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BDSM – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:51:05 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png BDSM – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 His Game His Rules (Last to Fall #2) Read Online J.A. Huss http://www.ilovenovels.com/his-game-his-rules-last-to-fall-2-read-online-j-a-huss Tue, 16 Jun 2026 12:51:05 +0000 https://www.ilovenovels.com/his-game-his-rules-last-to-fall-2-read-online-j-a-huss Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Authors: J.A. Huss Series: Last to Fall Series by J.A. Huss
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Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)

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Some snakes are worth the bite, and some kings are worth kneeling for.

Emmaleen
Thirty-seven day-one demerits.
One double or nothing dare.
And zero chance I'm leaving this dungeon, like... ever.

I’m the world's most inconvenient Word Collector. Giovanni Bavga’s biggest liability. I won the last game… technically.
But this one isn’t meant to make me stay.
It’s meant to make me leave.

His game, his rules... until surrendering to him became the only way to win.

Giovanni
Control isn't something you keep—it's something you lose the moment you care.

Little Miss Take recites her penance like prayers and writes poetry that destroys me. Now I'm the one unraveling while she kneels between my legs like she was made for my throne.

Emmaleen Rouke needs to break.
In half.
In pieces.
In a hurry if she wants to stay alive.

I need her in love with her chains and the lock on the door.

My crown, my kingdom... until keeping her became the only way to save her life.

The Last to Fall series is an intense deep dive into the psyche of possession, obsession, and what one man will do to keep the woman he loves alive

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

The contrast is obscene. The Aventador—alien spacecraft, alien predator, alien perfection—sits gleaming against brick returning to dust. Nero Nemesis matte black against urban decay.

Rain beads on the windshield, soft and persistent. I don't turn on the wipers. Let it accumulate. Let it blur my view of this place she's been hiding.

It's 7:07. I've been here since 6:45.

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, counting the twenty-three minutes I've wasted. Twenty-three minutes I could have spent dealing with the LaRiccia fallout. Twenty-three minutes I could have spent making arrangements to contain Rico's disappearance. Instead, I'm parked outside a women's shelter that looks like it should have been condemned during the Reagan administration.

"Double or nothing." The memory of her voice makes my jaw clench. A throwaway line from a woman who doesn't understand that some gambles can't be taken back. Some antes are paid in blood, not cash.

I shouldn't have kept those fucking notebooks at her bedside. Shouldn't have written down every fluctuation in her breathing, every spike in her fever, every word the doctors said. Shouldn't have documented my own pathetic fear when her oxygen levels dropped.

Definitely shouldn't have stayed awake for seventy-two hours straight watching the monitors.

But I did.

What did I expect when I left them behind as evidence that I care?

That she'd just take the money, the passport, and private jet to anywhere-but-here?

That she'd just… play by the rules?

Why the hell would Emmaleen Rourke play by the rules when she can torment me with her weaponized cuteness?

I’m so fucked.

The weeds pushing through the cracks in the parking lot catch my eye. Life finding a way through concrete. Annoying. Persistent.

Like her.

Rico's face flashes in my mind—the shock in his eyes when the bullet hit him. Not fear or anger. Just... surprise. Like it never occurred to him that I'd actually pull the trigger. That his power over me wasn’t infinite. That I’d choose a woman over decades of LaRiccia-Bavga diplomacy.

He miscalculated everything.

The rain falls harder now. Summer is over. The drizzle builds to a steady drum against the carbon-fiber roof. October has arrived with its slate-gray skies and bitter promise of winter. The trees around the shelter's cracked parking lot are tinged with yellow and orange—a transition I didn't notice happening until it was already done.

I check my watch—7:12 now.

Two weeks since Dom and Ricky buried Rico in the woods out in Bucks County. Two weeks of carefully constructed digital breadcrumbs leading to Bangkok, where Deepfake Rico is currently enjoying a vacation complete with Instagram stories and location tags.

Two weeks of preparing for the inevitable moment when Luca LaRiccia realizes his son isn't coming home.

