An unfamiliar chime from my phone wakes me out of a nightmare. My hands are bound behind my back and I’m on my knees, begging a faceless man to kill me.

With chills racing across my skin, I jerk up in bed, the tides of fear from the dream receding until my eyes snap open and I find myself in a dark room. I reach for my phone as the chime rings again, and use the glowing screen to illuminate the room as my head throbs.

Mount’s room.

Last night.

The vodka.

“Oh fuck!” I jump out of bed, remembering what I have to do today.

My appointment is at ten a.m. at the bank. I’m supposed to withdraw the cash, put it in a duffel bag, and then walk outside and around the block and drop the duffel bag through the open back window of the black Suburban that will be parked at the curb.

I’ve run through the plan so many times in my head, I’m ready to rock.

A cool breeze sweeps through the room, and my nipples pucker. I cover them with my hands, shocked when I touch skin.

What the hell? I didn’t fall asleep naked.

That means . . . I search the dark room for the man who must have stripped me last night, but there’s no noise coming from anywhere in the room.

Using the glow of my phone, I stumble to the door to flip the switch of the overhead lights. I am most definitely naked.

That bastard.

My gaze drops to the time on the phone screen, and I convince myself I’m still drunk when I see the appointment reminder . . . for noon . . . in fifteen minutes. Is that why the chime that woke me sounded different?

I blink twice, because there’s no way in hell I’m really seeing that time. I set two alarms so I wouldn’t miss my rendezvous with my not-so-dead husband. There’s no way I slept through both of them. Is there?

I tap on the appointment reminder, and the full text pops up.

Your prior appointment has been handled. Your creditor, however, requires your presence in the private study at noon because you’ve got debts to pay and they’re past due.

Open the nightstand drawer. Wear what’s inside. Bring the leather box to me through the door you attempted to open last night.

Do not speak until you’re spoken to.

The last line makes my palm itch to slap him, but I’m quickly distracted by the rest of the cryptic message.

What the hell does your prior appointment has been handled mean? Does that mean he paid off Brett? Or . . .

I don’t want to consider the alternative, because the only thing that matters right now is my family’s safety. I tap the phone icon and pull up my mom’s cell phone number. It rings three times, and I pace the room as I wait for her to answer.

She doesn’t. And her cheery voice-mail message is no comfort.

“Sorry I missed you! I’m probably on the golf course right now. Text me, and I’ll call you back when I finish on the eighteenth green.”

My dad’s cell phone is next. It rings twice before he picks up, and I heave a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank God.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen at the distillery?”

In that moment, my dad’s gruff voice is the best sound I’ve ever heard. I don’t even care that retirement hasn’t changed him and the distillery always comes first.

“No, no problem. I just wanted to make sure you and Mom were okay. Is everything fine?”

“You having one of those walking-over-your-grave moments? Is that what this is?” my dad asks, always the superstitious one.

I swallow back the fear that gathered in my belly when I got my mom’s voice-mail recording. “You could say that. When Mom didn’t pick up, I worried.”

“We’re fine. She’s out with Jury getting their nails done. For some reason or another, she decided to show up at our door last night with nothing but a backpack. I swear to God, that girl will never grow up. She’s too old to be acting like this still.”

“Jury’s there? Did she say why?” I’m actually happy to hear it. That’s one less member of my family I have to make sure is breathing this morning after I didn’t follow through on my end of the bargain with Brett.

Little by little, the rigidity of my spine eases.

“She said she’s between jobs. Needs a place to crash, and figured she might as well see us and kill two birds with one stone. I swear, if she starts dancing on bars around here, I’ll never live it down at the club.”

I close my eyes, thankful to hear my father bitching about my sister like he usually does, instead of the horrible alternative.

“I’m sure she won’t, Dad. Have you talked to Imogen lately?”

He grunts. “She’s too busy for any of us. Got a text from her this morning that she applied for some fancy postdoctoral program, and she needs letters of reference from people who aren’t family. But she doesn’t want my help to get them. Just suggestions on who to ask.”

That also sounds exactly like my middle sister. She’s determined to do everything herself, even if it means making things ten times harder. It’s like she’s afraid asking for help will make her accomplishments somehow mean less.

Sound a little familiar? an inner voice taunts. I tell it to shut up.

