depressed enough so I decided to call you. I can always count on you for bad news.”

  I raise my eyebrows, only slightly surprised that my sister’s intuition is so accurate. “Lana is trying to get three mil out of me this time.”

  “Shit,” says Olivia. She has a talent for cursing. She draws out the word, twisting it around her mouth so it sounds like the most filthy and black thing ever to pass through a human’s lips. I can practically picture her balling her fists, wanting to hit Lana. I’m not the only one in the family with a quick temper, and the thought makes me grin.

  “Before you ask,” I say, stepping into the lobby on the ground floor. “I’m still not giving you her address. The last thing I need is her murder on my conscience.”

  “You can afford any lawyer you want. Just sue the shit out of her for a change, Logan.”

  “Yeah,” I say sarcastically
, “And give her the excuse she has been waiting for to take her bullshit public and ruin me? I’ll pass.”

  Olivia sighs heavily. “Bullshit is the right word. I know you would never do any of that shit she said you did. Let her try to lie about it. The truth will come out.”

  “Right,” I say distractedly. I know my little sister just wants to help, but I still have to meet Dean and I have a long night ahead of me. “Look, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Asshole,” she says, but I can picture her crooked smile as she says it and hangs up.

  I step outside to a gust of wind. The cold November air bites straight through my suit coat and dress shirt, but it fits my mood just fine. A few years ago, this would have been the kind of mood that sent me prowling for a woman to slake my thirst. I would’ve buried myself in her for the night, teasing out her every need and desire, bringing it to life. Dominating her. Then Lana happened.

  I met her at a BDSM club and we had a healthy sex life. We had clearly defined boundaries. I never pushed beyond her limits and she loved every minute of it. Until she got pregnant. She was on the pill and it was a fluke. I never thought I wanted kids, but as soon as I knew it was like a bomb went off, rocking me to my core. I wanted to meet my son. I wanted to be a father. I wanted it so badly it hurt.

  After that, things are like a blur. I’ve thought about it so much the memory has gone dull, like an old polaroid that has been handled so much the ink has faded. I remember having yelling matches about it. But I never touched her. I never hurt her. We couldn’t agree about the baby, so she went to the club where we met and found some deranged asshole to beat her bloody. She had pictures taken to document the abuse and then claimed it was me., Then she ran off and got an abortion at some shady fucking place over the border where they don’t keep records. She took my son, and uses her bullshit evidence to squeeze money out of me whenever she wants more. According to her, she has enough evidence to bring me down and send me to prison overnight.

  If it costs me a few million a year to keep her off my case, so be it. I can afford it. The real damage is a hell of a lot less tangible.

  My play room has been closed ever since. I hid the key in the false bottom of a potted plant in my bedroom and left it in my past. All of it. I’ve been with women since, but I can’t take them the way I crave. Sex has become nothing but a release for me. The pleasure just isn’t there anymore. Lately though? My old desires have emerged stronger than ever. My body pulses with a desperate, pounding need to dominate. It might be the lack of fulfillment I’ve been getting from work lately. It might just be that it has been too long. I don’t claim to know why, but I do know it’s time. I’m ready to move on.

  I need to find the perfect submissive. I want to bend her to my will, to shape her, train her, and make her follow my every command.

  I thought that part of me was buried in the past. Maybe not. I feel a wild flush of excitement cut through the black mood I’ve been in. I could go to Club Crave. I’m still a member. It would be simple to cancel my evening plans for tomorrow. My dick hardens just thinking about it, but I’m not sure I could actually immerse myself in a dominant and submissive relationship again. Lana may have spoiled that for me, but I won’t know unless I try. Fuck it. Why not?

  2

  Emmaline

  I blow a loose lock of hair out of my face only to have it fall right back where it was in the first place. I sigh, feeling exhausted, but a little hopeful. The room is filled with boxes of baby onesies, headbands, little baby sized socks with decorative frills. My business started out with an Etsy account and a Cameo machine and grew to this in a few months. At first it felt like my dream was finally coming true. To keep up with the orders I had to bring my friend Scarlett on as an employee.

  My head feels like it is going to spin right off my neck when I start to think about taxes, health care, business insurance, and the tangle of other complications that come with this step for my company.

  I do what I always do when I start to get stressed about money though. I remember the trust fund my uncle Adam left for me. When I turn twenty-six tomorrow, it’s all mine. A hundred grand. It will be enough to cover the loans I had to take out to rent this office space, the debt I’ve already taken on from trying to finish my design classes, and all of my other bills. It will give me a fresh start, and the thought makes me giddy. It’s all going to work out, Emmaline.

  Scarlett is looking down at her phone as she crosses the room and accidentally trips over a box of onsies.

