Elena stretched her arms up over her head, yawning like a kitten just waking from slumber, realizing she felt more well-rested than usual. She listened for a moment as the birds tweeted out her window, enjoying the pleasurable sounds of early spring, before she bolted upright. What time was it? Holy crap, the light out the window was way too bright to be five a.m. She grabbed frantically at her phone on the bedside table, and hit the power button. Her jaw dropped when she looked at the time. 6:45! It wasn't until she was flying out of her bed, blankets askew around her, that she realized she had four messages on her phone from MisterHaven.

MisterHaven: Good morning, sunshine.

Sent at 5:30, the time she was supposed to have gotten up. Then, fifteen minutes later:

MisterHaven: Lanie? You awake yet?

And fifteen minutes after that:

MisterHaven: I'm afraid you may have slept through your alarm. Rise and shine, kiddo!

The latest was sent just three minutes ago.

MisterHaven: Please message me as soon as you get this so I know you're okay.

Groaning out loud, trying to text with one hand while hopping around trying to pull on her scrubs with her other hand, she texted back. Awake. Overslept. Later.

She ran to her bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and slapped toothpaste on a toothbrush while glancing at herself in the mirror. She froze, toothbrush half paused mid-brush. She looked like shit. Her long black hair was straggly and unkempt, bluish circles underscored her eyes, emphasized with smudged mascara from her late night over at Dom and Heidi’s the night before. She’d finally made it to their place for dinner, but had stayed far longer than she should have. The phone on the vanity buzzed obnoxiously as she finished brushing her teeth, ran a brush through her hair, and grabbed at her makeup case. With a sigh, she dabbed on cover-up to hide the dark circles, ran a mascara brush through her lashes, and slid lip gloss across her lips. She shrugged. Marginally better.

Picking up her phone, she saw she had a reply from MisterHaven, but she waited to open it. She'd have a few minutes to catch her breath on the train into work, and she could message him then. With a groan, she shot a text to her charge nurse. Running late. Be there in thirty. She'd be a full half-hour late to start, if she was lucky.

Her reply came back seconds later. I need you ASAP. We have thirty-two week twins, three women in active labor, and two nurses in the OR for a stat C-section.

Elena groaned and yelled out loud to her phone. “Sure, let me just summon my private jet. Dumbass!” She shoved her phone in her bag, raced to the kitchen, grabbed a banana and one of the chocolate protein bars MisterHaven had recommended she grab “in case of emergencies,” and looked longingly at her coffee pot. No time. She'd have to grab a cup of swill at the train station.

Ten minutes later, she was running along Main Street, her hair flying behind her, as she had a train to catch.

“Wait!” she shouted, waving her arm frantically as she could see the outbound train she needed, just on the other side of the entry gate. Her fingers flew through her bag, grabbed her CharlieCard, the monthly pass for the Boston subway system known to locals simply as “the T,” and shoved it into the slot to let her pass through the gates.

“Easy, girl, you're not gonna get anywhere faster by knocking someone over,” said the conductor, but Elena didn't even look at him as the doors to the gate opened and she raced through to the platform. Too late. As she watched, the silver doors slid shut, and she was left bereft as the last outbound train for fifteen minutes pulled away. Her card still held in one hand, her protein bar and banana in the other, her shoulders slumped, defeated. She closed her eyes briefly, ignoring the stares from the others around her still waiting for the inbound train, as she went to find a vacant bench.

A lump rose in her throat and she rapidly blinked tears away as she found a small bench in a cool, dank corner. In the distance she heard the low, melancholy tunes of a saxophone. It was not uncommon for musicians to perform somewhere in the corridors or platforms of the downtown subway system. They'd toss a baseball cap or empty guitar box in front of them, and play to their hearts’ content, while locals would toss spare change and singles to them. It was a quirky thing she liked about being a local in downtown Boston. It somehow gave character to the well-worn streets. But today, the notes of the sax only seemed to make her want to cry that much more.

She slumped against the bench and pulled out her cell phone, swiping and effectively ignoring the irate messages from her charge nurse, a text from Alex, and a picture of baby Francesca from Hillie. God, was everyone in the world up before she was?

The only one she felt like messaging at all was the one at the very top of her screen.

MisterHaven: I'm sorry you overslept. Message me when you have a quiet minute. Thinking of you.