The digital clock on my dash clicks to 7:20. Suddenly, the shelter door flies open and Emmaleen bursts out like she's been launched from a cannon.

She takes the concrete steps two at a time, her lips moving in frantic conversation with herself, hands gesturing wildly at nothing. Classic Emmaleen Rourke crisis mode—all raw nerve endings and no strategy. The woman exists in a perpetual state of last-minute panic, yet somehow survives it every time.

She has no fucking idea where she's supposed to be at 8:00 a.m.

Because I didn't tell her.

The realization settles in my chest like a warm drink on a cold night. This little punishment—withholding the location of our meeting—was calculated. Petty, perhaps, but necessary. Watching her scramble now confirms what I already knew: she's tangled in my game. A fish hooked and fighting, but ultimately dragged along at my convenience and mercy.

I let my gaze catalog every detail of her outfit, an assessment as brutal as a coroner's report.

That blazer. Jesus Christ. Neon pink with shoulder pads the size of dinner plates, like she looted the wardrobe department of a canceled 1987 sitcom. The fabric puckers at the seams, shiny where it shouldn't be, the buttons mismatched as if collected from different garments over decades of neglect.

Below it, a denim skirt hangs like depressed drapery, the hem uneven and fraying. The fabric has that distinctive gray-blue fade of something that's been washed in industrial machines at church basement charity drives for longer than she's been alive.

Her sneakers—I hesitate to even dignify them with that term—appear to have been white once, in the distant past. Now they're a study in urban archaeology, layered with stains telling stories of every puddle she's misjudged. They squeak with each step, announcing her chaotic presence like some kind of deranged metronome.

The outfit isn't just bad. It's a deliberate middle finger. A visual manifestation of "fuck you and your Italian leather shoes." Last week's farmer's market ensemble at least had accidental bohemian charm—this is just sartorial terrorism.

Me: Milan runway, tailored precision, fabrics selected by people who understand the weight and drape of textiles.

Her: whatever fell off the donation truck after being rejected by the third-tier thrift store.

The absurdity compounds as she continues her frantic monologue, completely oblivious to my presence. A $300,000 machine—Italian engineering at its apex, 6.5-liter V12 heart—sits gleaming in this depressing parking lot, and she doesn't even register it.

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Wicked Sanctuary (The McCarthy Family Legacy #2) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/wicked-sanctuary-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-2-read-online-jane-henry Wed, 13 May 2026 18:52:58 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wicked-sanctuary-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-2-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Authors: Jane Henry Series: The McCarthy Family Legacy Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >109

I’ve been watching her for six years.
Bianca White is sunshine and innocence.
I’m the monster they whisper about in the dark.
And she hates me, for good reason.
I told myself I’d stay away. That I’d keep my distance and just make sure she was safe. But on the night of her college graduation, I have no choice.
So I take her.
I cage my little bird in the woods where no one can touch her. Where no one can take her from me.
Yet she doesn’t take it easy. She fights me and begs to go back to the man who will kill her.
She’ll learn, though, that some cages are gilded for a reason, and that anyone who wants to harm her will have to come through me first.
Bianca didn’t know it, but she was always mine. Now everyone else will too.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Six Years Earlier…

Ashland

I love the taste of blood in my mouth during a fight. Proof I’m alive, that I’m winning. It tastes like victory.

I spit it on the floor of the ring, and red splatters across gray. The echo of cheering is like distant thunder, the smell of sweat and Guinness flooding my senses. The abandoned warehouse is officially a gym, but the underground knows that beneath the official exterior is where the real action takes place. This is where men like me come to fight, and I fucking love it.

Lawless. Violent. Cathartic.

My ribs ache where the Cork bastard caught me early, a hit I'll feel tomorrow. But when he comes in with a right hook, confident, thinking he's got me figured out, I duck. I drive my fist into his kidney. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession, each hit precise and targeted. I feel something give under my knuckles.

And I love this. God help me, I love this.

He grunts and tries to pivot away, but I'm too fast for him. He swings wild, desperate now, and clips my jaw. Blood floods my mouth, the familiar metallic taste sweet and satisfying. My opponent’s desperation is my first taste of victory.

