She furls her eyebrows for a moment, probably not liking the fact that I called her sweet.

  "All right," she says. "So, what happened to you and Sheila? And why are you so reluctant to talk about it?"

  I nod. Straight to the point.

  "You'll know why I have been reluctant once I tell you," I start. "But it may not be as surprising to you as to anybody else out there."

  "How so?" she asks.

  I place my elbows on the table and lean forward, piercing her down with an intense gaze.

  "Because you know me," I say. "You know what I like. And you have grown closer to me within just a few meetings than anybody has in a long time."

  "Since Sheila?" she challenges.

  I shrug. "You may have even surpassed her."

  Her eyes widen with surprise. "Oh."

  "Sheila was not only my girlfriend," I continue. "She was my submissive, too. It's what I expect in a relationship. It's what I need."

  "You're right," she throws in. "I am not surprised to hear that."

  I smile. "Of course you're not."

  "So? I am still waiting for the shocking revelation here."

  My smile widens to a grin. She’s playing it cool, so typical.

  "The problem was that she liked it, too – but she couldn't admit it. Not to herself and above all not to anyone else," I continue. "She was worried about her public image more than she was about our relationship. A lot more. It defined everything about her."

  "So?" she interjects, still not getting where I’m going with this. "I still don't see the problem. What you do in the bedroom with your partner is nobody else's business. What's the big deal about keeping that part private like anybody else?"

  My facial expression changes. I clear my throat and look at her with a stern expression. This is the crucial part, the part that may scare her away.

  "I wouldn't let her," I say.

  She frowns. "What do you mean by that?"

  She is beginning to shift around on her chair, curious to see where this is going.

  "I wanted to collar her," I say finally. "Collaring your submissive is a deep sign of commitment and devotion. Like a wedding ring. Maybe even more symbolic than a ring."

  I take another pause, waiting for her reaction. Nicky looks at me through her innocent, wide eyes, tilting her head to the side.

  "You wanted to put a collar on her? Like a dog?"

  I shake my head.

  "No, it resembles jewelry. It would have been subtle enough to appear like a normal silver necklace – but she would not have been able to take it off by herself. Ever."

  "Oh..." she murmurs.

  "You see," I continue to explain, "I am a Dominant. I want to own my partner, my sub, the woman at my side. I want to treasure her."

  "Own her?" she asks. "Like a pet?"

  I smile and nod.

  "In a way, you could say that, yes. But it’s more than that. The devotion that comes with this relationship is unlike the kind of love in a normal relationship," I enthuse. "It's a stronger commitment – from both sides. And Sheila wasn't ready for that. I invested a lot in her, emotionally. And I know she felt the same way – but she was not ready to live that part of herself because it scared her."

  "Was it all about appearance?" she asks. "I mean, if I understand correctly, these collars have locks. Right?"

  "That is correct."

  "And only you would be able to open it?"

  "Also correct."

  "Why wouldn't you just take it off whenever it was a problem for her," she wonders. "Because, you know, I can see why it might cause her to feel weird at red carpet events or get in the way when she was shooting scenes and –"

  "Because that's not how it works," I interrupt. "At least not for me."

  "That is very... non-negotiable, or flexible, or cooperative," she says.

  Again, I can’t help but agree with her.

  "Maybe. Most people would call it that."

  "So, you broke up over that?" I ask.

  "Pretty much," I say. "It was a clear sign to me that she was not as devoted to this relationship as I was. I couldn't be happy this way. It's not only about publicly wearing my collar. If need be, I probably would have taken it off of her on occasion. But she never put that decision into my hands. She didn't trust me."

  "That's it?" she wants to know. "That is why you broke up? Because she couldn't be the submissive you wanted? Because she denied wearing your collar in public?"

  "Yes, in a way," I say. "No relationship can function without trust, let alone a relationship between a Dominant and his submissive."

