Bent over John's desk, blazing pain slammed into Nicole's bottom. The impact of the hard paddle echoed around the CEO's office, bouncing off the walls and marble floor. Landing in her ears, it confirmed the pain her butt deserved for the way she'd treated Alexa.

“Six, sir,” she cried out, her breath rasping with pain.

Marking off each addition to her punishment forced her to take part. She couldn't let her mind wander off while she endured it. She must accept each painful swat out loud and surrender to her agony.

When girl code had begun, they hadn't expected to both be in white panties often, but weeks went by with the gym shoe keeping them in line. So when it came time for the paddle, it was all the worse.

Nicole panted the count as John scorched fire into her thin black panties eight times.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

She obeyed. Glancing at Alexa, who was leaning against the conference table in a stunning short red dress, she nodded. Being punished in front of her friend was embarrassing, but it needed to be. The shame made her humble.

Their girl code demanded she bend with respect in front of her friend. Even if it hadn't, her self-respect would have ensured it. She'd promised to sit at the bar and provide cover while Alexa met a doubtful date. Caught up messaging another friend, she'd missed the signal twice. The dropped cocktail umbrella had been subtle the first time. After the second, Alexa had stormed out of the bar, furious with her date and even more furious with her best friend.

Earlier, Nicole had dropped her suit pants and stood in plain black, a stark contrast to her best friend in pure white. Her darkest panties, the very least apology her friend deserved.

She faced John, her hands by her sides despite the fire storming in her butt. “Thank you for paddling me, sir.”

“You took it well.”

She bent down and pulled up her black suit pants. Tears threatened to spill as Alexa came over and gave her a hug.

“Sorry.”

“Shh,” Alexa said. “You're a good girl.”

Taking their leave, Nicole rubbed her butt with vigor while Alexa gathered their bags and coats.

Nicole glanced up at the huge wall clock in their impressive atrium reception. It was 9.55 am. She didn't have to guess who she was here to collect. She'd seen him as soon as the elevator doors had sprung open. Even seated, she could tell he was tall. Clean-shaven, with olive skin and crisp, short dark hair, he was pure Italian. Crossed legs revealed strong thighs tight in his gray suit pants. Alone, his suit would have told her everything. Its sharp lines put him head and shoulders above the corporate cyphers seated nearby.

“Riccardo?” she asked, leaning into her R's. She'd been learning Italian for almost a year. Her love of the culture only enhanced by her understanding of their words.

He smiled up at her.

“From Assicurazione Familiari?” She wrapped her tongue around the pleasant words.

He nodded. Her flawless pronunciation of his company name would have been enough to grab his attention. Her lithe curves, intriguing smile, and blonde hair did nothing to dissuade his interest.

“Buongiorno,” she said.

“Good Morning,” he replied, standing. “We speak English, yes?”

She looked up from his chest and met his blue eyes. Smiling to cover herself, she said, “How's Florence?”

“As beautiful as always. Have you been?”

She hadn't yet. “Non ancora, ma l'ho sempre voluto.”

“With such good Italian, you'll enjoy it when you do.”

As the elevator doors pinged open on the twentieth floor, she led the head of Italy's largest insurer to John's office and returned to her own, her bottom aching on her chair whichever way she sat.

Wrapping up with Riccardo at the conference table in his office, John said, “Would you like lunch?”

“That would be lovely. Your assistant speaks excellent Italian and has impeccable manners.”

“She's full of surprises,” John smiled, unsurprised to learn this significant fact about his efficient assistant.

“Would it be inappropriate to invite her to accompany us to lunch?”

Thinking on his feet, John said, “I'll ask her to invite her friend along as well to balance the numbers.”

“Perfect.”

Popping through to Nicole's office, John said, “Book lunch at Drakes. It would be nice if you and Alexa could join us. Could you let her know?”

Recognizing the question as an instruction, she said, “Yes, sir.”

“I hear you speak excellent Italian.”

She grinned, thrilled by the compliment.

Alexa had never turned down a good steak in her life. It was one of the many things she and Nicole agreed on. The invitation to join John, Riccardo and her best friend at Drakes was not an imposition. Seated beside Nicole, she glanced across at her friend. Nobody would know she had taken a severe paddling last night.

As Nicole tucked into her juicy filet, her bottom ached on the chair. Tomorrow it would hurt more. A good paddling lasted and deepened. And John only ever gave good ones. It had made her respectful, demure and obedient. Stylish grace and good manners were only natural in a punished girl.

Slicing into his sixteen-ounce sirloin, Riccardo admired the blonde. He'd spotted her the instant she emerged from the elevator. Her height and beguiling walk, her soft voice and her surprising and excellent Italian had all drawn him in. As she placed her cutlery on the plate with care, he said, “You have impeccable manners.”

“Thank you,” Nicole said, smiling up at him under her blonde fringe. “Sometimes I miss a beat, but I try.”

“I haven't noticed you miss a thing,” he smiled.

“If you had, would you tell me?”

Alexa and John tuned in to the flirtatious banter. It was impossible to ignore the sparks flying across the table.

“In a quiet moment, I might.”

“I'd respect you for it.”

“You're pleasurable company,” he said. “I'm here for a week. Maybe we could meet again?”

“I'd like that,” Nicole said, her fingers touching her neck.