She blinked back the tears even harder as she responded. I just missed my train. Sitting waiting for the next one that won't come for another FREAKING fifteen minutes, while my manager virtually lambastes me, my head is pounding from lack of coffee, and apparently everyone in the world is awake on time and earlier than me today.

She put her phone down as she angrily tore the peel off the banana and ate half of it in one large bite. She chewed and swallowed furiously, as if it were her breakfast's fault she was late. Next she tore the cellophane off the protein bar and took a large bite, but as she chewed, she moaned out loud. She'd completely forgotten her water bottle, and she forgot how the bar stuck in her mouth like peanut butter. She wrapped the rest of the bar up and stuck it in her pocket, popped the rest of the banana in her mouth, and tossed the peel in a nearby garbage basket.

Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up hopefully.

MisterHaven: That sucks, sweetheart.

Her lip stuck out and she pouted, nodding to the phone, thinking, “Yes, sir, it does. It really really does!”

Another message popped up.

MisterHaven: Why did you oversleep?

Guilt niggled at her conscience. She swallowed, again wishing she had that bottle of water, as she responded.

LanieLove: I was out late with friends, and had a few drinks. Looks like I set my alarm for p.m. instead of a.m. I do that sometimes like a total spaceshot.

MisterHaven: Don't call yourself names, Lanie. You're not a spaceshot. You had a lot on your mind this week. Tonight, I'll remind you to set your alarm properly. I think it's best you plan on getting to bed a little on the early side. Can you do that, honey?

She swallowed. Why did he care? And why did it feel so nice that he did? Could she possibly be falling for a man she'd never even met?

LanieLove: Thanks, MisterH. I'd like that.

MisterHaven: Now let's talk about how we're going to prevent this from happening again.

The sternness in his tone set her heart to pounding. She bit her lip, and couldn't help but egg him on a little.

LanieLove: Uh oh. Am I in trouble?

God, why was it suddenly thrilling to be on the receiving end of a lecture from him? Weren't people supposed to dislike getting scolded? Yet, her heart pitter-pattered in her chest waiting for his reply.

MisterHaven: If you were mine? Absolutely.

The tempo of her heartbeat accelerated. She took a deep breath before she replied. She was playing with fire and she knew it, but she couldn't help herself.

LanieLove: What would you do if I were yours, MisterH?

MisterHaven: It depends, Lanie. I'd likely give you a bedtime. I'd make sure you were getting enough rest. But if you continued to be late, there would be consequences. You read LadyHaven's blog, sweetheart. What do YOU think I'd do?

Oh, God. She almost dropped her phone. She closed her eyes briefly, arousal pooling in her belly, before she responded.

LanieLove: I seem to recall you having a certain fondness for um, spanking.

MisterHaven: Bingo. This kinda behavior would find you bent over my knee. But I'd try to help you figure out what the root of your tardiness was. What do you think would help you get to bed on time?

The screeching of the approaching train snapped her out of her conversation. God, all she needed was to somehow miss this one and be even later to work. She shoved her phone in her bag and jumped to her feet, as the train pulled up and the doors swung open. It was positively teeming with people, but she managed to push past everyone and find a place where she could stand and hold onto the loop hanging from the metal bars, to brace herself when the train accelerated. When the train began to go, she opened up her phone again and typed one-handed.

Damn. He expected an answer.

LanieLove: You're right. A good spanking would help a LOT of things right about now.

She looked out the window, suddenly wistful, as the pine trees and maples sped past in a blur of green. Her phone didn't buzz for a moment, and when it did, she took a deep breath before she looked at the screen.

Her cheeks flamed, and she closed her eyes as arousal pulsed within her just reading his response. She’d never even seen a picture of him, but somehow conjured up an imagine of a large, stern man with large hands, and piercing blue eyes, who looked remarkably like… nope. She wasn’t gonna go there.

MisterHaven: Agreed.

She sent one final text before she shoved her phone in her bag.

LanieLove: I am at work now. I'll message later. My shift is over at seven. Sound good? You have a good day.

MisterHaven: Sounds great. You, too, honey. Xox

She smiled to herself as she exited the train, but when she stepped out, ready to trot the quarter mile to the hospital, her expression fell. A few well-dressed men and women walked past her with signs. She froze mid-stride as the black and white photograph plastered on the side of the poster board they were carrying caught her attention. She knew that place on the board so well it was like her second home: The Club. Wide-eyed, mouth agape, Elena craned her neck, but could only read a few words. Lechery! Abuse!