Beautiful.

He grins, breathing hard, and his guard drops.

“Come on, then,” I say, my voice rough. I tap my jaw where he hit me. “That's all you’ve got?”

He charges.

I sidestep and drive my elbow into the base of his skull. Not hard enough to do permanent damage—I'm not trying to kill the fucker—but hard enough.

He staggers, and his knees buckle.

I'm on him before he can recover. Left jab to the temple, right cross to the cheekbone. I feel the satisfying crack under my knuckles. Another shot to his fucked-up ribs, and this time, something cracks.

“Finish him, Ash!” Tiernan shouts from somewhere behind me, and it's all the encouragement I need.

I drive my knee into his stomach. The air leaves his lungs in a sick whoosh.

He drops face-first on the canvas. The ref's beside him instantly, checking him, and I step back. My chest heaves. My hands throb. There's blood on my knuckles, and I can't tell if it's his or mine.

His crew screams for him to get up, but he won't, not after what I did to his ribs. Wouldn't be wise, would it?

“Time.” The ref's voice echoes through the warehouse, and the crowd erupts.

I don't hear them when I'm playing, don't hear them when I'm fighting, but I do after I win a damn fight.

“McCarthy! McCarthy! McCarthy!”

The McCarthy family's name is one of their favorite cheers, and I fucking love it. I love being part of something bigger, knowing I stand in solidarity with my brother and cousins.

Today, I don't move or raise my arms, don't celebrate. I just stand there, knuckles split and bleeding, waiting for the roar to fade. It doesn't, really.

I've found that violence just sits in my chest like a living thing, coiling tighter and tighter until the next fight. I've come to welcome it.

“Ash.” Tiernan's voice cuts through the roar of the crowd. “Get out of the damn ring, lad, will you?”

I turn and find him at the ropes. Tiernan's been in my corner since before I was tall enough to throw a proper punch. My mother's brother, near enough my age to feel like a brother himself. He has a family of his own now, but he's always been my mentor.

“Y'alright, lad?” he asks as I duck through the ropes. He tries to dab blood off my face with a rolled-up rag, but I swat his hand away and reach for the bottle of water—swig it, swish it in my mouth, and spit out blood. He reaches for my hands instead and starts unwinding the tape.

“Aye. Grand.”

“That wasn't grand, Ash,” he says, giving me the look of pride mixed with worry I've come to recognize. “That was fuckin' brutal.” He leans closer, and I can see the gray mixed with ginger in his hair, the lines around his eyes, and the way his brow creases. I remember when I thought he was invincible—the day I saw him in this ring and decided it would be me one day. Tiernan’s a legend here in Ballyhock.

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Wicked Altar (The McCarthy Family Legacy #1) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/wicked-altar-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-1-read-online-jane-henry-2 Wed, 13 May 2026 18:52:24 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wicked-altar-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-1-read-online-jane-henry-2 Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Authors: Jane Henry Series: The McCarthy Family Legacy Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)

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I've hated Cavin McCarthy since the day he made me cry in a school closet.

He was my tormentor. My nightmare. The cruel boy who turned my name into a punchline and my life into hell.

Now? He's my fiancé.

An arranged marriage neither of us wanted, brokered by families who deal in blood and power. I'd refuse if I could. But my sister is dying, and the McCarthy's hold the key to saving her life.

So I'll walk down the aisle. I'll say the vows. I'll become Mrs. Cavin McCarthy.

But I'll never forgive him.

Except... the monster I remember isn't the man standing before me now. The boy who destroyed me has become someone who fights for me. Protects me. Touches me like I'm something precious instead of broken.

And when his hands are on my throat, his voice rough in my ear, I'm not thinking about revenge anymore.

I'm only thinking about surrender

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Cavin

I stand with my hands folded in front of me, the bitter cold of a Ballyhock winter seeping through my wool coat as I stare down at what’s left of Malachy.

