Intense. Extreme. Harsh.

Lewd. Carnal. Hot.

Put all of those words into a verbal blender, turn it on high, and whatever you come up with would never be enough to describe what I just witnessed. Someone needs to come up with a whole new word for what to call that.

Can’t lie. Seeing those two people fuck like animals turned me on. And I know that Tristan was turned on as well. His erection felt like a steel rod poking against my ass.

Let’s get out of here. Those are the words that a man says when he wants to take you somewhere to have sex. But that’s not happening; I may not be in a position to refuse the terms that he is proposing, but I’m not ready for this to begin. I’m not yet emotionally prepared.

He’s holding my hand and leading me toward the staircase. “Where are we going?”

“My office. We need to finalize the details of our relationship. I’m eager to move forward with collecting on your debt.”

I’m thankful that he isn’t trying to take me to his bedroom. Or mine. Especially mine; I opened the chifforobe last night and wasn’t prepared for all of the kinky shit that I saw in there.

Dildos. Vibrators. Butt plugs. Floggers. Canes. Metals rods. Restraints. Numerous apparatuses that I can’t identify but I have a pretty good idea of what you do with them. Some of the things I saw in there scare the shit out of me.

Tristan is a serious and experienced Dom. He took off his training wheels a long time ago.

We enter his office. He removes a key from his pocket and unlocks an upper cabinet. The contents are stacks of one-thousand-dollar blackjack chips. I’ve gambled enough to recognize the dollar amount based on the color.

“There are one hundred chips in this cabinet. Each is worth one thousand dollars. I will deduct one chip each time we engage in a sexual act that ends with my coming. When no chips remain, you are no longer in my debt and free to leave. How quickly or how slowly you do that is entirely up to you.”

I study the one hundred chips before me and assess the reality of what they represent. One hundred times that he will use my body in one way or another to get off. Everything about that makes me feel like a whore.

Maybe I don’t go through with this. Maybe I’m better off sucking it up and doing the time for my crime instead of sucking his dick. Sure, it would be humiliating and I’d feel like a lowly criminal if I were in jail, but at least there wouldn’t be some strange man rutting away between my legs. Or hitting me for his pleasure.

“Because I’m feeling generous, I’ll deduct two chips every time you let me fuck you in the ass.”

Oh. My. God. He… did… not… just say that.

Except he did. But he can forget it.

“Nooo… Sir. I’ve already told you that I’m not doing anal.”

“Why not? Is that tight little puckered hole a virgin?”

“It is, and it’s staying that way.”

That one-sided smile that makes him look so damn hot is back again. “Well, fuck… if that doesn’t make me want it even more.”

“What is it with you and anal sex?”

“It’s damn amazing. And there’s never been a cock inside of yours, so I can’t even imagine how fucking good it must feel.”

“Well, you’re not touching it.” I point to the ceiling. “And you’re damn sure not going to do to mine what that man up there just did to that woman’s.” That was horrible. He was like a wild animal.

“He was punishing her.”

“Obviously. What did she do to warrant that?”

“She looked at me.”

“She gets ramrodded in the ass for looking at you?”

“There was more to it than that. She made a choice to disrespect her Dom, and he punished her. It won’t be like that when we have anal sex.”

“I said no.”

“We’ll see.”

“We’ll see. You say that an awful lot when I tell you no. Like you think that you’re going to get your way. But I assure you that you’re not when it comes to that. When I say no, I mean no.”

“Okay.” His sexy grin spreads wider. “We’ll see.”

This man oozes wickedness, but there’s also something about him that I also find amusing.

“Any questions about the method we’ll be using for keeping up with where you are in repaying your debt?” he asks.

“No.”

“Good.”

He closes the cabinet, locks it, and returns the key to his pocket. He sits on the corner of his desk and something about seeing him in this casual manner makes him seem younger. “How old are you?”

“How old do you think that I am?” he asks.

“I can’t decide. I’m back and forth on it.” His face looks young, but the gray hair and whiskers throw me off.

“I’m thirty-six.”

“Fourteen years older than me.” I guessed between ten and fifteen when I first saw him.