She gasped. What the actual fuck was that all about?

But there was no time to ponder, or even worry, as her phone buzzed again. Her boss.

Where ARE you?????

Groaning out loud, she hit the power button on the side of the phone, zipped it in her bag, and began to jog her way to the hospital.

* * *

Elena sat upright in her chair at the clinic, the only chair she'd comfortably sat in all day long. She'd been volunteering here for several years, and though it was tiring to volunteer after a full day at the hospital, it was always nice to go from the intensity of the labor and delivery floor, where she hardly had time to pee let alone sit, to the calmer, more peaceful atmosphere of Centered. Unlike the other more medically-oriented women's clinics in downtown Boston, Centered was a non-profit whose goal was to help women find a peaceful sanctuary. They could find a nurse or counselor to talk to them, seek assistance if they were in an abusive situation, or find the medical supplies they sometimes needed. Centered encouraged positivity and wellness, and was a place where self-care was promoted. Elena loved it. It was easier putting in the long hours knowing she was helping others who could really benefit from talking to a trained nurse.

Yesterday, she'd helped a young woman hear the heartbeat of her baby for the very first time, listened to another mother who needed a shoulder to cry on after suffering a miscarriage, and celebrated the engagement of a volunteer who'd gotten a proposal at the Red Sox game the night before. Though her days were busy and her schedule full, she liked knowing how she spent her time had purpose and worth. But now, she straightened in her chair as two women sat in front of her with tear-stained cheeks.

“Tell me again what you just said,” Elena asked calmly, folding her hands on her lap. Centered was considered a “safe haven,” a place where women could go to report abuse without fear of judgment.

One woman, a thin blonde with high cheekbones and a pointed nose, wiped a tissue across her eyes. Elena watched her warily, as her eyes went to her friend's. The woman's friend sat across from her, wearing a skin-tight pink halter top and equally tight black skirt. Her curly brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she was snapping gum as she patted her friend's knee. Though Centered saw women from all walks of life, there was something not quite right about these two, though she couldn't put her finger on it. She didn't trust them.

“We decided we wanted to go have a little fun,” she said, “try out a few things we really hadn't yet. And we heard that the best place to get some kinky action in Boston was The Club.”

Elena froze, her breath catching in her throat as she feigned ignorance. “Oh?” she said, encouraging the girl to continue.

“Yes,” the blonde nodded, her eyes widening. “After BlackBox closed down, there weren't a lot of places to go, and we heard The Club was classy. So, we went.”

She'd make a note to ask Alex if he'd seen the two, though he saw so many women come in and out of The Club on a daily basis, that it was unlikely he'd be helpful.

Elena nodded, as the blonde continued. “And when we got there, it was fun. We met a few guys, and one dom who said he'd introduce us to some other people. We had a few drinks…” she shrugged, her voice trailing off as she looked at her friend.

The brunette picked up where her friend left off. “Yep. We both had a few drinks. And they must've been drugged by the dom or something, because the next thing you know, we found ourselves in a back room, and we were both stripped and bruised and tied up!”

Elena blinked. No way. This could not be happening. “You think someone drugged you and took advantage of you?” she asked.

The blonde nodded vigorously. “We don't think it. We know it.” She sniffed. “The Club is all about ‘safe, sane, consensual,’ but drugging women and taking advantage of them isn't any of those things!” She frowned. “We thought we were safe there.”

Elena frowned. “Did you go to the police?”

The brunette shook her head. “No. We don't trust the police. But Denise's boyfriend hit her last year, and you guys helped her find a lawyer and stuff, without going to the police. So, we came here first. We know our rights.”

Elena sighed. “When did this happen?” she asked.

“Last night,” the brunette said, casting her eyes down. Damn. Though they seemed untrustworthy, Elena had to investigate further. Under ordinary circumstances, she'd try to get the women to go to the police, but that didn't seem to be the best strategy at this juncture.

Elena nodded. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “How did you two manage to get out?”

They looked at each other for a moment before the blonde started talking rapidly. “My restraints were loose!” She said. “I managed to get out and then untied both of us. We grabbed our clothes and got the hell out of there.”

Elena blinked, then nodded again. “I'm sorry, girls. Why don't I put you with one of our counselors who can help you with this? Okay?”

She stood, and the two tear-stained women followed her. Elena introduced them to Nadia, the volunteer counselor, who ushered the women into her office.