“So, everything’s good? Your golf game is improving?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m bored as hell. I’m running the condo association, but I’m thinking of taking on a couple consulting jobs to keep me busy. I can only play so much damn golf. Your mom drags me out every friggin’ day.”

“Dad—”

“Don’t you dare tell your mother about that. We’ve already had it out. I’m not meant to be retired, though. It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Maybe just try relaxing?”

He huffs. “You do any of that lately?”

I can’t even begin to tell him what my life has been like, so I give him the win on that point. “Touché.”

“I worked hard and played hard, girl. Don’t wait until you’re my age to have fun. Probably should go find yourself a real man before you’re too old.”

“Dad!”

“What? We both know I’m right. That bastard didn’t deserve you. Too slick. Don’t let the next one fool ya, girl. Make sure you got his number from the very beginning.”

I smile weakly, even though he can’t see me. “Sure, Dad. But it’ll be a long, long time before that happens.”

“You never know. We’re Irish. We believe in fate. The right man will find you, and he won’t let you go when he recognizes what he’s got.”

That’s probably the biggest compliment my father has ever bestowed upon me, besides having the confidence to sell me the distillery and let his retirement depend on me running it.

Tears gather in the corners of my eyes. “Thanks, Dad. I love you.”

“Love you too, Keir. Call me if you want to hire me for a consulting gig. I know a thing or two about whiskey.”

“You’d be my first call.”

We hang up, and the warmth of my father’s compliment evaporates when my phone chimes as another reminder pops up on the screen.

You have ten minutes to follow my instructions or pay the consequences.

“Shit!”

I don’t want to know what Mount has planned for today, but I do know one thing—I need answers. What does his note on the first appointment reminder mean? I need to know.

I toss the phone on the bed, glaring at it and wondering how he hacked into my calendar, but that’s not the problem I need to focus on right now.

Staring at the black lacquered nightstand, I take two measured steps before pulling open the top drawer. Inside is a box from an expensive lingerie store I could never imagine shopping at. I lift it out, open the lid, and peel back thin tissue to reveal a bustier, a garter belt, and thigh-high stockings so thin, they have to be silk.

I search the box for the remaining item of clothing that I assume must also be inside, but there’s no thong or panties. I look in the drawer, and the only other item inside is a black leather box.

Those never contain anything good, I scoff, but apparently my inner voice decides to play devil’s advocate. Except for when they lead to orgasms.

Do I want to open it? I consider the question for all of half a second before I flip the lid.

What. The. Fuck.

Nestled in black velvet is a ball gag and a silver butt plug, this one wider than the last.

If he expects me to—

My phone chimes again from the bed with another appointment reminder.

Five-minute warning. Your shoes will be waiting outside the door.

That arrogant asshole. I’m not waiting five minutes. He has a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

With the leather box clutched in my hand, I take a step toward the door whose lock I drunkenly tried to pick with hairpins last night. I freeze before I make it a second step.

Do I wear the lingerie and obey?

I look down at my naked form and haul in a deep breath. There’s no way in hell I’m walking in there like this.

I reach for the lingerie, pausing when I realize I can smell the booze seeping out of my pores.

Yuck. Even I’m not willing to defile those beautiful clothes by putting them on without rinsing off first. Plus . . . maybe if I appear sweet and obedient, I’ll get the answers I want faster than if I flip Mount the bird and defy his orders.

The clock on my phone shows I’ve wasted another minute deliberating, which means I have exactly four minutes to rinse off and get changed.

Screw it. I rush to the bathroom and grab a toothbrush and toothpaste off the counter before stepping into the massive shower and turning the spray to hot. I brush my teeth, not caring that it’s Mount’s toothbrush, as I scrub last night off my body.

Conscious of the seconds ticking away on my deadline, I practically scald myself flipping the tap off, then snag a fluffy towel to wrap around me.

I toss my borrowed items back on the counter and dry off as fast as I can before shimmying into the bustier and tying its silk ribbon in a bow. I take extra care with the stockings, not wanting to snag them as I slide each one up a leg. Finally, I step into the garter belt and hook the clips to the top of the stockings.

A final chime sounds on my phone, and I want to hurl the thing at the wall. Instead, I read the latest appointment reminder.