  "Hmmm," she makes. "It seems kind of silly to me to break up over something like that."

  Her words aggravate me, but I don’t let it show.

  "It’s not silly at all, not to me," I object. "You need to understand that if you want to be with me."

  "Compromises are not really your thing, huh?" she asks, winking at me.

  I shake my head. "In some cases, I would rather be miserable than flexible."

  She absentmindedly starts to play with the ribbon around the roses next to her. My eyes follow her movement, and as it so often happens, even an innocent gesture like this sparks a new idea in my twisted head. Images form, ideas come together. They all involve Nicky, naked, shivering with pleasure.

  "Would you... do you..." she stutters. "I mean, are you planning to... put a collar on me?"

  I look at her thinking, "Yes," but saying something else.

  "Maybe," I say. "Eventually. We are not at that point. Yet."

  "Mhm," she replies. "Sure, of course not."

  "Don't get me wrong," I add. "I like to keep that side of me unknown to anybody who is not a part of it. Since Sheila, I have been in the spotlight a lot more than I like. I can assure you that I have no interest in making it public."

  "And become the sexiest dominant billionaire in this country?" she jokes.

  I smirk at her. "Wouldn't that be a smart headline."

  She casts me a sheepish smile. "It might be true..."

  "I don't know about that," I say. "But would you like it? To wear my collar, I mean."

  "I don't know," she responds. She continues to play with the ribbon, lost in thought as she ponders over an idea that must sound absurd to most people. "I really don’t know."

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Nicky

  The thought of being collared like a four-legged pet does seem strange to me. Very strange. Especially if he will be the one who decides if and when the collar gets removed.

  Then again, I hardly ever wear jewelry around my neck anyway. It wouldn't get in the way. And it would mean that I belong to him. That he is truly devoted to me.

  I like the sound of that.

  "That is nothing we have to talk about right now," he says, interrupting my stream of thoughts.

  I look up at him. "Yes, sure."

  He reaches over and gently starts to stroke my hand.

  "How are you feeling?" he wants to know. "What's going through that beautiful head?"

  I smile.

  "Nothing in particular," I lie.

  "You know," he whispers while caressing the back of my hand with his finger. "I promised you, I would make it up. My wrongdoings."

  "Yes, you did," I murmur.

  His touch is electric. I shiver as he moves along my wrist, only ever so faintly touching my skin as the tip of his finger teases my lower arm.

  "Will you let me?" he asks.

  "Let you?"

  "Make it up to you."

  I nod. "Yes."

  He frowns. "Yes, what?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Good girl," he says and abruptly rises from his seat. "Get up."

  I follow his order and look up at him with anticipation as he walks around the table to get closer to me.

  "This is going to be all about you," he promises before he leans forward to bless me with one of his heavenly kisses.

  This man. I can feel my entire body relaxing instantly as if I was literally melting beneath his touch, his kiss.

  Strength and fierceness are leaving me to make room for something else. For that willing haziness that makes me feel weak and empowered at the same time.

  I know I trust him – at least in this regard.

  Our kiss ends and he turns around to reach for the roses. He starts fiddling with the ribbon and just as I am about to ask him what he is doing, he opens it by carefully pulling at one of the ends. The long silk breaks loose from the roses, one end gliding down on the table while he holds the other between two of his fingers.

  "Put your hands in front of your chest," he says. "As if you were praying."

  I smile as I follow his order. "Yes, Sir."

  The silk ribbon is just long enough for him to tie it around both my wrists twice. He fastens it with an elaborate knot and returns my smile.

  "You better be careful," he warns. "This ribbon is delicate and not very strong. If you yank on it too much and break it, I will stop whatever I am doing immediately."

  I cast him a cheeky smile.

  "And I promise you, you wouldn't like that," he adds. "Come."

  He hooks into the band between my wrists with two fingers and leads me out of the kitchen. I follow him quietly, curious to see whether he can figure out which one of the two bedrooms along our small hallway might be mine.

