Evan knows that I have never been a big believer in marriage. The institution seems outdated to me, and I've never really been a romantic.

  But this means so much more.

  Wearing his collar was a conscious choice. One that I have not regretted for a single moment since he closed it around my neck just as solemnly as one would put a ring on another person's finger.

  I am his. And he is mine.

  Nothing says that more than this.

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  For My Master

  A Billionaire Romance

  BLURB

  She looks at me with the yearning of someone who is starving - longing for a man who knows how to touch her, how to give her what she needs.

  But she is more than just a woman with unmet desires.

  Cynthia Storm has ambitions, a dream that cannot become true without the help of a generous patron.

  She needs me.

  However, she's reluctant to accept my generous offer, because it comes with a special requirement: I cover the tuition for her master’s degree - if she agrees to be my submissive in return.

  My submissive. My plaything. Nothing more than that.

  The rules are clear, but playing by them has never been harder.

  Prologue

  Cynthia

  "But I don't want to hurt you!"

  I sigh. Not that bullshit again. I am stripped naked, on all fours, bent over on my elbows, with my wrists tied to the headboard. The knots are too tight. They were too loose at first, and when I told him to tighten them, he went all in, fastening them as if he was tying luggage to the roof of his car.

  I am in my favorite position. Ass up, face down. Almost down. I keep having to raise my head to give instructions, and I fucking hate it.

  I thought he had potential. His name is Brad, and he works out, a lot. That's how we met, actually, at the university's gym. He was in the weight lifting area, looking hot as hell, drenched in sweat, with his shirt sticking to his wet skin, highlighting his ridiculously well-sculpted body.

  He made the first move. Asked me for a date after just a few minutes of chit-chat. He was in charge. Polite and courteous, but demanding. Good-looking with his dark blond hair and a body that boasts the amount of work he has put into it. Smart enough to be accepted into the university's graduate program. On first sight, he’s the kind of man I’m drawn to.

  So much potential.

  And now here he is, sitting next to me, giving me what he calls "a good spanking." Nothing but silly little slaps. He exerts no passion in his smacks. He’s not willing to use his full strength on me - or he has to hold back, because he’s is not able to control it well enough.

  Once again, I lift my head and turn around to him.

  "Don't worry about hurting me," I say.

  He looks at me, his eyes wide and filled with concern. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes!" I hiss. "That can't be all you've got. I can hardly feel it. It’s more like a girlish tickle."

  "If you say so," he says, sounding as if he’s offended. Truly offended, not in a playful or joking way.

  Then he lays two more slaps on me, harder this time. It actually hurts and makes me flinch. But I can feel it. He doesn’t respond to my flinching with triumph, joy or lust. Just worry and confusion. I know he's not into this - so I can't be either.

  "Untie me," I say, defeated.

  He's right at it and jumps to my rescue. "Sure."

  Of course, he has lost the wood that had been building during our foreplay. I take him into my hands and start stroking, looking up at him seductively. He starts trembling and gets fuller and harder within seconds. Of course.

  Okay, so this one was another failure. But he is still pretty, and I won't let him get away without giving me something. I know his tongue is just as useless as his hands, but he has a beautiful body and a cock to match. Remarkable in its length and girth, only growing more and more gorgeous beneath my touch. Even though I am mad at the guy, I can't resist his perfect body and his equally stunning cock. I start licking his tip, already dripping with precum, and slowly take him in. He moans as I wrap my lips around his stiffness, sucking and licking passionately.

  And then I stop, looking up directly into his darkened eyes. "Fuck me."

  He nods apathetically, and grabs one of the condoms I’ve laid out for his visit.

  "Lay on your back," he demands, as he stretches the latex over his erection.

  I comply and rest on my back, legs spread, seductively toying with my clit. At least worshipping his gorgeous cock has excited me a little - and I won't leave with nothing, even if I have to do most of the work for this climax.

  He slowly shoves his length between my legs, pushing until his entire length fills me. I moan. As I had hoped, being stretched by his beautiful member makes this "making the best of the situation" a lot easier.

  He fucks me gently at first, but reacts to me edging him on, pushing my legs apart with his hands as he plunges harder and deeper. I arch my back, changing the angle so that his thrusts feel even more intense.

  "Play with yourself," he commands.

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I start caressing my clit, enjoying the sight of his beautiful, broad chest, but avoiding eye contact. Looking at his face would just remind me of the worried boy he turned into when I asked him to tie me up and spank me. I want to forget that face. All there is now is his muscular body and his huge-sized cock inside me. This he can do well – but I sense that he won’t be able to last long.

  I increase the tension on my clit, trying to match his punishing rhythm.

