Once upon a time, when my heart had been torn to pieces with worry and I’d felt like I couldn’t go on, my brother Monty had sent me an email with three attachments—“The Rules.docx,” a contract, and a blank template for a personal profile. Give it a read, Robin, he’d written. Tell me what you think. I know that you’re burned out after caring for Mom, but if you have the inclination, I think I may have found the perfect client for you…

Previously, I’d told Monty that I wasn’t interested in taking on contract work for his company, Rent-a-Dom—that I was too busy caring for Mom and making weekend trips to unsuspecting casinos to dominate some alpha who wouldn’t remember me in a week’s time. The payout wasn’t worth it when I could spend a weekend counting cards and come out thousands of dollars richer, but Monty had changed my mind with a single sentence.

The client is Troy Sullivan.

Troy Sullivan, the hotshot casino mogul who’d threatened to “throw my ass in jail” if he saw me on his property again. The one who’d had me detained in the pit and dragged up to his private office like a petty thief so he could tell me what a lowlife I was for counting cards and stealing his precious money. His face, eyes narrowed with anger and lips curled in disgust, stuck in my memory. Of all the casinos I’d been banned from, and of all the encounters with casino personnel I’d endured, his was the one I’d never forget. Card counters in Vegas were a dime a dozen, but for whatever reason, he’d singled me out and brought me up to see him when I should have simply been escorted off the premises. He’d humiliated me when what I needed most was compassion.

If Troy Sullivan was my client, I was all in.

I’d filled out the personal profile, signed the contract, and perused the rules to refresh my memory while tucked into a lavish hotel room bed in Atlantic City. A year before, I’d written those same rules with Monty while he got his company off the ground—we’d both been going to business school at the time, and had moved to Vegas from our small hometown in Maine so we could simultaneously launch Monty’s startup, Rent-a-Dom. Originally, both of us were going to have equal shares in the company, but after Mom had gotten sick, I’d signed over all rights to him so I could take care of her while Monty stayed behind and built his empire. I’d been gone for so long that I only had vague recollections of what we’d decided was necessary, but as I familiarized myself, I was glad to see it was as simple and straightforward as I’d remembered.

A sexual content disclaimer—boring. Mandatory STD and background checks—yawn. The Dom can refuse a client if he or she desires—standard.

I’d abide by the rules down to the letter if it meant I’d be able to sink my claws into that man.

To think that I’d be bringing him to his knees? To think that I’d be the one calling the shots, and the one bending him to my will?

It had seemed too good to be true.

But it wasn’t.

Troy, intrigued by my blank profile picture and the single letter I’d submitted as my name—R—had signed on for a month-long package with me through Rent-a-Dom. That was all it had taken to make him mine. The next year and a half, he’d come back time and time again, paying any premium I’d demanded for a sliver of my time. What had started as a way to get revenge by making a profit off the man I despised the most had turned into something else—something cathartic. I’d never admit it out loud, but I’d found pleasure in dominating Troy.

I’d been hired to tell him no, but these days, it was getting more and more tempting to say yes.

At forty thousand feet, curled up in my extra-wide seat, I saw an excellent opportunity to remind Troy of what he couldn’t have.

Look at where I am, I wrote. Languidly, I tapped the camera icon and took a shot of my small, private cabin, with just my slippered feet in the shot. It was separated from the other first-class seats by a curtain, ensuring me at least a little privacy. I curled my toes against the plush bottoms of my slippers and inspected the picture to make sure there were no incriminating details in it, then sent it and its accompanying text off.

Troy saw the text almost immediately and started to type. I grinned.

Is it comfortable, Master?

Very. I raked my teeth across my lip, debating how to proceed. In the year and a half since Monty had matched me to Troy, I’d learned what he liked best about being financially dominated, and what didn’t work for him. It was my job to keep him happy, and sometimes, that meant going about our business in unusual ways. But why don’t you make it comfier? Tell me about how much money I earned today.

The reply was delayed. That in itself wasn’t unusual—most times, Troy double-checked figures before sending them to me. It was better that he was accurate than quick. He’d been punished more than once for having reported a faulty figure. I wouldn’t stand for sloppiness. A man like him needed to exercise caution in everything he did. A single botched number on a report could mean a loss in the hundreds of thousands, and while I wasn’t the IRS, I sure as hell was as capable of putting his balls in as tight of a vise as they were… and most times, I thoroughly enjoyed doing so.