“No one can know about this, lad.” Malachy’s last words. The envelope in my pocket weighs more than the coffin we carried. After the prayers, I’ll deliver it. One last secret for a man buried in them.

In my peripheral vision, my brother Seamus, the eldest, stands beside our father and mother. Da looks distinguished and broken. Malachy was a second father to him.

Mam looks poised as always, her expression gentle despite the frown creasing her brow. Her hands rest on Da's forearm, folded and still—but I know better. She's always alert. My sisters stand on either side of her, dressed in formal charcoal gray—Kyla on guard and frowning, Bronwyn, the baby of the family, quietly sniffing and wiping at her eyes with a balled-up tissue.

My cousin Declan whispers something in Bronwyn's ear that makes her smile and elbow him. Garrett, a family friend, his trademark red hair stark against the cold blue sky, snorts. I shoot them all a sharp look—this isn't the fucking time—and they straighten up quick enough.

It’s a huge turnout. I swear half of Ballyhock’s come to pay their respects, which makes sense when I think about the man Malachy was, and the way our father always made sure the McCarthy men stayed within the good graces of the residents of Ballyhock. Even the best of them will overlook our… transgressions… when we toss half a million quid in the Holy Family coffers.

“Ashes to ashes,” Father Gregory says in a monotone, his hand steady as he makes the sign of the cross over the coffin. My mother makes the sign of the cross and whispers what must be a prayer under her breath.

I rub my hand across my eyes. Haven’t slept more than a few hours straight since prison, and it’s showing.

“Mad, isn’t it? Only death or marriage gets us all in the same place anymore,” my cousin Daire mutters to me. He’s not wrong.

I stare at the coffin. It was lighter to carry than I expected. Malachy lost weight at the end, before he lost his battle to illness and old age, and I guess the lads and I are stronger than we once were.

Movement catches my eye—someone shifting near the far edge of the graveyard, half hidden behind a weathered angel statue.

A woman—blonde hair whipping in the wind and black coat buttoned to her throat.

She’s not with the main gathering but is separate, alone, kneeling at a grave with white roses clutched in her gloved hands.

And she’s staring right at me.

My breath catches. Is that…? It can’t be.

Erin fucking Kavanagh. Perfect little Erin.

What the bloody hell is she doing here?

She’s fifty yards away, maybe more, but I’d recognize her anywhere. That sharp little face. Those eyes that always looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. The way she holds herself—stiff, controlled, like she’s afraid she’ll fly apart if she loosens her grip.

Only she’s not the scrawny little bitch from St. Albert’s anymore. She’s filled out—tits, hips, the lot. Even in that shapeless coat, I can see the curve of her. My mouth goes dry. I want to look away, but I can’t.

Christ, I’m a bastard for noticing her arse at a funeral.

She ducks her head when she realizes I’ve clocked her. Pretends to fuss with the flowers, but her hands are shaking now.

Good.

The Kavanaghs sent flowers yesterday, including a card with her father’s signature, not hers. So why the fuck is Padraic Kavanagh’s daughter kneeling at a grave in McCarthy territory during our funeral?

My hand moves to my side, where my gun sits under my coat. Instinct. Even from this distance, I could drop her before she screams.

The thought shouldn’t make my cock twitch… but it does.

My eyes narrow. Is she spying for her da? Or did she just want to watch me squirm? That'd be just like her—Little Miss Perfect, always so fucking eager to see me brought low. Again.

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Daddy’s Atonement – Crime Boss Daddies Read Online Laylah Roberts http://www.ilovenovels.com/daddys-atonement-crime-boss-daddies-read-online-laylah-roberts Wed, 13 May 2026 18:52:24 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/daddys-atonement-crime-boss-daddies-read-online-laylah-roberts Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Biker, Contemporary, Crime, Erotic, MC Authors: Laylah Roberts Advertisement

Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 160192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >156

All her life she’d been trapped in a cage . . .
Some of them were better than others, but that didn’t matter when all she dreamed of was freedom.
However, dreams weren’t for people like her.
Angie only had nightmares.
People either abused or abandoned her.
Which is why she wasn’t going to believe the promises from a crime lord.
A Bartolli had ruined her life once. She couldn’t let that happen again.
No matter how sexy and protective he was.
Or now seductive and possessive his sub could be.
They would just have to find another girl to be Jared’s Little and North’s plaything, to love them.
Because love wasn’t for girls like her.