  "I'm gonna come!" he warns. "Hurry!"

  Yeah, that is going to help. I don't even try, instead resorting to faking my own orgasm when I can feel him releasing his load inside me. At least this way it will end sooner. His throbbing cock feels good, and his muscular, sweaty chest looks irresistible, the muscles on his upper arm flexing deliciously as he holds me in place.

  But it's not enough for me.

  It never is.

  He collapses next to me after his rapture has died down.

  "Fuck, that was good," he gasps. "I'm sorry... Did you come?"

  "Sure," I say, and cast him a quick smile as I get up to put some clothes on. I hope he’s one of those guys who are happy to skip the cuddling. All I want right now is for him to get out of my room, but I don't want to be impolite.

  Luckily, he is smart enough to get the hint. He starts getting dressed and asks me if I have time to grab a coffee.

  "Actually, no," I reply, making an apologetic face. "I still have lots of stuff to do for... you know, this paper. My last one."

  He nods. "Sure, right. You mentioned it."

  Had I? I am surprised at myself.

  He hurries to get dressed, and then I escort him to the door, everything happening pleasantly fast. When we pass by the kitchen, I notice my roommate Beth standing in front of the open fridge. What the hell is she doing home?

  "Well," he says, already standing in the hallway. "Thank you. See you around!"

  I nod and smile. "Yeah, see you."

  That was that. I let out an audible sigh as I walk back to the kitchen, where Beth greets me with an empathetic smile.

  "You don't seem happy," she says, stating the obvious. A bunch of vegetables are spread out on the kitchen table. She picks out a knife from the drawer and starts chopping some red peppers. "You hungry? I have enough for two."

  I shake my head. "No, thanks."

  "So that guy was...?"

  "Brad," I say, now sitting opposite her at the table. "The guy from the gym."

  She raises her eyebrows. "Uh, you were right. He is hot!"

  "Yeah," I say in a quiet voice.

  "But?"

  "Not my type," I say, shrugging. "Just another boring, uninspired college boy."

  "Tzzz." Beth looks at me, her eyebrows higher than ever. "You keep saying that, Miss-no-one-is-good-enough-for-me. Maybe you're just expecting a little too much?"

  "Maybe."

  But could it really be that hard? To find someone who could play the way I wanted? Who would not be afraid to test me, use his strength against me? Who would take the lead and exhaust my limits? Someone who really knows how to tie some decent knots around my body without being a total creep?

  I am starting to doubt my knowledge about human nature. Brad was not the first disappointment to come along, even though I keep lowering my standards.

  "How's the job hunt going?" Beth asks.

  She is obviously keen on digging into everything that is wrong with my life at the moment.

  I roll my eyes. “Bad. I hate everything about it.”

  Beth sighs. “Jeez, girl. It’s not the end of the world! Getting a job, earning some money instead of piling up more debt.”

  She looks over to me, casting me a condescending look. “Working. A lot of people do it, you know.”

  I furl my eyebrows. “You know it’s not that! I’ve always had jobs—“

  “Part-time jobs,” she interrupts. “That’s different. Part-time jobs are just a necessary evil; no one likes them. A real job is different. You don’t even know what’s waiting for you out there.”

  “You make it sound as if I am opposed to working,” I say, pouting like a child. “You know that’s not the problem.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” she admits. “Still got that interview with Jones tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “I don’t know anything about public relations, though. I really wonder why my counselor wants me to go there. And Jones is such a huge name in the industry!"

  "Besides," Beth says, intently chopping an onion. "I heard he's weird. Like, fucked-up weird."

  I snort. "Who is?"

  "Mr. Jones, the boss, the head CEO," Beth explains.

  "Who said he's weird?"

  Beth stops chopping and looks at me conspiratorially. "Melissa said that someone told her that they know a girl, a graduate from last year who interviewed with him, and she said that he came on to her! Said he was flirting with her hardcore through the entire interview."

  I raise my eyebrows. "So? That's it? Do you know how many girls feel like someone is coming on to them just because they're nice?"

  She shrugs. "Still sounds kinda creepy. Also..." She hesitates for a moment to create drama. "I heard his office is plastered with weird pictures."

  I raise my eyebrows. "Weird pictures?"

  "Yeah, of naked, tied-up women, or something. He's a creep!"

  I shrug. If that's true, the interview won't be boring, at least. It's not like I want to work there, anyway.

  "I don't care," I say. "I'm just going there to make my counselor happy. And my parents. They're the ones who want me to get a job..."

  "Don't be such a brat," Beth scolds me. "You know they'd help you to continue your education, if they could. Besides, nothing is decided yet, right? Maybe you’ll still get that scholarship."