You’re late. For every minute that passes, I’m taking it out on your ass.

A shiver rushes through me, hardening my nipples, even though I tell myself that doesn’t mean anything good. I saw the butt plug. So, what the hell does taking it out on your ass mean?

I rush to the door, almost tripping on a pair of sky-high black pumps that can’t be called anything but what they are—hooker heels. But in this case, they’re the really expensive kind.

I don’t think before sliding my feet inside. I touch the door handle, but immediately remember the last thing I’m missing and scramble back to the bed to grab the leather box.

My phone reads 12:05. I really am late.

Hell. This isn’t going to be good.

I hurry to the door again, steadying myself as I twist the knob and push it open.

The room I’d tried to break into the night before isn’t like the infamous red room of pain like I’d imagined, but an office. For some crazy reason, I actually feel a little let down. I thought for sure Mount would have some kinky room in this place, but apparently he’s not quite the sexual deviant I thought he was.

Or I just haven’t found it yet.

From behind the wide desk, much like in his other office, he fixes his dark eyes on my body as I step inside the room and close the door behind me. Voices come from his phone, which he has on speaker, and I realize he must be on a conference call.

He crooks a finger in my direction as he speaks. “Now that we have everyone necessary present, let’s begin. Yakamora, you can start.”

Yakamora, a name that’s unfamiliar to me, begins discussing market fluctuations and hedges against risk. I can’t tell if Mount is paying any attention to him because his gaze never leaves mine as I walk toward him on my towering heels, the leather box in hand.

“I understand your aversion to risks, but none of us would be where we are if we hadn’t taken them,” Mount says. “Casso, you want to share your opinion?”

A deep voice with an Italian accent fills the room next, but I’m not paying attention to his words because I’ve stopped a foot away from Mount. His dark gaze starts at the toes of my fuck-me heels and drags up the sheer black stockings, pausing on my pierced hood for a moment before rising to the garter belt and then the bustier.

“Just because those methods have worked for the old guard doesn’t mean they’re going to continue to work. If we want to maintain any control over what’s happening, we have to be united in our approach,” Mount says as his gaze finally reaches my face.

When the man with the Japanese accent begins to argue, Mount holds out a hand to me, palm up.

What does he want? I only wonder for a moment before I realize he’s waiting for the box clenched in my grip. I offer it to him, partly terrified and partly thrilled at the thought of him using either or both of the items it contains on me.

What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t want this.

But I do.

Now that I know he’s on a conference call, the gag makes sense, but it doesn’t make it any less intimidating. Mount sets the box on his desk as the call continues, a roundtable of opinions, and from little bits and pieces I’m comprehending, it has to do with nothing I want to know about.

Mount lifts the gag out first, his dark gaze almost seeming to spark. He reaches his right hand out to hit the mute button on the speaker. “You ever wear one of these before?”

I shake my head, unintentionally following his order not to speak, but I literally have nothing to say.

His smile takes on that predatory quality I’m beginning to recognize means he’s pleased and aroused. “Good.”

He unmutes the phone first before standing and pressing the gag against my lips, as if daring me to speak.

In our skirmishes, I’m rarely obedient, but I’m not sure I want to find out what the punishment would be for interrupting this conference call with my protests. Besides, the rationalization fits right into my dark fascination with the device.

With the ball in my mouth, he fastens the strap behind my head. Now that my ability to speak freely is gone, my other senses are heightened and my nipples harden under the thin cups of the bustier. Mount reaches out and flicks one with a thumb. A muffled whimper escapes my lips as I squeeze my legs together, my new jewelry already causing wetness to gather between my thighs.

Mount mouths something at me, and it takes me a second to realize what he’s saying.

Bad girl.

He grasps me by the hips before turning me around and pressing one hand to the small of my back until I’m bent over his desk directly in the middle. Mount retakes his seat and replies to a question on the call, but I’m too lost in the thought of how obscene I must look from behind, my pussy and ass exposed and right in his face.

My thighs clench together again. I want to stop myself from getting wetter, but it doesn’t matter what this man does to me. My body falls prey to him every time.

I flinch when his hand moves, but relax when his palm smooths down my skin, caressing my ass. He strokes with his thumb and skims beneath the curve of my cheek. Then he changes direction, his finger skating up the edge of my crack, and my nerve endings jump to attention.

