If I thought about it, I probably could have come up with a time where I’d been more mortified than I had been Saturday night, but I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head. I told myself that wasn’t because a memory didn’t exist, but rather because I’d long since buried it.

I wished I could do the same with what happened in the limo. The tension between us at the show had been bearable, but the moment he’d kissed me, everything had turned upside-down.

I should have remembered that no matter how good-looking Reb was, no matter how much I might be attracted to him, he would never be the sort of man I could trust. Not to that extent anyway.

I would do my job, and I would do it well. I’d give Sybil no cause to regret giving it to me. Once I could claim Reb’s new, good image as a product of my hard work, Sybil could feel confident giving me more. I could see it all ahead of me. Lots of nights working late. No social life. No men. No friends.

It was everything I’d ever wanted.

And if I kept telling myself that, I might believe it one day.

I looked down at the message I’d gotten from Reb twenty minutes ago. Late start. Let yourself in.

I didn’t want to think about why Reb’d had a late night. He’d looked so horrified at the realization that I was a virgin that I suspected he’d gone out yesterday to find someone more experienced to fuck. Someone who didn’t come across as so desperate and needy.

A flush of shame colored my cheeks, and I pushed those thoughts down as far as I could. I was done thinking about him that way. From here on out, he was only going to be a client. Mr. Union. Nothing else.

I knocked first, just in case Reb was within earshot of the door, but when he didn’t answer, I let myself in as he’d instructed. I supposed he felt safe enough with the security doors downstairs, the doorman, security detail, and the keycard necessary to get to his floor. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere in New York City where I could leave the door unlocked like that.

“Re – Mr. Union?” I called as I entered the apartment. No answer. I walked a bit farther in, wondering if I’d find him passed out on the couch. The place was clean, which surprised me. I hoped that meant he was still sober.

I suddenly realized that I could hear the shower running, and a flood of heat hit me along with the memories of what his skin looked like wet. Those tattoos. That skin. Those muscles.

“Dammit,” I cursed softly.

I needed to find a distraction.

Fortunately, fate seemed to take some sympathy on me, and I spotted something on the end table next to the couch. The Muse by Ericka Summers. I knew that name, but couldn’t quite place why. Not that it mattered, I would’ve read pretty much anything at the moment if it meant I could stop thinking about the fact that Reb was naked and wet only a few yards away.

I sat down and picked up the manuscript, making a mental note to ask how Reb ended up with it in the first place…then I remembered that this was a distraction so I could stay professional. It was none of my business how he’d gotten this from Ms. Summers.

I flipped it open to the acknowledgment page. To my one and only muse. You are my life.

It was simple, and even more beautiful for the simplicity.

I turned to the first place and started to read.

The sound of the whip came a split second before it struck, a sharp crack that echoed off the walls. Her whimper was a softer sound, but it still made his cock even harder. It was art, what he did, though most wouldn’t see it that way. Art could be sensual, even bordering on sexual, but once erotic was the word used to describe it, people started getting twitchy.

He frowned. The people here appreciated his talents, but if he couldn’t concentrate, he couldn’t deliver, and they’d start looking elsewhere. Not that he needed the job, per se, but having him here was mutually beneficial. He drew a crowd for the club and was able to create his art in a safe environment. He could never let anyone see his face. His identity had to remain a secret, and this was the best way for that to happen…

It didn’t take me long to get caught up in the world of Maximillian von Strauss, the Dominant billionaire recluse, and the object of his obsession and affection, reluctant club hostess Chastity Powell. Sure, her name was a bit on-the-nose, and alpha billionaire romances weren’t usually my preferred genre, but the writing was amazing, the characters likable even with their flaws. Despite my preconceived notions of the romance genre – particularly the erotic vein – The Muse had substance.

And the sex…one scene was hotter than the next.

Max had told her when they’d first come together that he intended to have all of her, and she was now starting to realize exactly what that meant.

She was naked and face-down, head turned to the side, silk sheets cool beneath her body. Her arms and legs were spread wide, each bound to the four corners of the bed. The restraints were soft, which she had learned meant whatever he had planned for her would make her try to break free. The thought didn’t frighten her though, not beyond the small bite of anticipatory fear. She knew she had only to say the word, and he’d release her.

She heard the door open but didn’t speak. Over the past few days, she had learned what he expected of her. He liked to talk, but only wanted her to answer questions, not give voice to anything else unless it was to stop the scene. And she didn’t want that.

She felt the bed dip as he climbed between her legs. She shuddered as his finger slid inside her. She was wet, of course. She was always wet around him.

Something cool and smooth brushed against her entrance, and she sucked in a breath as a thin dildo slid inside her. It wasn’t nearly as large around as he was, barely larger than his finger, but every nerve in her body was on edge, ready for whatever he had planned. She suspected what it would be, but it wasn’t until he removed the toy from her pussy and spread her cheeks that she knew she was right.

“I’m going to take your ass tonight, Chastity,” he said quietly. “There will be times when it will hurt, but if you can bear it, I promise you an experience more intense than anything you’ve had before.”

She nodded, but it was an acknowledgment rather than permission. By not saying her safe word, she gave consent.

“Ahhh…” It was half a moan, half some other sound entirely, but it wasn’t a conscious choice she made, simply the noise that escaped as Max eased the slick plastic shaft into her ass. She felt a faint burn, but nothing painful. More uncomfortable than anything else.

And then his fingers were in her pussy, relentlessly stroking her to an orgasm even as he fucked her ass with the dildo. She whimpered and gasped, closing her eyes to allow the sensations to wash over her. For an eternity, he stretched her ass even as he took her to the edge again and again, never letting her fall over it. She didn’t beg, knowing he’d tell her if he wanted her to, but it was almost impossible not to plead with him to let her come.

Without warning, her ass and pussy were both empty, and she felt the heat of him as he leaned over her back and put his mouth against her ear.

“Once my cock starts filling your ass, you can come as much as you want, say whatever you want. I want you to come apart underneath me, holding nothing back.”

She nodded again, body trembling with its need for release. When the head of his cock pressed against her anus, she knew she’d come the moment he penetrated her, pain or not. She needed it. Needed him.

He leaned forward and–

“Find anything interesting to read?”