  I sigh and steal a cut-off piece of sweet pepper. "Time is running out. If I don't hear from them until the end of the month, I might actually have to take one of those jobs I’ve been interviewing for. If I even get offered one, that is."

  Beth rolls her eyes at me. "Stop whining. Just wait and see how tomorrow's interview turns out. Who knows, maybe you'll like it."

  Chapter One

  Cynthia

  Jones & Jones - what an uninspiring name for a company. As I take the elevator all the way up to the twenty-ninth floor, I wonder who the second Jones could be. Is it a father and son affair?

  I probably should have researched the company before this interview so that I’d know these things. Hell, I don't even know what this Mr. Jones looks like. Or how old he is. I expected him to be an old man, but Beth said that she heard he's "younger." Whatever that means.

  All the information I have about this place and Mr. Jones is little more than gossip and hearsay among girls that was exchanged between roommates in my own kitchen, not exactly the kind of thorough preparation that should go into a job interview.

  I check my face and outfit one last time in the big mirror covering an entire wall of the elevator. My dark brown hair is tied back into a bun, a conservative hairstyle I only choose for job interviews and exams. It makes me look older, especially in combination with my red lipstick and darkly painted smoky eyes. It is the middle of summer, but I still look as pale as always. "Working the Snow White look," as Beth likes to say.

  I am wearing a short, black pencil skirt, black pantyhose, and a tailored white blouse. Classy, but also extremely boring and uncomfortable. I don't feel like myself in these clothes, and I hate that I have to play dress-up for these interviews.

  And this outfit is too hot for the current temperatures, even without a jacket. My heels are a bit too high for me to be able to walk in them like a normal human being, too. I have tried, God knows, but somehow me and heels - it just wasn't meant to be. I still insist on wearing them for interviews, and each time, I curse myself for not learning how to walk in them properly.

  I seemingly stagger out of the elevator as soon as the doors open, trying to look as professional as possible. Damn, it's not easy.

  I find myself in a brightly lit hallway. Clean and sterile-feeling like most of these kinds of offices. The reception desk is right in front of me, occupied by two beautiful women who are not much older than me. They look elegant in their matching suits - most likely the kind of women who do not share my heel-clumsiness. I approach the reception area, carefully and slowly.

  One of them looks up at me, and a polite but distant smile appears on her face. "How can I help you?"

  "Erm... Storm, Cynthia Storm. I have an appointment with Mr. Jones."

  "Storm," she murmurs, looking down at an appointment calendar in front of her. "Ah, here it is. You might have to wait a few minutes - he is swamped with interviews right now and running a little late. Please take a seat."

  She points to a waiting area next to the reception desk. It doesn’t consist of much more than a group of chairs lined up along the wall. All of them are empty.

  I sit down in the middle of the row, placing my purse on my lap, and listen to the sound of people working. I am surrounded by the white noise of muttering, people talking on the phone or with each other. Once in a while, I see someone walking down the hallway. Everybody is dressed in suits. Even though I am wearing my best clothes, I feel completely underdressed and out of place. This office is far fancier and more uptight than I imagined it would be. I feel so out of place, even more so considering my lack of preparation.

  When this is over, I'll treat myself to a little mid-day drink. Or ice cream. I would kill for some ice cream right now.

  This is certainly not a place for me. I look around for the weird pictures Beth mentioned, but don’t see anything out of the ordinary. There are a few random photographs of landscapes, much like the ones that come with the newer versions of Windows. No pictures of naked ladies anywhere that I can see.

  After a few minutes of waiting, I see another girl walking down the hallway. She is young, probably about my age. It's easy to tell that she is not an employee. The closer she comes in my direction, the more I suspect that she is just finishing up the interview immediately before mine.

  She is accompanied by a man whose appearance is literally breathtaking. I forget to breathe as I scan the man’s tall and undoubtedly fit physique as he walks down the hallway. He is wearing a dark gray suit that hugs his broad shoulders tightly, emphasizing his masculine frame. His hair has a similar color to mine, dark brown, and it’s neatly combed and gelled to the side. A three-day stubble adorns his rough-cut but handsome jaw. His lips are surprisingly full and form a contrast to his overall edgy demeanor.

  He is clearly older than the girl who is walking next to him – and older than me – but still young, presumably in his early or mid-thirties. It’s obvious from his looks that he works here. Probably one of Mr. Jones' assistants.

  He politely dismisses the girl, and I straighten up, expecting to be called up any moment.

  I am right. One of the reception ladies gets up. She quickly exchanges words with the handsome man before she leads him to the waiting area.

  "Miss Storm?" she says, tilting her head to the side.