“I’m aware.”

“You have more gray hair than I’d expect for a thirty-six-year-old.”

“I have a fuck ton of stress. I don’t figure that helps.”

I’m sure that he does have a lot of stress. “Probably not.”

“Is the gray hair a turnoff for you?”

I shake my head. “No.” His gray is actually a turn-on. It’s a beautiful contrast against his dark hair and light blue eyes. But I decide it’s best to keep that bit of information to myself.

“I want to talk about our relationship and expectations.”

“I do too.”

“You can do as you like when I’m at work. I understand that you have a life outside of this agreement, and there are things that you need to take care of. I don’t mind you leaving the house, but I want you to be available to me the minute that I walk through the door. To talk. To fuck. To suck my dick. Whatever I need in the moment. And if something should happen and you won’t be here when I come home, I want to know immediately. Never let me come home to an empty house without some kind of prior notice. I won’t tolerate that.”

He looks at me, saying nothing. Maybe waiting to see if I’ll argue. But I don’t.

“I will continue to choose your dress and the style of your hair and makeup before you come to dinner.”

“Why do you care anything about choosing my dress and hair and makeup?”

“You are beautiful but there are certain ways that I find you even more attractive. I like how you look in some dresses and colors over others. And I like seeing your hair styled in some ways more than others. But the real reason is that it gives me immense satisfaction when you obey my orders. It always goes back to control. You are my submissive, and I want to control everything about you.”

Sooo. Fucked. Up.

“There are times when I have to travel. You should expect to go with me. Do you have a passport if I need to go outside of the U.S.?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where it is without having to search for it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’ll only wear the lingerie that I’ve given you. I chose every one of those pieces myself. I spent a lot of time over the last several weeks creating that collection especially for you.”

Despite the level of fuckery, something about that is very flattering and endearing. Makes me feel a little bit special that he would pull away from work to invest that kind of time in choosing anything for me. Even if he did it while he was planning my abduction. “All of it is lovely. Thank you.”

“I don’t sleep well. I often wake in the middle of the night. When I do, I like to fuck. It helps me go back to sleep. I don’t want to come to your bed and find you wearing anything that I did not choose for you.”

He’ll come to my bed? “I won’t sleep with you in your bed?”

“No. You’re never allowed in my bed unless I invite you. I’ll come to your bed and leave when we’re finished.”

Well, that’s weird, but I guess it takes some of the pressure away. “Understood.”

“And your pussy… I usually like that to be waxed smooth, but I don’t mind the little strip you have down the middle. You may keep it.”

Whoa. Wait.

Just hold the fuck on for one second.

I give myself a moment to let that soak into my brain.

“How do you know that I have a strip down the middle?”

“I saw it when Cat examined you.”

I have a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realize that he has seen me naked. While I was unconscious. Spread-eagled during a vaginal exam. That’s humiliating enough when you’re awake, and you’ve consented to it. But this… it’s just so many levels of wrong. And he doesn’t care. “I can’t believe that you stayed during the exam.”

“I had to; you were unconscious. She couldn’t position you without my help.”

I have so many arguments for why that should have never happened, but to go there would be repeating myself. And he clearly didn’t see things from my point of view the first time that we discussed my being drugged.

“You looked at my naked body while I was out of it?”

“I did, and I won’t apologize for it. Because I fucking loved what I saw. Your body is gorgeous.”

Did he see everything?

I don’t want to know the answer to that question.

“Do you have any idea how deeply that violates me?”

I don’t know why I asked that? Of course he doesn’t know. Or doesn’t care.

“Baby, I’m going to violate you a hundred different ways before you walk away from me. Looking at your naked body without your consent is the least of those violations.” His eyes roam my body. “Hell, I want to violate you right now on top of this desk so badly that I’m about to burst my fucking trousers.”

Violate me on top of his desk. I should find that appalling. I should find that frightening, especially after seeing the glimpse of darkness that he carries behind his brilliant blue eyes. I should want to run out of the front door right now and never look back.

But I don’t.

“Say that you’re submitting to me.”

Submitting. That word bothers me so fucking much.