His touch disappears for a moment, and I open my eyes to see him pressing the mute button again.

Before I can make a sound, his palm connects with my right cheek with a slap. This time, there’s no adjusting to the heat before it connects again and again, not stopping until both cheeks are burning with five smacks.

One for each minute I was late. I squeeze my eyes shut as he unmutes the phone and resumes lazily stroking my burning ass while he carries on with the conference call, never missing a beat.

Somehow, some way, the punishment only makes me wetter. I attempt to force my mind away from the sensations rampaging through me and onto the conversation, but it’s a useless endeavor. My eyes drift closed as I sink into a state of heightened sensitivity, my mind focused only on Mount’s touch. It’s almost soothing, this lazy stroking of my body and the sound of his voice as he leads the call with authority.

At least, until his thumb slides between my legs and skims through the moisture gathered there.

The gag quiets my moan, but the person speaking at that moment pauses.

“Did someone have an objection?”

Mount is quick to reply. “Just my secretary. She’s been very inefficient this morning at following directions.”

All the men on the call laugh. They’re probably all arrogant assholes like the one currently teasing me with my own wetness by dragging his index finger back and forth through it.

“Just bend her over the desk and show her who’s boss. That’s what I did in the old days.”

It’s the Italian man who comments, and while I’d like to punch him in the face, I’m too busy holding in another moan.

Mount’s teasing torture lasts for so long that I completely lose track of time. The call continues as he pushes two fingers inside me, stretching and slowly finger-fucking me until I’m squirming against the desk. In that moment, I’m thankful for the gag because I want to beg him for more. Instead, I grip the opposite edge of the wood, attempting to stay silent and repress my reactions.

Mount is skilled in his torture, however, and when he draws the moisture back to circle my tightest hole, I begin to unravel.

I’m still not used to it. I don’t think I’ll ever be totally used to it, but my nerve endings fire pleasure signals to my brain and I push back against his touch instinctively. This time, Mount’s hand reaches out to tap the mute button before applying more pressure.

“I finger-fucked your pussy, and now it’s time for your ass. You think you can keep quiet?”

I don’t respond. Obviously, because my powers of speech are impeded by the gag, but also because I want to curse him for stealing all control over my body from me.

While I focus on staying still, Mount opens a drawer and pulls out something I can’t see. As soon as cool liquid dribbles down my crack, I recognize it as lube. He gathers it up, coating his finger, and uses it to tease me.

“Press back. Help me push inside. Show me you want it.”

Mount pushes forward and my hips slide back on instinct, helping him press against the tight ring of muscle and tearing another moan from my lips.

Luckily, the call is still on mute.

“I’m going to fuck your ass with my finger while I talk to some of the most powerful men in the world, and then I’m going to fuck you with that plug and tease your clit with that new piercing until you’re dying to come, but you won’t. You know why?”

I shake my head, wishing I could curse him.

“Because it’s about time you work a little harder on chipping away at the balance of that debt, and I get to come first.”

His arrogant words don’t anger me. Instead, they make me even more determined to steal as much pleasure as I can for myself, no matter what he does to me.

Why should he be the only one enjoying this? Besides, I can’t deny that I’m beyond turned on by being facedown on his desk while he takes advantage of me.

How many nights have I worked in my office, wishing the dominant man of my dreams would come in, shove all the papers aside, and bend me over before doing whatever he wants to me?

More than I’ll ever admit.

This may be Mount’s game, but it’s my fantasy come to life.

When he pushes forward with his fingertip again, I shock both of us by pressing my hips back against him until he breaches the muscle. When he pulls back, I rub my piercing on the edge of the desk, stealing pleasure from anywhere I can get it.

“Don’t you dare come,” Mount says before he pushes his finger firmly into my ass, fucking me slowly over and over again, and then unmutes the phone.

Don’t come? That’s one order I have no intention of following.

I’m so close, between my hypersensitive clit and his finger in my ass when he pulls free.

I jerk my head around so I can look back at him.

“I think we need to reevaluate our assets and decide what we can afford to redeploy to get a true assessment of their resources,” Mount says, using his free hand to reach for the plug. “We can’t conquer them until we understand exactly how much power they have at their disposal.”