  She teeters to the side, stretches her arms out like a tightrope walker, and does a elegant little spin to catch her balance, all without even dropping her phone. She bows theatrically toward me with a big, cocky smirk. Scarlett has been a dancer her whole life, and she’s the clumsiest graceful person I’ve ever seen. Sometimes I think the only reason she’s so good at avoiding faceplanting all the time is she has so much practice at nearly doing it.

  “Smooth,” I say, grinning.

  “Woah,” she says, nudging a box with her toe. “When did you finish heat transfering the vinyl onto all these?”

  “Last night,” I say.

  She plants a fist on her hip, eyeing me. Scarlett has the red hair to match her name. I’m always jealous of how she can make something as simple as the grungy t-shirt and jeans she’s wearing look sexy. She’s not even wearing shoes and she still looks like she just walked off a fashion shoot. “Last night? As in after you told me you were headed home because you had already spent all day working?”

  “You could say that.”

  “We really need to find you a boyfriend. I think you could use a good, hard, fuck.”

  My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Scarlett has always been crude, but gosh. I’m still a little shocked by how sexually open she is. We’ve never really dived into the details, but I’ve gathered that she’s into some kind of kinky sexual stuff. My own experience with sex, outside the missionary position, is limited to when George Farmand’s finger brushed my asshole during sex one time. And I slapped his hand away like it was a snake.

  Yeah, I’m a real wild one.

  Another boyfriend though? I don’t think I could handle that right now. As much as I crave a relationship, I know it always leads to sex, and sex is… difficult for me. I’ve never been with a guy that could get me off. I don’t know why and it’s frustrating as hell, but it’s always the same. A few nice dates lead to unfulfilling sex. After the fruitless attempts, the disconnect between us grows and it just ends. Every time.

  Just thinking about it depresses me. It’s like there’s something in me that’s supposed to work and it’s broken. For the longest time I just thought I needed to find the right guy, but I’m starting to think there’s no such thing.

  “No thanks,” I say quietly.

  She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I know what we can do. My friend works for this super rich guy and they throw the most insane Valentine’s Day party every year for the employees. She said she could get me in, but I’m sure I could bring you too. Come on. It’ll be like a celebration for your trust fund money!”

  “I don’t know… It sounds a lot like we’d be crashing the party.”

  “And?” asks Scarlett, genuinely looking like she’s waiting for me to explain the problem with that.

  I bite my lip. It does sound nice. I have been consumed with my business and one look in the mirror at my frazzled hair and the circles under my eyes can attest to how little time I’ve spent taking care of myself. “Okay. I’ll go.”

  Scarlett claps her hands together and smiles wide. “You’re going to love it. I went last year. Just wait ‘til you see the host, Mr. Steel. He’s fucking gorgeous.”

  “Mr. Steel?” I ask, feeling a tingle run across my skin.

  Scarlett quirks an eyebrow at me. “You’ll see. Anyway, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to head out for the night.”

  “Sure,” I say. “Can you be in a little early tomorrow? I was hoping to get at leas
t half of these orders delivered.”

  Her eyes scan the room littered with boxes and boxes of clothes. She looks at me skeptically, but nods. “Bright and early. You got it, boss.”

  I laugh. “Would you please stop calling me that?”

  “Nope,” she says, waving over her shoulder as she gracefully hops over a box only to jam her toe into a table leg nearly toppling onto her face. As usual, she manages to spin out of a near fall and get her balance. She gives me a thumbs up over her shoulder as she leaves.

  I find a chair that’s not already occupied by clothes and plop down, checking my phone. I know what I’ll see but I look anyway. A text from my mom.

  Mom (5:21 P.M.): me and ronnie were looking at cruises. bahamas would be nice. havnt heard from u. dont be selfish, emm. its a lot of money ur uncle would have wanted u to share.

  I start to tap a reply out.

  “Sorry, Mom. Right now isn’t good. I have debt and business expenses, but in a few weeks, maybe a month--”

  I press and hold the delete button, setting the phone down roughly on the table beside me. Tears threaten to come, but I push them down. I won’t cry over her. Not anymore. She makes me feel like such a shitty daughter, but Uncle Adam left her just as much money as he left me when he passed away. The only difference is that she didn’t have to wait for hers. She blew it before the year was even over. Expensive dinners, clothes, jewelry, travel, and infomercial purchases. And not a dime of it went toward helping me with my college debt or living expenses.

  Now that I’m finally about to have my trust money, she’s suddenly texting and calling me all the time. A month ago I could’ve counted on one hand the number of times she reached out to me in the last few years. It makes my stomach sick, partly because I still feel like I should be able to do something for her, and partly because I know she’s using me. My own mom is trying to use me.