“I’m not obedient or passive. I don’t bend to the will of others. I don’t conform to authority. That’s the reason that I was in your fucking casino to begin with. I hate being told what to do by others. I don’t think that I can be what you want me to be.”

I already know that I won’t be able to obey him. It just isn’t in my nature. And he’ll be spanking my ass all of the time if I do this. I won’t ever be able to sit down again.

“You are everything that I want you to be at this point. The other stuff will come in time as you learn.”

I don’t want to be here long enough to learn. I want to clear my debt and get the fuck out.

“I’m not like that woman upstairs. I can’t let you do all of the things that you want to do to me.”

“Even if doing so brings you pleasure in the end?”

“But is the pleasure worth the pain that will accompany it?”

“There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain. Trust me. I can give you intense pleasure. More than you’ve ever had with any of the men that you’ve been with.”

“Don’t assume that I’ve not had incredible pleasure just because I’ve not been with you. I’ve been with plenty of good lovers.”

He chuckles. “If you’d have the kind of intense pleasure that I’m talking about then you wouldn’t have just called them good lovers.”

He isn’t wrong. I’ve never had an orgasm during intercourse with a man. Never. Not to say that the sex didn’t feel good. It did. It just didn’t make me shout incoherent words and dig my fingers into his flesh while my toes curled.

“Say that you’ll be my submissive.”

I actually sort of like the demand that I hear in his voice. And I liked it earlier too when he told me to bend over and place my palms on the table.

That spanking.

I liked it.

But I’m not ready to admit that to anyone other than myself.

“I need more time to think about this.”

He rubs his hand over his face. “I understand that this is new to you, and I’m trying to be patient, but fuck… you’re giving me a bad case of blue balls. I need your answer by tomorrow night.”

I can’t fuck him tomorrow night. I’m not ready. “Give me until the next night? Forty-eight hours?”

I can see by his expression that he isn’t pleased to hear my request for an extra day. But he can just suck it up. I should have an extra day if that’s what I want; it’s my freedom, my body, my dignity on the line. Not his.

“You have forty-eight hours to decide between my bed or jail. Choose wisely.”

* * *

I trust that you’ll be here when I come home from work. Don’t disappoint me, Emma Lia.

Those were the last words that Tristan said to me before he left this morning. I must admit that leaving crossed my mind more than once, but Tristan’s threats are keeping me here. I believe him when he says that he will turn me over to the authorities.

Being in his house is comparable to being in a prison that I built around myself, and I am the only guard preventing my own escape. That makes being here even more dreadful.

All of this is my fault. I put myself in this position. In Tristan’s path.

I already know that I’m going to say yes to his indecent proposal. I’m not in a position to decline, but I’m not yet ready to begin fulfilling my debt. I need the next day and a half to mentally prepare myself for the things that are going to happen to me and my body.

This isn’t going to only be physical. It’s going to wear on me mentally and emotionally. I hope that I’m not fucked up ninety-nine different ways after this ordeal ends.

Tristan told me that I didn’t have to be confined to my bedroom. My bedroom. Those two words make me quiver even when only said inside my head where my ears can’t hear them. It makes this all too real.

One would think that he would have given me an official tour of the house since I’m going to be living here. But I’m quickly discovering that Tristan isn’t like most people. The man is one of a kind. Lucky for the world.

“Good morning, miss,” Ray says when I come into the kitchen.

“Good morning.”

“What would miss like for breakfast this morning?”

I’m not a big breakfast eater. Never have been. “Juice works for me.”

“Mr. Broussard wants you to eat a real breakfast.”

Well, I would ask why but I already know the answer. Because Mr. Broussard is a control freak.

“Cereal will be fine with me.” Preferably Froot Loops with marshmallows.

“He won’t like your eating cereal. Plus, we don’t have any.”

Is he shitting me? “He wants to choose what kind of foods I eat?”

“You may choose the foods as long as they are nutritious for your body.”

He wasn’t kidding when he told me that he wanted to control everything about me. “Will Mr. Broussard be pleased if I have an omelet for breakfast?”