But as the minutes ticked by and Troy failed to respond, I knew that something was up. Behavior like that wasn’t typical of him. I’d been gone all of a day while I got ready for my flight, and he’d gone and fucked things up already. The man was the least professional successful business owner I’d ever had the displeasure to meet.

He had to be doing it on purpose. There were times when Troy craved punishment more than he wanted to be rewarded. Why else wouldn’t he answer?

Give me an answer, Troy.

I was no stranger to how much money Troy’s casino made—and how much more money it could be making, if only Troy pulled his head out of his ass and restructured management. From time to time, when the mood was right, I played dumb and acted like I had no clue, but we both knew better. Troy got a kick out of roleplaying, and if the client was happy, then I was doing my job. Today, however, with Troy beating around the bush, wasn’t one of those days.

Profits are down today, Troy finally admitted. Very down.

Explain.

It was discovered today that one of the men on my executive team has been embezzling money from the casino—using a cleaning company as a front to write off millions of dollars over the years that he pocketed.

Disbelief narrowed my eyes, and I sent back a single word. What?

No one suspected a thing, Troy continued. I imagined his face tight with disappointment and worry, his thumbs flying across the screen of his phone as he composed his reply. One day the guilty party was here, the next he was gone. He’s disconnected his phones, gutted his office, abandoned his condo, and likely taken off for another country. Accounting is going over the records, combing the figures for suspicious activity so we can tabulate a total number… but it’s not looking good.

Fuck.

I scrubbed at my face, then looked away from the screen of the phone to the curtain separating me from the rest of the cabin. What I wanted was to call Troy up through my Wi-Fi connection so I could judge the tone of his voice and determine what he needed most from me right now, but the curtain wouldn’t keep our conversation private. While some travelers were happy to talk sensitive business throughout a flight, I was more sensible than that—Troy’s screw-up needed to stay between us. I had no choice but to keep texting.

The fact that Troy had responded to me at all meant that he was looking for comfort—for someone else to take the responsibility off his shoulders, even for a little. While I hated what the man had done to me, we’d spent too long together for me to feel nothing for his plight. If he needed me to dominate him, then I’d dominate the shit out of him.

And maybe, maybe…

An idea started to percolate in my mind, but I stored it away for later consideration.

I’m disappointed in you, Troy. It was a simple statement, but one I hoped would set the tone of what was to follow. If Troy didn’t want to be punished for his lack of foresight, then he could end the conversation before it got any more intense.

I know, Master. I’m sorry.

Tone was hard to discern through text, so I had to trust that Troy would be honest and tell me if he’d had enough. The fact that he hadn’t gently asked that I back off gave me the clearance I needed to push harder.

You know that you’ll be punished for this, don’t you?

Yes, Master.

I reclined in my seat and lifted the phone up, as if changing the angle of the screen could give me a new perspective on the situation. Even though Troy wanted for nothing, a loss in the millions was emotionally devastating. It was the kind of violation a man didn’t just shrug off.

How many times have I told you to have another set of eyes comb over the figures, Troy? I realized after sending the message that my hands were shaking. It wasn’t because I was particularly invested in Troy’s success—if his casino crashed and burned tomorrow, I’d move on—but because, when I tapped into my Dom headspace, it was hard not to feel like I wasn’t directly involved.

I’m sorry, Master.

Sorry isn’t good enough. Give me percentages. How much is this impacting your business?

We have to go over years of reports. The figures are steep. Early estimates predict between ten to fifteen percent of last year’s revenue is lost… and if the IRS audits us…

Double fuck.

I am very disappointed, I replied. Very, very disappointed. What is your plan?

I have my accounting division working overtime while I’m restructuring hotel management, looking for new employees with experience in reporting to take over while this mess gets sorted out.

No. I clenched my teeth. What is your plan to make it up to me?

Troy started and stopped typing several times. Then came the response.

I don’t know, Master. I don’t know how I can tell you how sorry I am.

I let a steady breath out through my nose, then let the calm, zen-like power that dominance brought me wash through my body, pushing out the negativity. Every action had an equal and opposite reaction, and Troy was about to learn that firsthand.

Of course you don’t have an idea, I wrote. You have no idea how to take care of yourself, do you, pet? That’s okay. I’ll teach you.

What do you mean, Master?

I glanced at the time as it was displayed on the top right corner of my phone, then pursed my lips and replied. Don’t let it bother you. You’ll find out soon enough.