“Stand for me, Kitten,” he utters in a tone drenched in lust. I rise to my feet. The lingerie I bought earlier today feels exquisite against my skin. Carrick stalks around me, silently taking me in. Every inch of my exposed skin tingles with anticipation of what’s to come. “I’d like to take you to my apartment tonight,” he informs me when he stops in front of me.

“Okay, Sir,” I tell him easily. The words fluid on my tongue. He smiles with satisfaction clear on his handsome face. Stepping behind his desk, he shuts his laptop off and grabs a set of keys. He takes his suit jacket from the back of his black leather office chair and drapes it over my shoulders. His scent, spicy and warm, wraps around me.

“Can’t have anyone seeing what’s mine,” he says, murmuring the words in my ear. He leads me out of the office and down a long, dark hallway. We reach a small elevator, which we take silently to the top floor of the building. As soon as the doors slide open, we step out into a private corridor that has a faint scent of orchids.

“This is yours?” I ask, trailing my fingertips over the petals of a bright pink flower. Orchids are beautiful, rare because they’re so difficult to grow.

“I love things that aren’t easily found.” Carrick’s voice carries a hint of something. I can’t pinpoint it just then, but he’s gripped my attention more than anyone ever has. “Come, Kitten.” He ushers me inside his apartment.

The space is elegant. Nothing I’d pictured it would be. Slate gray walls are adorned by intricate modern art. Two large pillars of open brick offset the living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows with their black frames overlooking the city are draped by flowing cream curtains which don’t look like they close.

There are two large sofas, both a rich magenta—dark, luxurious pink. A black shag rug sits under a glass-top table, and a modern fireplace overlooks the scene. It’s open plan, and the kitchen to my right is black and chrome, with hints of color coming from the cabinet doors. A fine pattern of the same pink adorns the seating.

“Do you like it?” Carrick asks after my perusal of his apartment lands back on him. The low lights that sit flush in the ceiling glow a soft cream, which turns the contours of Rick’s face from human to a statue carved from marble, and my fingers itch to touch him.

“It’s beautiful. I didn’t pin you for an art lover,” I tell him, padding toward the one piece of an abstract woman, sitting with her back to the viewer. She’s naked, and the curve of her spine is a perfect slight S, giving way to the white sheet she’s sitting on, which hints at her bare ass. Her hair is pinned atop her head, with thin tendrils which frame her delicate neck.

“Those are all Mason’s work,” he tells me. I’m shocked, because I had no idea. Savannah has never mentioned his art to me. I was clueless Mason even knew how to hold a paintbrush, let alone create such beautiful paintings.

“I didn’t know.”

Carrick joins me, his body cocooning me from behind. His body heat calms my erratic heartbeat as he slips the jacket from my shoulders. His hands on my shoulders steady me as he holds me in place. The gentle kiss he places on my neck causes goosebumps to rise in its wake.

There’s never been a time I’ve been surer of what I want. The man I want. Every suitor my father brought to the house was after one thing--our money. They saw me as the innocent little girl. Not wife material. And I didn’t prove them otherwise. I didn’t want to be paraded around like a trophy. Deep down, I needed to feel wanted, desired. A woman, and not a girl.

Carrick gives me that in spades, and I’ve not been around him for very long. He’s offered me the one thing I most desired. To feel beautiful. When I first thought about submission, it wasn’t about the sex. I believed it was about the emotion that comes from it. Kneeling for one man, allowing him to offer you pleasure is not a weakness. There’s a strength in it. When I waited for him in the office, I felt real for the first time in years. Knowing I’m the one who holds the power, because if I don’t allow him to spank me, fuck me, he can’t take it.

He reaches for my hair, his fist gripping the wavy tendrils. With a harsh tug, my head falls back against his chest, and a whimper of need tumbles from my mouth. This man will be my undoing, unraveling me bit by bit until all that’s left is my need for him.

“Come, Kitten,” he orders, turning me to face him. His fingers lift my chin gently, forcing me to lift my gaze to his. “Tonight, we’ll learn how you enjoy different sensations.” His words elicit a tingle that trickles down my spine. My body is already trembling with anticipation at the thought of what he’s going to do to me.

“What do you mean?” My brow furrows in confusion.

“Have you ever heard about or read about sensation play?” he asks, as if teaching a small child. I guess I am. Each step I take into his world is another learning curve, and if I have to be honest, I’m excited.