Please This book contains a super hot crime boss who is definitely in charge. Although his sub might try to argue that point. And both of them want our heroine as well as each other

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

Chicago

Five years ago . . .

His father was a dead man.

It was only a matter of time. With the lifestyle that bastard led it wouldn’t take long before he pickled his liver.

Or was murdered.

But as he looked at the extremely young, scared woman sitting across from him at the dining table, Jared felt like grabbing the steak knife off the table and stabbing it into his father’s fat, fucking throat himself.

Fuck, he wished North was here.

But his father didn’t believe in letting “the help” sit at the dining table. There was a definite divide in this household between “the help” and “the family.”

Jared longed to tell his father just what North meant to him . . . but he knew that would only put a target on North’s back.

North thought he could take care of himself.

However, Jared’s father was a fucking monster.

And Jared knew that he’d use anyone he loved against him. It was why he had to act like he didn’t care about his cousin, Tabby, while doing his best to keep her safe.

And why he couldn’t show that he was concerned about the young woman across from him.

The girl who his father had apparently fucking married.

Jared tightened his hand around his fork, then slowly eased his hold.

Do not show any reaction.

Do not show that you care.

The urge to murder him was almost too much for him to control. And while his father deserved to die, Jared wasn’t quite in a position to make that happen.

He was building up his own empire, without the old man’s knowledge, down in Colombia. His own team of men that worked for him because they wanted to.

Not out of fear.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t openly murder the bastard. Not without making too many waves in the family.

North had offered to sneak into his bedroom and slit his throat. But there was too much risk.

However, he needed to move up his timeline.

“Well?” Fergus said as he stabbed a piece of steak. “Don’t you have anything to say to your new stepmother?” He chortled after saying that.

As though everything was a big joke.

The girl flinched.

She looked hungry, haunted.

On her plate was a tiny serving of food. Some plain mashed potatoes and a few beans.

He didn’t blame her for not wanting to eat but that wasn’t enough.

“Don’t call her that,” he snapped and she jumped.

Regret filled him.

Jared hadn’t meant to scare her. The last thing he wanted was to add to her pain.

When his father told him eighteen months ago that he was getting married, Jared had felt sorry for the poor woman. But he’d also figured that she knew what she was getting into.

He hadn’t attended the wedding.

Hadn’t given her another thought.

Jared hadn’t had time to worry about what shit his father was getting up to.

But he should have known better.

He should have been keeping a closer eye on what his father was doing.

“How old are you?” He hadn’t meant to ask that, but the words just shot out of him.

She would be stunning if she didn’t look so terrified.

“N-nearly t-twenty-one.”

His father smiled. “Fucking hot, isn’t she? The young ones are just so . . . delicious. I can get you a young one, too. I’ve built up some nice connections.”

“I’ll let you know,” Jared said through gritted teeth.

Not fucking happening.

But appearances had to be kept.

He could not let his father know that behind the scenes, he was plotting to take him out.

It could be done.

It had to be.

For his sake.

For his cousin’s safety.

And for this abused and traumatized woman.

“We’ve got to get her free, North.”

Jared paced back and forth in the bedroom suite at his father’s sadistic torture venue.

Otherwise known as his home.

North knew he should have gone to dinner with Jared. What Jared didn’t understand is that he wasn’t scared of his father.

That disgusting pig didn’t intimidate him. Jared only had to give him the go-ahead and he’d happily slip into his bedroom and slit the bastard’s throat.

Easy-peasy.

He sharpened his knife as Jared paced back and forth. North was hoping he might notice and give him the nod.

