Page 11

"Tell me what you want," I dare.

His nostrils flare. For a heartbeat, I think he might actually answer. Then his grip shifts?—

—and he shoves the dustpan into my bound hands.

"Clean."

My inner feminist is screaming at me to stop this. What the hell are you doing, Ray? she demands, her voice sharp and scolding. This is not who you are. You don’t let men—beasts—like him control you. You fight back. You ? —

But my inner sex fiend cuts her off with a low, throaty laugh. Oh, shut up. Look at him. Just look at him. That body. That power. You’ve never felt anything like this, and you know it. So stop pretending you don’t want it.

I sway on my knees, my hands still bound, the ridiculous apron strings digging into my wrists.

My skirt is hiked up to my hips, and I don’t even care.

My cheeks are on fire, but it’s not just from embarrassment.

It’s from the heat radiating between my legs, from the way my body is screaming for more.

Gary stands over me, his belt in hand, folding it over with slow, deliberate movements.

The leather snaps against his palm, and I flinch, my stomach tightening.

His red eyes lock onto mine, and I can’t look away.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I’m hyper-aware of every inch of my body—the way the bodice digs into my ribs, the way my breasts are barely contained in the plunging neckline, the way my nipples are hard peaks under the thin fabric.

I swallow the lump in my throat and lean forward, brushing the dust into the pan with my bound hands.

It’s awkward and clumsy, and I can’t stop the little whimper that escapes my lips.

My skirt rides up even more, and I know he can see the wetness between my thighs.

I glance up at him, and my breath catches.

The bulge in his pants is massive, straining against the fabric, and I can’t help but stare.

My mouth goes dry, and a fresh wave of heat surges through me.

"I’m done," I say, my voice shaky. I offer him the dustpan, my hands trembling.

"Are you?" Gary’s voice is low, almost a growl. "And you called me something earlier, when you were mocking me…what was it? Oh yes. Master . I think that’s how you’ll address me from now on."

"Fuck you," I snap before I can stop myself. My inner feminist cackles with approval, but my sex fiend groans in frustration.

Gary grabs me by the hair, yanking me to my feet. His hand slips between my legs, and I yelp, my body arching into his touch. "Eager, are we?" he asks, his voice mocking.

"Yes, you are," I shoot back, my knee bumping against the massive bulge in his pants. I can feel the heat of him through the fabric. My inner feminist is silent now, drowned out by the pounding in my chest and the wetness pooling between my thighs.

Gary’s free hand rips my panties off in one swift motion, and I open my mouth to protest— Hey, I’m not paying for those!

—but he shoves the torn fabric into my mouth, gagging me.

His belt wraps around my head, securing the makeshift gag, and I glare at him, my body trembling with a mixture of fury and arousal.

"That will be the end of your smart-mouthed comments," Gary says, his voice dark with promise.

He pulls a silver cigar case from his back pocket, and my eyes widen. My heart races, and I think he’s going to do something kinky , something that will make me scream into the gag. But instead, he shreds the cigar, piling the tobacco on the floor in front of me.

"On. Your. Knees," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I sink to my knees, my pussy so wet that the floor beneath me is sprinkled with drops. My inner sex fiend is practically purring now, and even my inner feminist is quiet, her protests drowned out by the pounding of my heart and the heat in my core.

I kneel there, the tobacco ground beneath me, my hands bound and my mouth gagged, but I’m not defeated.

Not entirely. My body hums with something raw, something defiant, and I decide to lean into it.

I arch my back, pushing my ass up into the air, the ridiculous maid uniform barely covering me.

I feel exposed, vulnerable, and it’s terrifying—but there’s a thrill in it too.

A power. I can feel Gary’s eyes on me, and I know I’ve got him.

I start to clean, my movements slow and deliberate, the dustpan awkward in my tied hands. I can barely focus on the task, my mind racing, my pulse pounding in my ears. I’m halfway done when I hear it—a low, guttural sound from behind me. I freeze, my breath catching.

Then he’s on me.

Gary drops to his knees beside me, his massive hands grabbing my hips and flipping me onto my back.

My skirt bunches up around my waist, and I’m exposed to him completely.

His red eyes burn into mine, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something, to mock me, to scold me.

But he doesn’t. He buries his face between my legs, and I gasp, the sound muffled by the gag.

His tongue is firm, insistent, and I arch off the floor, my bound hands clutching at nothing.

He licks me with a kind of hunger I’ve never felt before, his mouth hot and wet against me.

He sucks on my lips, pulling them into his mouth until they pop free, and I moan, the sound vibrating against the fabric in my mouth.

His tongue plunges inside me, and I writhe, my hips jerking uncontrollably.

He shifts his attention to my clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue, tracing slow, deliberate circles that have me gasping, my body trembling. I’m on the edge, teetering, and I can’t hold back. I nod furiously, my eyes pleading, even though he can’t see them.

“Do you want to cum?” he growls, his voice muffled against my skin.

I nod again, desperate. He doesn’t make me wait. He sucks my clit into his mouth, and I shatter. My body convulses, my back arching off the floor as I scream into the gag. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt—waves of pleasure cresting and breaking over me, leaving me gasping, trembling.

When I finally come down, I’m drenched, and Gary is staring down at me, his eyes wide, almost…awed. He shakes his head, his fingers brushing my cheek gently.

“How?” he whispers, his voice rough. “How do you have so much power over me?”

I want to laugh, to tell him he’s insane. I’m the one tied up, gagged, completely at his mercy. But I don’t. I can’t. My body still thrums with the aftershocks, and I know there’s more to this—more to us —than I understand.

Gary scoops me up effortlessly, cradling me against his chest as he carries me toward the stairs. I should protest, should fight him, but I don’t. I know we’ve crossed a line, but looking up at his face, at the way he’s looking at me , I don’t want to go back. Not yet.

The stairs creak under his weight, and I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the warmth of his arms.