“That would please him greatly.”

“Good.” I like omelets and I haven’t had one in a long time.

Ray doesn’t disappoint on the omelet. I’m pretty sure that I won’t mind eating breakfast if I have a meal like this one prepared for me every morning. “Thank you, Ray. That was delicious.”

“My pleasure, miss.”

He takes my empty plate and glass before I get up from the table. “I don’t mind taking care of that.”

“Taking care of that is my job.”

And my job is… to make Mr. Broussard come. With my hand. With my mouth. With my vagina. With my… I can’t even make myself have that thought.

I don’t want to think about my job. I’d prefer to explore this beautiful home instead.

“How old is this house?”

“Built in 1857.”

I quickly do the math in my head. “Wow, 161 years old and still so lovely. That’s impressive.”

I think about all of the people who must have come and gone beneath this roof. The babies that have been born. The people who have died. This house is probably haunted by a hundred different ghosts.

“What street are we on?”

“St. Charles Avenue.” Right. Because where else would Tristan Broussard live if not in the Garden District?

“Is this the biggest house on this street?”

“Yes, miss. Eight bedrooms.”

Figures. “Why in the world would he need a house with eight bedrooms?”

“No reason that he shouldn’t have the biggest house on the street. He’s a wealthy man, as I’m sure you must be aware.”

Shit. A troubling thought strikes me: I’ve assumed all of this time that he was single. Hell, he might be married with a dozen kids for all that I know. “Is Mr. Broussard single?”

“Of course.” He answers as though I’m silly for asking.

I wonder if he knows that his employer is a Dom. That he drugged and kidnapped me. I would think he’d have to know these things with his living under the same roof.

Tristan said that I would call him Master in the bedroom and Sir when we were speaking casually. I wonder which he wants me to call him in front of Ray.

Still so many things to sort out in this bizarre relationship.

“I’ve always admired the homes in the Garden District but I’ve never had the opportunity to go inside one. Is it all right if I look around?”

“I’d find it odd if you didn’t, considering that you’re going to be living here with Mr. Broussard.”

Tristan told Ray that I would be living here? I wonder how he explained the living arrangements for his new guest.

“Don’t overlook the garden in the back. It’s in full bloom. Tons of color and fragrance. But watch out for the bees; they’re out and about, pollinating.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

“You should choose a book from the library and do some reading in the garden. I mean, if that’s something that you enjoy.”

“I do enjoy reading. Very much. Where is the library?”

“This floor, near the front entrance.”

“Thank you.”

I leave the kitchen and stroll through room after room, admiring everything about the architecture inside the house. I wonder if the molding and millwork are original. Either way, they’re magnificent, but I’d be even more impressed if they were authentic 1857.

I enter the library and stop when I see the massive number of books on the shelves. Is Tristan Broussard an avid reader? Is that why this library is filled top to bottom with books? It’s hard for me to imagine the kinky-sex-addict casino owner sitting down in a quiet space, reading literature.

I quickly discover that the books are shelved by the author’s last name. There are tons of genres to choose from, but one book in particular catches my attention. The Thorn Birds. Something about that title feels familiar. Seems like maybe I’ve heard my grandmother talk about it. Nothing rings a bell when I read the inside of the jacket, but an Australian woman falling in love with an Irish priest sounds interesting enough to give a try.

I sit in one of the chairs in the library, intending to read a few pages, but the photograph on the table next to the chair catches my attention. A woman holding an infant. Looks like the photo was probably taken during the eighties based on the woman’s hair and clothing. I’m pretty sure that this is Tristan and his mother. If so, he was a real cutie. And still is.

Cute but kinky as fuck.

I drop the book off in my bedroom as I pass by and continue exploring the house. I stop at the staircase leading to the third floor. That’s where Tristan took me for my Dom-sub tutorial. I’m not sure why, but I’m drawn to return there.

I open the door and enter, stopping in the center of the room to admire its beauty. The room is so elegant. Fit for a king. It’s like being in here for the first time; I was so distracted by what was happening that I couldn’t have told you the color, the size, or anything else about my surroundings.