Alexa noticed. The signals Nicole was giving off radiated her interest. Leaving her Italian-obsessed friend, she turned back to John, watching his decisive movements as he conquered his steak. He looked up, and she leaned towards him. “So, do you sail?”

“How did you know?”

She blushed. “The books on the shelves behind your desk.”

He smiled. The only time she'd been close enough to read the titles was bent over his desk. He pictured her cute panties. The memory turned him on. In front of him, her beautiful brunette hair and soft blushing face did nothing to help his state.

“I keep a fifty-foot sailboat at Little Bay.”

“What's she called?”

“Wind Dancer.”

“And you sail her yourself?”

“Yes. I have my commercial yacht-masters.”

“Wow. Mine was in a twenty-two-foot sport cruiser. It will have lapsed by now.”

“I didn't know you sailed.”

“Little Bay was where I grew up. I lived on the water until I was sixteen.”

“Why did you stop?”

She grinned. “Boys were more interesting. Since I moved to the city, I haven't thought of it, but I miss sailing.”

“I have a crewman who lives onboard. He keeps the boat shipshape and in regular use. On weekends, I take her out by myself for some quiet.”

“Except for the sounds of water lapping at the hull and the slam of the sails as the wind hits them,” she smiled at the memory.

“Would you like to sail with me?” It had slipped out before he'd considered the consequences. She worked for him, albeit elsewhere in the company. It was too late; he couldn't take it back. And didn't want to.

“I'd love that,” she said, picturing him in command behind the wheel, the sails full and the boat heeling.

“What are your thoughts?” John asked Riccardo. Back in his office, they'd taken up residence on the couches in the corner.

“The deal makes sense. The cost savings in claims processing and risk assessment alone make financial sense.”

“I agree.”

“There are emotional costs to our deal, on both sides,” Riccardo said. “I'd like to take some time to consider it. I'm not negotiating. The numbers we talked about are in the right range and I'm confident our people will come to a final price.”

John nodded. “What are some emotional costs for you?”

“Our company's home is in Florence. Yours is here. Some people might like to move, but uprooting people never goes well.”

“They're the things which sink a deal after it's done,” John agreed. “I'm glad they're on your mind.”

“I have to confess; it's not the only thing on my mind.”

John smiled. “Nicole?”

Riccardo nodded. “Might I ask her to show me the city this afternoon?”

John reached for his phone and tapped a message. 'Do you want to show Riccardo the city, or should I dissuade him? - Not an instruction. Up to you. I think he likes you.'

The response was instant. 'Don't dissuade him - Please?!'

He grinned at Riccardo. “Don't sweep her off her feet. I need her here in the morning.”

Putting down his coffee, Riccardo smiled. “No promises.”

Nicole floated next to Riccardo as they walked through the park. Cinched at the waist, her short-sleeved black minidress lay over her punished bottom. It had been an excellent choice this morning.

Enduring her soreness with pride, she glanced up at him. He ticked every box on her lifelong list, but would he bend her over and beat her if she deserved it? Among their discussions of architecture, the park and their lives, it wasn't easy to ask.

Beside the duck pond, they approached a worn wooden bench. “Shall we sit?” he asked.

She smoothed her soft dress under her legs and lowered herself onto the wood. Sharp aches shifted as her muscles took up new positions. She smiled.

“That smile has captivated me since this morning.”

“Yours isn't bad,” she grinned.

“I like you, Nicole, perhaps more than I should.”

Her dream was one thing, but the tall, dark reality sat beside her was far more complex. He lived in another country. She had a job, a life and friends.

“I'm not dating right now,” she told him. “I'm pursuing my dreams.”

He turned towards her. “What are they?”

Taken aback by the direct question, she told him the truth. “I want to explore Italy and your culture, maybe get a job there one day, own a villa in Tuscany and watch the sun go down over my olives or vines.”

He smiled. “In all history, I doubt any girl has ever given such a precise answer.”

He pulled out his phone and flicked through his photos. He had an advantage and every reason to deploy it.

She watched his strong fingers command the phone. He spun it towards her and said, “Like this?”

She took it and zoomed in on the pale stone villa. Rundown and lacking in glamour, all the potential was still there.

“I'd imagined something more livable.”

“Your dreams are what you make them. Behind that villa used to be miles and miles of vines. My great grandfather once made wine there.”

Her heart flipped through the logic. She organized parties, meetings, and an entire company of people. Restoring a villa should be within her capabilities. “I don't know what to think,” she said, dazed.

“Say you'll spend as much time as you can with me over the next few days before I fly home.”

She'd be crazy not to. No man had ever come close to her dreams, let alone matched them.

His powerful gaze heated her sex. She leaned close. “I'd love to.”

His lips secured hers as his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight to her agreement. He smelled like fresh-cut grass with a pleasing but bitter aura of strength. Her sex tightened as the intensity of their kiss deepened.

Her bottom ached as she shifted onto one cheek and leaned into his chest. She imagined bending over the low stone wall in front of the Italian villa on his command; her light summer dress lifted to expose her fresh white panties. He stood over her and strapped her hard for a silly argument. Sore under the Tuscan sun, he demanded better and offered no apology for belting her.

Her mind alive in the park, she softened against the man of her dreams. They could solve any tensions if he would punish her, but she only had a few days to find out.