  He can. He pauses just for a second before he unerringly continues his way toward my door, me scurrying behind him.

  A wide smile appears on his face as we enter my bedroom. It is tiny and – luckily – rather tidy for that exact reason.

  "I like the smell in here," he comments.

  I blush at that weird statement. What smell is he talking about?

  He turns around to me.

  "That is a beautiful dress you're wearing today," he whispers, caressing my naked shoulder with the tip of his finger. "I love your neck and shoulders exposed like this. And it is so convenient, don't you think?"

  I look up at him, confused.

  "To get you out of it," he explains. "Even with your hands bound tight like this."

  I smirk at him. "Yes, you really thought this through."

  He shakes his head. "Lift your arms, hands above your head."

  I do as I am told. "Yes, Sir."

  "And stay like this until I tell you otherwise."

  "Yes, Sir."

  He reaches around me and quickly finds the zipper at the back of my dress. Without further ado, he unzips it. With the zipper undone, the dress sits rather loose around my slim body and drops to the ground as soon as Evan takes his hands off of it.

  He hums with approval.

  "Pretty dress," he whispers. "But you are even prettier without it."

  I am wearing a dark purple thong and a matching strapless bra. Only now do I realize how well my underwear matches the ribbon around my wrist. And so does Evan.

  "What a perfect picture we created," he whispers, his eyes scanning my entire body. "A perfect match."

  He looks at me for a few more moments. His eyes are full of affection and adoration. To be looked at like this is still weird. It is confusing and scary, but also incredibly sexy. I can tell in his eyes how much he wants me.

  He moves closer and puts his arms around me again, to open my bra. My arms are still above my head and it tickles when Evan brushes along my side.

  "Oh," he comments as he notices me flinching and giggling. "My little girl is ticklish, huh? That's good to know."

  Fuck. I widen my eyes, alarmed. I don't think I'm a fan of that kind of torture.

  "Don't worry," he says, taking a step back with my bra now in his hands. "Nothing will happen to you right now. I promise."

  He looks at me again, now with my breasts exposed.

  "Beautiful," he assesses. He drops my bra on the floor next to my dress and moves forward, gently cupping my breasts. I close my eyes to relish the moment. His hands feel so good on me. So perfect.

  I moan when he takes my nipples between two of his fingers and squeezes them. The subtle pain enhances the pleasure of his touch.

  Too soon, his hands let go of my breasts and move down along my side until he reaches the hem of my thong. He pauses for a moment before he slowly pulls it down until it falls down by itself.

  I instantly step out of it, finding it weird to balance with my hands still up in the air.

  "On the bed," he whispers. "On your back."

  His voice is gentle and loving, but I don't need to test him to know that any backtalk or hesitation can change that very quickly.

  I stumble toward my bed and position myself the way he wants me to, awkwardly falling back on my bed as I have no way of supporting myself with my hands.

  "Lift your knees," he orders next. "And spread them. As far as you can."

  I gulp. He has seen me like this before. There is no logical reason for me to be ashamed about exposing myself to him like this.

  At least that is what I am trying to tell myself as I follow his order and slowly lift and spread my knees as well as I can. I am rather flexible and thus give a lot of leeway for him to look at me in this awkward position.

  He smiles and nods in approval. "Good girl."

  I blush and close my eyes while he studies me. It is that silly reassurance of 'if I don't see him, he won't see me' that even children cannot fool themselves with.

  And of course, he doesn't let it go.

  "Look at me," he says.

  I obey and slowly open my eyes to return his gaze.

  He is still smiling.

  "You have nothing to be ashamed off," he assures. "This is the most beautiful sight I could hope for."

  It takes all my strength to withstand the intensity of his eyes. Everything inside me screams to flee. I want to turn my head, close my eyes, crawl under a blanket, hide myself.