Nadia, a middle-aged Russian woman with thick brown hair looped into a wide braid, smiled at her. Nadia and Elena had been friends for years, and worked together at Centered for even longer. Nadia had been married for twenty years, had three adult children, and volunteered regularly at the clinic. Though she'd lived on American soil for the entirety of her marriage, she still had a slight Russian accent. “Going for a stroll, honey?” she asked, her words meticulously pronounced.

Elena hadn’t been planning on leaving quite yet, but the idea of a walk sounded perfect. She nodded. “Text me if you need me,” she said, leaning in to whisper. “Not so sure I trust these two.”

Nadia nodded, her smile unwavering. She'd been around the block a time or two, and knew how to handle the situation. “Got it. Let's chat later, okay?”

“Absolutely,” Elena called over her shoulder as she took her leave.

It felt good to be outside for a bit. She felt unsettled by what the girls had told her, and the more she thought about it, the more fired-up she got. Their story couldn’t possibly true… could it? The clinic was just a few blocks away from Queensborough Street, where The Club was located. She was going to take a walk, all right, and she knew exactly where she was going. She was curious how Blake would respond to such blatant accusations. Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen.

Alex: Hey. I’m not heading into The Club tonight, and I don’t want you going there until we’ve talked.

Furrowing her brow, she wondered what that was about, at the same moment another text came in, reminding her that MisterHaven had asked her to check in with him an hour ago. Damn!

MisterHaven: Hey. I thought you were gonna text me an hour ago. Lanie? You okay?

She groaned out loud as she responded.

LanieLove: Um, yeah. I'm sorry, got totally distracted and forgot to text. I'm doing okay. You?

Between the conversation she’d just had at Centered, followed by the text from Alex, and now from MisterHaven, she was starting to get pretty pissed off.

MisterHaven’s response didn't come for a moment, but when it did, she bit her lip.

MisterHaven: I'm good. But you're pushing it, little girl.

What did that mean?

She frowned.

LanieLove: Yeah? What is that supposed to mean?

There was no response for a minute, as her anger got the better of her. Having started off the day on the wrong foot, the crazy busy day at work delivering not one but two sets of multiples, then heading to Centered only to have the women say that her very favorite place in the world was responsible for women being victimized? Now MisterHaven, the one and only man she really trusted beside her brother, was gonna go all dom on her because she forgot to text him? What was this, some type of twisted reality show?

Her phone buzzed and for a minute she glared at it, before she realized she was shooting negative energy at the one friend who'd had her back more than anyone. What the hell had come over her?

MisterHaven: Yes. Lanie, you need to settle down. I'm just worried about you, and trying to help, and it seems you're giving me attitude at every juncture. And frankly? I don't like that.

She sighed. But she'd come to the entrance to the large, nondescript brownstone at 826 Queensborough. Squaring her shoulders, she faced the entrance, opened the door, and nodded curtly to the two bouncers whose warm smiles dissolved when they took in her pissed-off expression. They stepped back. No one messed with Alex Slater; therefore, no one messed with Alex Slater's kid sister. Elena knew this well, and today, she was grateful that they all gave her wide berth. She knew Alex wasn't here at the moment, which was unfortunate, because she had shit to discuss, and she wanted to discuss it now, which further meant that the man she’d have to talk to was Blake, and God if he didn't piss her off.

She picked up her phone and shot off a quick text.

LanieLove: Thanks for the concern. Long, long, day. I'm fine. Will text in a bit.

She marched past the bar, where Alice waved to her before Elena stormed past, noticing that The Club was filling up with members now that it was getting into early evening. Blake's office was at the very back of the main floor, and set up with enough video cameras that if Blake was in the office, he'd see her coming. The large door to his office was slightly ajar which stopped her not at all as she shoved the palm of her hand flat against it, feeling the satisfying smack as the door swung open. He was leaning up against his desk, cell phone in hand, and when she walked in, he hit a button that looked like send and placed his phone down as if he'd been expecting her. He folded his arms across his chest, his eyes focused on her with an unreadable expression and a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.

“Elena,” he greeted.

She stopped just two feet in front of him. “Blake,” she spat back, ignoring the fact that storming in here like this was really pretty rude, and that she could've at least called or taken a breather before she went on a fact-finding mission with Blake as the target of her irritability and angst after a shitty day.

Whatever.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. Given the fact that for one quick minute she actually wanted an excuse to take her eyes off the ones that were burning a hole straight through her, she picked up her phone and glanced at the screen.

