As soon as he says the words, something that was open and vulnerable, it disappears. He’s back to his cocky, smirking self. I watch as he lifts his finger to his mouth, sucking on the digit before he lowers it to my center. I gasp when the wet finger swirls my clit.

“Whitaker,” I breathe.

He laughs softly as he scoots back on the bed. I feel his fingers slide along the inside of my thighs, stopping just at the apex. Tipping my chin down, I open my eyes. Connecting my gaze to his brown one, my breath hitches as he opens his mouth before placing it over my pussy.

“Oh, God,” I moan.

I feel his tongue taste my entire pussy. It’s warm, wet, and better than anything I’ve experienced before in my entire life. It’s feels better than the most decadent dessert, at the most expensive French restaurant in town, has ever tasted.

Taking a chance, I lift one of my hands and slip my fingers through his hair. It’s softer than I’d imagined, thicker too. His eyes lift to mine, focusing on them as his tongue plays me. He knows exactly what to do, and I don’t. I feel like I’m at a loss, like I’m drowning in a sea of stimulation.

He hums, as my fingers tighten their grasp. I whimper, climbing toward what I know must be my climax. I want it. I want him to give it to me, and I know it’s going to be epic.

Whitaker grips my thigh tighter, one of his hands shifting between his own legs. I groan as my head lolls to the side, my eyes focused on the way he strokes his long thick cock.

I lick my lips wishing I could move, but I can’t. My legs are spread too wide, his grip is too immobilizing, and his mouth feels too good to do anything but accept his touch and licks.

My entire body stiffens as I crest, climbing closer and then he does something to my clit that makes me fall over the edge, toppling down the side with a loud cry. Thank God I’m in this tower, away from anyone could possibly hear me.

Whitaker rips his mouth from between my legs, my hand falls from his hair and my legs twitch as my pussy pulses. I’m too exhausted to move. He rises to his knees, his eyes focused on mine and he strokes himself, harder and faster.

He groans, his head dipping as spurts of his release cover my chest. I watch in horrored fascination as ribbon after ribbon of liquid falls onto my skin. We don’t move once he’s finished. Both of our breaths too labored to even speak.

I watch as he lifts his hand, placing it in the center of my chest, where his cum is dripping all over me. He moves it, rubbing my breast with it. His eyes following the path.

“All woman, Stassia. You are all woman no matter the size of your perfect tits,” he mutters.

Once I’ve covered every inch of Stassia’s tits with my release, I climb off of her pretty white bed. Rearranging her tired legs, I tug her scraps of lace off of her body, throwing them onto the floor.

“Maid’s come to this side of the house on Wednesdays,” I announce. “They’ll clean, change your bedding, and launder your clothes.”

“That’s not necessary, I can do those things myself,” she whispers.

I stop moving around the room, turning to face her. Tilting my head to the side, I lose all semblance of the seemingly calm man that I am. “It isn’t up for negotiation. You are not a slave. You are not just a woman who lives here. You’re mine. You don’t cook, you don’t clean, and you sure as fuck do not do laundry.”

She rears back, her eyes wide with surprise. “What do I do, Whitaker?” she asks.

There’s a bite to her soft voice, but there’s also fear in there too. I don’t want her to be scared of me, not really, even though it’s sexy as shit right now.

My lips tip in a half-smile and I grin. “For now, you’re mine, that’s all you need to know. We’ll define what that means, it will change into something that we both can agree with. However, until I know more about you, and you me, your position will simply be—mine.”

“Your sex slave?” she grinds out.

I hum thinking about that. It wouldn’t be bad, but I’m not Rich. I don’t play those dominant games. I just plain am dominant. It’s not a kink, it’s not in the bedroom only, it’s my life and the only way I can feel completely in control, a need I have.

“If I wanted a slave, I’d have purchased a slave, Stassia. I’m a man with means, I know where to find one,” I say lifting a brow.

“What do you want then?”

Using my finger, I trail a path from the inside of her ankle, slowly drawing it up to her cunt. It’s warm and still a bit wet from her orgasm. It’s ripe for my cock, ready to be toyed with, played with, and stretched. I do none of those things.

I tap her clit once, then lift my eyes to hers. “I want everything, little girl. I want everything and you’re going to give it to me.”

Taking a step back, I turn around and make my way toward the door. Wrapping my hand around the knob I freeze. Turning my head back to look at her I deliver my instructions for the evening.

“You’re free to move around the house as you so desire. When you do so, please cover your body with something appropriate. You are not permitted to leave the house, yet. I have alarms with video surveillance. I will know if you do.”

“Whitaker,” she quietly calls. I pause, my eyes finding hers and my body wanting nothing more than to run back to her bed. “I’ll be everything for you,” she whispers.

Lifting my chin proudly, I don’t doubt her not in the slightest. “We shall see, little girl.”