“Not really,” I answer honestly. If there’s one thing I know it’s that I need to tell him how I’m feeling or what I’m experiencing for this to work.

“Okay, let’s go to my bedroom. If you feel out of your depth and need to use your safe word, then you do it at any time. Do you understand me, Peyton?”

“Yes, Sir,” I murmur, teasing him with the words that seem to turn his eyes molten. It looks like liquid gold trickling through the depths of his gaze.

“Good girl.” Carrick slips his hand in mine and leads me down a long hallway into a bedroom the size of my apartment. It’s massive.

The opulence of his bedroom is breathtaking. A king-sized bed sits against a brick wall. The headboard is made of tufted velvet. Black sheets adorn the bed with pillow cases the same dark magenta as the sofa. Four steel posts sit on each corner of the bed, and I know what they’re used for before I notice the leather cuffs locked to them.

Two large pink orchids sit on either of the jet-colored nightstands. The carpet is thick, plush under my bare feet and the color of ash.

Once again, I’m greeted with floor-to-ceiling windows with the same view as the living room.

“This is . . .” I can’t find words to describe the bedroom.

“I’m glad you like it. I want you on the bed, Kitten. On your back. I’ll be binding you to the four posts,” he tells me easily, strolling over to the window, oozing confidence like it’s a cologne. I move quickly, finding that the sheets are cool against my skin. The silky material is delicate and shiny. I lie back, unsure of what I’m doing. He doesn’t move, merely stands looking out over the view with his arms folded in front of his chest. He’s still dressed in his blue shirt and black slacks.

I take a moment to admire him. Over six feet of lean muscle. His hair, the color of warm chestnuts, sits messily atop his head. His profile of a chiseled jaw, sharp features, and his softly tanned skin gives the illusion that he’s perfect. Beautiful.

But I know no person is perfect. We all have flaws.

“Close your eyes, Kitten,” he tells me without turning. I shut them immediately, and that’s when the anticipation kicks in. Silence echoes loudly in the darkened room. My skin skitters with a cool shiver when I try to picture where he is, or if he’s moving. I can’t hear anything, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t perhaps shifted on the spot.

A shuffle of material sounds like a foghorn to my ears.

“If you open your eyes, I’ll whip your ass. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir,” I purr like the kitten he calls me. More shuffling of material, and then I feel his hand on my ankle, the cold leather wraps around it like an ominous sign.

“Breathe, Peyton. I won’t hurt you.” His assurance eases my tension somewhat. I’ve never been tied up before. But then again, I’d never been spanked, and I loved it. He continues to bind me to the four corners of his bed. I’m spread open to his gaze. “You look beautiful against the darkness, my sweet little Kitten.” I can’t help smiling.

“Perhaps I’m your light.” I don’t know where the words come from, but the air in the room shifts. It changes as soon as the last word falls from my mouth.

“Perhaps.” It’s the only response. He’s not angry, I can tell, but he sounds almost pained by the prospect. His soft footfalls on the carpet are now as loud as if they were on tiles. When he returns to me, soft material covers my eyes. “Lift your head,” he orders. Once the blindfold is in place, he rises from the bed, and then I’m once again met with silence.

“Carrick?”

He doesn’t respond. My heart patters in my chest, but then it leaps into my throat when I feel a gentle caress on my left foot. It’s light, almost tentative.

“What is that?” I ask in confusion, but he doesn’t tell me. The sensation trails up my leg to my thigh and over the corset. I know this because soon it reaches my face, and that’s when I realize it’s a feather.

“Do you like this corset, Kitten?” he asks.

“Why?”

He chuckles in response to my question. The feather disappears, then, moments later, I hear a strange sound I can’t place. Once the corset falls way from my torso, I realize he cut the ribbons holding it in place. Gently, he tugs the now ruined lingerie out from under me.

“It was in my way,” he says nonchalantly. Once again, the feather is back, tickling its way over my stomach, ribs, then my sensitive nipples. They harden into peaks, aching for a harsher touch than he’s offering. “So pretty.” His adoration causes my cheeks to heat, presumably in a blush.

He pulls away, moving around the room, and I wonder what I’m in store for next. Moments pass, and I’m lying in darkness and silence. When I hear his footfalls again, another sound I can’t place causes me to shiver in apprehension.