MisterHaven: No problem, honey.

Just to piss Blake off, she decided to be rude and respond while Blake waited for her.

LanieLove: Thanks. I'll be back in a bit.

As she put her phone in her purse, ready to find out what the fuck was going on, and whether or not Alex’s admonition not to come to The Club had anything to do with the accusations the women back at Centered made, the phone on his desk buzzed. Blake looked at his phone and she stared, as bits and pieces began to connect.

No.

Widower. Long-term dominant. Busier in the evenings than during the day. No children.

No!

Her eyes met his, and she realized he was connecting the dots at the very moment she had. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped, and she gaped, as his jaw clenched.

“No fucking way,” she whispered, her head shaking from side to side.

He glared at the message on his phone, fingers swiping as he replied. Seconds later, her phone predictably buzzed.

“Yes fucking way,” he said, as he shook his head in wonder, the fury rolling off him confirming that he'd been every bit as ignorant about the truth as she'd been.

All she could do was stare.

He was the first to move. With painfully controlled movements, he stalked to his office door, slammed it, and hit the lock, then turned, marching toward her with a heat she felt down to the tips of her toes. She'd never seen him so mad, and for reasons she couldn't quite fathom, she felt her panties dampen as her thighs clenched and she backtracked toward his desk, her hands flailing out behind her, while her mind played over and over, “No way, no way, no way, no way.”

He stalked toward her until her ass hit his desk, and she had no choice but to bend backward to avoid colliding with him. He towered over her, placed both hands on the desk on either side of her, his blue eyes glaring. His brows were drawn together, nostrils flared, and the power that emanated from him had her heart pounding in ways she couldn't decipher. Now that he was close, she could smell the woodsy scent of raw masculinity and anger, and he pressed up against her, the heat of his body overtaking her as the length of his rock-hard erection confirmed she wasn't the only one who was fucking turned on.

“I've got nowhere else to go,” she whispered. “And you're scaring me.”

It was scary in a good way, the way she felt when one of the doms tied her wrists or unfastened the buckle of his belt, fear dancing with arousal, the knowledge deep down in her bones that this wasn't safe, this wasn't gentle, but fuck if she didn't want to taste every last bit of the delicious power he wielded.

“Scaring you?” he whispered in her ear, one hand bracing himself on the desk as another threaded fingers through her hair, looping the midnight black locks around his enormous fingers and tugging her head back. She couldn't help it, as the moan came from deep within her. She was panting, could feel the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped for air. She was drowning, and he was pushing her in even deeper. “I'm scaring you?” he rasped. “Little girl, I haven't even begun.”

He held her head back, the pull along her scalp tingling in delicious pain, as he continued to whisper. “You knew, didn't you, Lanie? You knew it was me, and you played me like a fucking instrument.”

The accusation hit her straight in the solar plexus, and she lost the last thread of self-control holding her together.

“Fuck you!” she fumed, her hands hitting his chest so hard she could feel the slap in her palms, trying fruitlessly to push him off of her, and he didn't budge an inch. “I didn't fucking know! God! You think I knew? You think I'd pour my heart out to you? You think I…”

But she got no further as he stepped back, nabbed both of her wrists, pinned them down to her side and spun her around. With a sweep of his massive hand across his desk, papers and pens and paperclips went flying, bouncing off the floor and the chair. He placed both of her hands on the desk, and pushed her torso so that she was flush against the gleaming cherry wood surface. She struggled against him but was completely overpowered. Holding his hand against the small of her back, his other rose and fell, a searing smack landing straight across her ass. She howled and twisted, but couldn't get away, one blistering spank after another landing. Her ass was on fire as her whole body teemed with arousal.

A dim part of her brain wanted to tell him to stop, but she couldn't, because even in the moment she knew this was exactly what she needed. After half a dozen hard swats, he turned her around to face him, one huge hand engulfing her chin and bringing her eyes to his. “You don't swear at me,” he growled. “You don't tell me what to do.” His blue eyes pierced hers. “From now on, we lay our cards on the table and you'll fucking be honest with me. Yeah?”

She gasped and could only nod her head, as a split second later, his mouth was on hers and fucking hell, it was the best kiss she'd ever had in her life. His lips met hers hard, the possessive feel of them as powerful and fierce as he was. She moaned as his tongue touched hers. He'd broken the seal, and now a floodgate of emotion raced through her veins.