Even though the words are directed to the men on the other end of the call, Mount’s words echo through my head. We can’t conquer them until we understand exactly how much power they have.

In that moment, I make a promise to myself, one I swear I won’t break this time. Mount will never know how much power he has over me. If he were ever to learn, I have no doubt he’d exploit it even more than he is now as he presses the tip of the plug to my ass.

The cold metal sends me lifting off the desk with a harsh indrawn breath, but Mount covers the sound with the rustling of some papers.

“Are we in agreement on this point, gentlemen?”

The others agree as Mount pushes the plug the rest of the way inside, until the flared base is seated against the outside rim of my hole.

“Good, because I think we’re about ready to move on to our next topic for discussion. Casso, you brought up the next issue on the agenda, so why don’t you fill the rest of us in.”

Mount rises from his seat and reaches into the drawer for some kind of antibacterial wipes and cleans the finger he just pushed into my ass.

The metal inside me is warming to body temperature, but it’s unyielding, much like the man who inserted it.

As soon as he’s cleaned up, Mount responds to the conversation and the dialogue continues. At this point, I’m clueless as to what’s being discussed. They could literally be talking about cloning unicorns, and I wouldn’t know. Mount’s hands grip my hips, and he flips me over onto my back before hitting Mute again.

“Before this call is over, I’m fucking either your mouth or ass. I’m feeling benevolent today, so even though you were late, I’ll let you decide.” He glances at the time on the phone. “You’ve got about five minutes to make your decision.”

Mouth or ass?

As I contemplate the choices, Mount leans down and circles my clit with his tongue, flicking the piercing. He hasn’t unmuted the call, so I buck upward at him, trying to fuck his face all the way to orgasm. Mount lifts his head and delivers a stinging smack to my pussy, just missing my new jewelry.

“My naughty secretary is trying to fuck my face and come before I get mine.” His eyes narrow on mine. “That’s the one thing I won’t let you get away with today. I’m taking a sweet piece of what belongs to me.”

He fucks my pussy with his tongue until someone directs a question to him and he unmutes the call again. “That’s acceptable. We can make that work.”

It’s clear the call is winding down, which means that so is my time to choose. I swore before that I wouldn’t kiss him, and he destroyed that boundary. I told him I wouldn’t go to my knees for him either, but considering the alternative and the fact that his cock is thicker than this plug, I know what choice I have to make.

Mount is breaking my rules one at a time, and with each one, I lose a part of the woman I’ve always been, but gain a piece of the woman I never knew I could be.

I finally understand the reason it’s called power exchange, but with Mount and me, it’s more accurately termed a power struggle.

He takes. I fight.

He threatens. I rebel.

He taunts. I argue.

It’s a never-ending cycle, and at this point, with his tongue teasing my entrance, I’m not sure I care to continue it today.

Instead, I bury my fingers in his hair and press upward, but one universal truth continues—Mount is stronger than me. He lifts his head, a wicked grin on his face as he plunges two fingers inside me.

“Agreed,” says the Japanese man.

“Agreed.” The Italian concurs.

“Agreed,” Mount says, but I have to wonder if he has any clue what he just committed to. “If that’s all, gentlemen, I’ve got another matter to attend to, and will follow up with any additional thoughts via email.”

Good-byes are exchanged, and Mount finally hangs up. He pulls his fingers from my pussy and sucks them clean.

“Which is it? Ass or mouth?”

I lift my chin, reminding him there’s no way I can reply.

“You can point. If I’m fucking your ass, then there’s no need to remove the gag.” A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Smug asshole. He gains a ridiculous amount of enjoyment from taunting me. Mount expects me to rebel, even anticipates it. I’m beginning to recognize his tells, so that’s something.

I lift my hand. Using my middle finger, I point to the ball gag lodged in my mouth.

His expression flares with heat. “Fucking finally.”

His phone rings again, and he looks at the receiver.

“And you’re just in time for my next call.” His gaze pins mine. “Get on your knees.”

Again with the power struggle, but this time, I decide to throw him off track, since he thinks he knows exactly what to expect from me.

Not today.

Today, I’m going to show Mount what it’s like to have his iron-clad control over his body stolen from him.

I hope he doesn’t have any plans to pay attention to this next call, because he’s not going to remember a goddamned thing.