I still can’t believe that I was in here last night watching that good-looking man do all of those kinky things to that woman. A live sex show. And not vanilla sex. It was like watching live porn. How did Tristan pull that off? Everyday people, even in New Orleans, don’t go around doing that for other people to watch. At least not in my world. But Tristan Broussard does live in an entirely different world.

And now I’m living in that world.

“What are you doing in here?”

I jolt from the shock of hearing a woman’s voice and whirl around.

Holy shit. It’s the woman from last night’s live porn show.

“Umm… I was exploring the house. I-I didn’t know that anyone was up here.” Why is she still in the house?

“Tristan won’t be happy that you came up here.” She calls him Tristan as though she’s on a first-name basis with him.

“He told me that I wasn’t confined to my bedroom. I took that as permission to explore the house. And Ray said that it was okay.”

I’m not sure what the smile on her face means, but it’s definitely not an indicator of happiness.

“Your bedroom,” she whispers. “That’s rich.”

I’m not sure what this woman’s problem is, but I know when a woman is being catty with me.

“Is there a problem?”

“Your room is my room. Or at least it was until you decided to show up and take my place.”

Take her place?

Holy shit. “You were his submissive?”

“I was until a few days ago.”

“What happened?”

“You happened.” She crosses her arms. “Listen and listen good. I’m the best submissive that Tristan’s ever had. I’m the best that he’ll ever have. You’ll never measure up to me. You’ll never please him the way I do, and I’m confident that you’ll be out on your ass in no time.”

Oh, fuck this.

“No, you listen here, sister. Don’t act like I swooped in on your Dom-sub relationship and stole your Master away from you. He’s the one who drugged and transported me across the state line. I’m not here by choice.”

Her eyes widen. “Tristan isn’t here. You can leave, and no one will stop you. Go now before he comes home.”

“I would if I could, but it isn’t that easy.”

“Leaving is easy. I’ll help you get out. I’ll call for a cab right now and pay the fare to anywhere that you want to go.”

“I appreciate your kind offer to help, but you don’t understand. I can’t leave him.”

“Why not?” The warmth and gentleness in her voice is gone as quickly as it appeared.

“That’s between Tristan and me.”

Her large round doe-eyes have narrowed into slits. “Has he fucked you?”

“No.” Why am I answering this woman’s questions? “Not that it’s any of your business.”

The muscles relax in her face, and she smiles. It’s like watching a demon transform into an angel. “Have you ever been a submissive?”

“No.”

“I can tell.” I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or insult. “Tristan is a fierce Dom. He’ll be much harder on you than Easton was on me last night. You’re going to need help with knowing how to soften him so that he doesn’t hurt you so badly.”

Hurt me so badly? “He told me that we would begin slowly and ease into what he wants from me.”

Her heads tilts to the side, and she forces a smile. “Oh, sweetheart. He may say that now, but things will be very different after he has a flogger in his hand. He can’t control himself. The man loves to inflict pain.”

Shit. He could really hurt me.

“How do I soften him?”

“Don’t worry. I know all of the tricks, sweetie.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Claudia by the way.”

“I’m Emma Lia.”

“What a pretty name.”

“I’m named after my nana, Emma. My dad always loved the name Lia so he added it to distinguish between the two of us.”

“Then your name is extra special.”

I’m a gambler. I read people’s expressions and body language, and something about Claudia’s smile, her voice, her facial expressions… all of it feels off to me.

Maybe I’m reading into it too much. What harm could she possibly mean by telling me how to soften his harsh ways?

She’s Tristan’s ex-sub. Being replaced is probably painful for her and the reason her behavior feels off to me. “Are you sure that you want to help me? It won’t be awkward for you?”

“I want to help you… as long as you don’t tell Tristan that we spoke. New sub talking to the old one… he won’t like that. This will need to be our little secret.”

I don’t understand this lifestyle, but I can see why Tristan wouldn’t want his previous sub speaking to his new one. “It’ll be our secret.”

I’m eager to leave this place. The sooner that I begin pleasing him and repaying my debt, the sooner I’ll get out of here. “Tell me everything.”