“No fear in this room. I’ll never hurt you, Kitten.” His voice is right at my ear, so soft and gentle it calms me immediately. He moves away, his hot breath gone, then I hear it. A strike of a match sounds around me, echoing in my ears. The scent of orchids and lavender fills the room. “This is going to tingle,” he informs me before the sensations of what I can only imagine is hot wax trickles over my bare skin. A straight line from my knee to my upper thigh, getting close to my pussy but never reaching the now-slick entrance of my body.

Once both legs are warm and sensitive, he does the same over my stomach. The movements so slow, I inhale a sharp breath, awaiting the moment they reach my nipples. When they do, I cry out. My back arches in response. I’ve never felt such pleasured-pain. As soon as the wax cools, he continues to pour more hot liquid on my breasts, seconds before it has time to cool, an ice-cold sensation shoots through me. From the heat at my legs, I know Carrick is straddling me.

He doesn’t speak, but the ice cube screams volumes. He's using his mouth. Goose bumps rise on every inch of my flesh. Once he’s run out of the icy block, he grabs another from a glass to my left and continues his ministrations down to my now-drenched core.

The water trickles over me. Whimpers and mewls fall from my lips. I beg and plead for him to do something, touch me, kiss me, fuck me, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even move. The bed dips as he moves. Once I’m alone again, I turn my head, but it’s pointless, I can’t see a thing.

“You’re exquisite. You know, Kitten, I’m breaking every rule with you.” His words hold raw honesty. I’m not sure what he means, but I can’t ask him because suddenly wet material is shoved into my mouth. “Can you taste that, baby?” he murmurs. “That’s your sweet little cunt.” I can. I try to nod, and he chuckles. He removes the panties.

“Sir,” I whimper, my voice raspy and low. “I need . . . Can you . . . I mean . . .”

“Do you need to come, Kitten?” I picture his face, and I know for a fact he’s sitting or standing there smirking like the confident asshole he is.

“Please.” He loves me begging. I know he does.

“I have five rules, Peyton,” he informs me without giving me an ounce of what I need. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel a feather light stroke over my flesh. “I don’t take on submissives. I never play a scene with a sub more than once. I never allow them into my bedroom.” It’s then I feel the lick of leather. It feels as if there are a million fingers touching me. “I never allow emotion into my scenes or with the women I fuck.” It’s gone as quickly as it arrives, and then the bite attacks with vengeance.

“Carrick!” I cry out when he lashes my thighs, my calves, moving higher he attacks my stomach, my breasts. When a stray strand of leather licks at my pussy it turns my body molten. I’m drenched. More so than I’ve ever been before.

“My sweet little virgin,” he taunts. He took that, he took my body, and right now he has my mind in his commanding grip. He continues his assault. It wracks me violently. My body aches, tenses, trembles. I’m so close. I feel an orgasm tightening my core. It feels as if a fist has me in its hold, and I have no way of stopping the onslaught. The leather causes the wax to fly off my body, and I’m once again bare.

“I’m going . . . Oh god, Carrick, please, please?”

He lashes me on my mound. “In this room, in a scene, it’s Sir,” he commands, and I try to nod but my body is not my own. It’s his. I’ve handed it to him, and I have no way of getting it back because I don’t want to.

A thud on the carpet tells me he’s dropped the whip or flogger or whatever he was using. Suddenly, his body is on me, between my thighs, and he drives inside me in one long stroke.

“I knew you were needy for me, Kitten, but you’re fucking drenched,” he grunts in my ear. His voice is ragged, husky as he moves inside me. He's thick, hard, and he stretches me almost painfully. He doesn’t give me a moment to get used to his cock, because his hips move, faster, slamming me into the bed. I can’t move. I can’t touch him. Everything is too much. Sensations skitter through me. Electric currents blaze through my veins. My blood is boiling, turning my core molten, and my toes curl when he pumps into my tight entrance.

I feel my own juices dripping from me. “Come for me. I need to feel it, Peyton.” He murmurs my name. His mouth latches onto an exposed nipple, sucking it hard into his warm, wet mouth. His teeth graze the hardened bud, biting down hard, and I lose all control.

My head thrashes into the mattress, my keening cry reminding me of a goddamn banshee. I tug on my restraints, but I have nowhere to go. My toes curl into the sheets. He doesn’t let up. He continues his thrusts deep into my cunt, ensuring I’m drained of everything I have to give him.

My throat burns. He drives in one last time, jerking as his body releases hot seed deep inside me, and I welcome every drop. I’m his. There’s no doubt this man owns more than just my body. And that scares me shitless.