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Dirty Little Secret Read Online Riley Hart http://www.ilovenovels.com/dirty-little-secret-read-online-riley-hart-2 Wed, 13 May 2026 18:50:10 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/dirty-little-secret-read-online-riley-hart-2 Genre: BDSM, College, Contemporary, Erotic, M-M Romance Authors: Riley Hart Advertisement

Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >94

James
I’m forty years old, a tenured professor with investments, property, and a 401k.

But what I crave is to submit. To hand over control to Colton. We met on an app. His needs matched mine. It was only supposed to be once, then twice. No commitment, so I don’t feel bad cutting contact.

Then my world implodes when I get custody of siblings I didn’t know I have.

Everything would have been fine, I would have survived on my own, if not for Sir, my hookup, walking through the doors of my classroom.

He’s over a decade younger than me, and now I’m his professor, yet Sir is giving me schedules I need and caretaking from a distance. I know I should stay away, but I can’t. No matter what he gives me, I want more.

Colton
I’m twenty-eight years old, starting my first semester as a transfer student at a local university, finally following my dreams.

And then I see him, the sub I haven’t stopped thinking about, the one who comes undone for me in ways I’ve never experienced before. He makes all my Dominant instincts flare to life. I’ve always loved caretaking, but James makes me need it on a bone-deep level.

It’s not long before he’s on his knees for me again, surrendering in ways we both crave. He’s forbidden, my professor, my good boy, and I’m his Sir…his dirty little secret. But it’s not enough. I want it all from him, if only he’ll let me have it.

Dirty Little Secret is a student/professor romance, with an older sub and a younger Dom. Please use the look inside feature for a more in-depth content description and warning

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

James

May

I can’t stop my fingers from drumming against the steering wheel.

Traffic is ridiculous, which means I’m running the risk of being late. Well, not late, really, because I’m never late for anything, but running the risk of not arriving at least fifteen minutes early, like I do with everything.

What will Sir think if I’m not timely?

Tap, tap, tap, tap. My fingers continue to move as I sit at the red light, playing a rapid beat that matches my pulse.

This is my second time meeting with Colton, and I don’t want to disappoint him already. Even more importantly, being late would mess with my head, and it’s already hectic in there, no matter how much I try to pretend it’s not. That’s one of the reasons I need this—the discipline, the organization, not having to decide what to do. In every other aspect of my life, I need control, but this, in these moments and if I find the right Dom, I’m able to get out of my head and just be.

I startle when the car behind me honks, letting me know the light is green.

“Get it together, James,” I say softly to myself, frustrated I was spacing out like that. I’m usually very good at holding it together—I depend on being able to hold it together.

Focus. Most of life’s problems can be dealt with by hard work, focus, and determination, so that’s what I force myself to do the rest of the drive to the house I own in a suburban neighborhood. It’s farther from the college where I teach political science. I don’t live here. I don’t even know why I bought it, but once I started meeting up with Doms, it became a place to do that.

I pull into the driveway at three. I park beside Sir’s older SUV. I don’t know what he does for a living, but from the things he’s said and his callouses when he touches me, I assume it’s something with his hands.

It fits him. I can’t imagine him doing anything else, which is…typically not my thing, but nothing about Sir is similar to any of the Doms I’ve played with in the past—the biggest being that he’s younger than me. Twenty-eight to my forty. He mentioned his age in his bio on the BDSM site where we met. I wasn’t sure it would work, how I would feel about submitting to someone younger, but when he messaged, it had been a long time since I’d given in to this need, and everything he’d said or done had been exactly what I’d needed.

I thought it’d be a one-time thing—it usually is for me—but here we are, meeting a second time for him to control and fuck me.

My fingers tremble, frustration making the back of my neck prickle. I should have been here before him. I hate that he arrived first.

Sir is already out of his SUV by the time I get out, walking around my vehicle toward me.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell him, and he frowns.

“You’re not late. It’s two fifty-five. We said three. You’re all good.”

I don’t know him well—or at all, really—but from what I’ve seen, nothing seems to rattle him. It’s like everything just rolls off his shoulders, this lightness to him I’ve never had myself, and frankly, wouldn’t know what to do with.

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