Pushed up against the desk, her ass burned from the spanking he'd given her. As he continued to ravage her, his fingers raked her blouse up. As his rough, hard hand found her breast, her knees buckled. God, the man fucking knew how to touch a woman. Her nipples were hard, her body limp at his mercy, her clit zinged with arousal and her core pulsed with the need to feel him.

This wasn't just the arrogant asshole she'd been crushing on for months. This wasn't just the severe, distant owner of The Club. This was the man who'd helped her get her shit together when no one else could. This was the man who'd listened to her pour her heart out, watching over for her with an almost paternal gentleness—steady, stern, and unyielding.

He pulled his mouth off hers just long enough to whisper a heated, furious, desperate, “Elena.”

Her voice unnaturally low, pled with him. “God, I'm sorry I've been such a bitch.”

His forehead up against hers, he grinned, actually grinned, those wrinkles around his eyes creasing. “You'll pay for those bitchy comments, little girl,” he crooned in her ear. Her eyes closed as heat flared across her chest.

“Make me pay,” she begged. “Make me fucking pay.”

She heard the sound of his belt buckle unfastening. God. Was he going to fuck her or spank her, and did it even matter? She wanted all of it. She wanted all of him. The swish of the leather being pulled through the loops made her legs clench. She opened her eyes and bit her lip as he took his belt in hand, doubled it over, spun her around, and pushed her back up against the desk.

“You wanna pay?” he growled in her ear.

“Yesss,” she moaned. The buckle hit the desk seconds before his hands reached to the front of her scrubs, nimbly pulling the drawstring and shoving them down, along with her panties, so she could step out. He took one moment to draw his hand across her inner thigh before he pushed her legs apart, positioning them so her ass was on prominent display. God, she was bared to Blake and she’d never been so turned on in her life. Fuck, could he see her honey glistening on her thighs? She was gonna come just from being stripped by him.

The cool of the desktop hit her cheek as he firmly positioned her, head down, ass bared. She heard him pick up the belt again, and she wanted it, she needed to be marked by him. The whiz and snap of his belt made her shriek as he lashed her, pain and heat suffusing together, but it wasn't unbearable. It was delicious, and she arched her back for more. Another swing, and heat striped her ass.

“You'll do as you're told,” he growled, before the smack of leather hit her naked skin again.

She could only nod, wanting more, wanting harder, and somehow he knew, as he reared back and snapped his belt against her again, and again, and again. Her ass was on fire, her clit throbbed with need, her eyes shut tight as she took the spanking she’d been craving like a drowning woman craved air. She heard the belt hit the floor, and the telltale sounds of his own jeans being unfastened.

Yes.

With his hands on either side of her hips, he pulled her to him, his erection pressed up against her, warm, and hard as flint. His mouth came to her ear. “You gonna be a good girl?” he growled.

She grinned, spreading her legs for him. “Fuck no,” she said, earning a wicked tug of the hair just seconds before he thrust his cock between her legs. She was so ready for him, slick and heated, and it felt so fucking good being filled by him.

Arousal ripped through her, tearing her apart in the most delicious way possible with every thrust of his hips. Flames leapt across her chest and her clit pounded. She wanted him, needed him, her pussy milking his cock for what he had to give her. He pulled her hair, making her scream as a savage thrust had her about toppling over the edge.

“Brat,” he growled.

“Mmmm,” was her only response. He smacked her thigh hard with the flat of his hand, and the touch sent her over the edge. She screamed, her head thrown back as she climaxed. Fuck, she'd never come like this, the orgasm tearing through her body with abandon, electric shocks of pleasure zinging through every inch of her, and as she came, hard and long, she heard him grunt his own release.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, moaning into her hair as they both gave way to ecstasy. The thrusts slowed with every beat of her heart, until she lay, limp and sated, across the cool top of his desk.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. He said nothing, but leaned down and kissed her cheek, the prickle of his whiskers a delicious contrast to the warm, tender feel of his lips.

“Easy, baby,” he said. “Stay right there. I'm gonna take care of you now, honey.” Who was this man? Blake had never spoken to her with such gentleness, but this wasn't just Blake, this was MisterHaven.

He pulled out. She moaned at the loss of him, but another kiss on her cheek comforted her.

As her heartbeat slowed, her eyes still shut tight with her face pressed up against his desk, her mind finally began to waken.

What the hell had they just done?