  "Leave your hands above your head," he says. "And remember, the ribbon is not very tight, not very strong. No matter what I do to you, you cannot yank at it. Understand?"

  "Yes, Sir," I utter.

  "Good girl," he says.

  Again, he remains fully dressed as he climbs on the bed, placing himself between my legs. His eyes are on my center, staring at my nakedness.

  For a few moments, that is all he does. He is sitting between my legs, staring at me, obviously enjoying the view – and my growing embarrassment. My breathing accelerates and I start shivering. I try to remain calm, but my body keeps moving, squirming and moving from side to side as if he was touching me.

  "Beautiful," he whispers. "So responsive."

  Finally, he removes his eyes from my center and looks up to catch mine.

  "What do you think?" he asks. "If I touch you, what will I find?"

  I bite my bottom lip, unable to reply.

  "Answer me!" he hisses, accompanied by a little slap at the upper inside of my thigh. It doesn't hurt much, but it took me by surprise.

  My hands fly up for a second, causing a little pull at the ribbon. I now realize that it will not be easy to keep the knot around my wrists intact.

  He notices, too.

  "Uh oh, be careful, baby girl," he says. "You're going to regret it if you're not."

  I bite my lip again, not because I am dumbfounded, but to suppress a snappy remark that might get me into even more trouble.

  "So?" he presses. "Tell me. What will I find?"

  I gulp and subtly shake my head. "I... don't know."

  "You don't know?" he gasps with indignation and adds another slap to the inside of my thigh. The other leg this time.

  "I think you do," he says. "Are you wet for me?"

  I am pretty sure I am. But it's too embarrassing for me to admit. Too humiliating.

  "Answer me!" he yells.

  And again, he slaps the inside of my thighs. Twice, one on each side. And harder than before. I flinch and let out a little shriek, careful not to move my hands too much.

  "Yes!" I finally bring forth.

  "Yes what?" he presses.

  For God's sake.

  "Yes, I am wet for you," I utter. "I think..."

  He smirks. "You think, huh."

  His hand is on the inside of my thigh again, but not to slap it this time. He slowly moves it upward, caressing my sensitive skin. I shiver and moan as he gets closer to my entrance.

  "Should I check?" he asks, stopping just before he reaches my folds.

  Yes, goddammit!

  "Yes," I whimper. "Please!"

  "Good girl," he comments. "I like you desperate like this. You're lucky that this one is all about you – otherwise I would make you wait longer."

  And with that, his hand finally moves where I want it to be. Where I crave it to be. I arch my back and moan as he finally touches my wetness. It is embarrassing, but I can literally hear how aroused I am. The slick sound that his fingers cause when he carefully spreads my folds is too revealing.

  My body's reaction even amazes him.

  "Wow, Nicky," he whispers. "Look at that. Look how excited you are for me."

  My body writhes under his touch as he starts circling his fingers around the most sensitive spot of my entire body. He is careful and gentle. Almost too gentle for my taste.

  "Fuck me," I hear myself beg.

  "Is that what you want?" he asks.

  "Yes, Sir!" I insist.

  "We'll see," he replies and leans forward, placing himself on his stomach so that he can reach my center with his lips.

  "I need to get a taste of you first," he whispers.

  I can feel his breath on my trembling entrance as he lowers himself closer. Another moan escapes my lips when his tongue finally touches me. He doesn't waste any time and circles it around my clit, quickly – way too quickly – bringing me closer to a climax that I do not yet want.

  It gets harder and harder to control myself. My legs are trembling and shaking and I feel the strong urge to lower my arms. I want to touch him so badly, but I am not allowed. The desire is almost painful.

  But not as painful as his next move. I am dizzy and drunk with lust when his hand lands on my skin with a strong, unyielding slap across my right breast.

  I yelp in pain and instinctively bend my elbows, thus lowering my hands above my chest to protect myself.

  "No!" he warns, only looking up for a mere second to make sure that my hands go right back where they belong.