Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Positions. Protocols. The words shouldn't sound like poetry, but they do. Like incantations promising order in my chaotic world.
"I once had a submissive who was a high-powered attorney," Jino continues, fingers drawing patterns on my skin. "Twelve hours a day making life-or-death decisions. But in my basement, she found relief kneeling at my feet, following simple commands, earning praise for perfect obedience."
His hand slides higher, cupping my breast through the thin fabric. My nipple hardens instantly against his palm.
"To be owned," he says, voice dropping lower, "means having someone who sees your needs before you recognize them yourself. It means safety within clear boundaries. It means consequences when you fail, rewards when you excel."
A whimper escapes me, unbidden. My body arches into his touch.
"I want—" I bite my lip, trying to hold back the flood of desires. "I want your mouth on me. I want—" The confession breaks free despite my efforts. "I want to feel your weight on top of me, I want you to hold me down while you—"
Jino's hand moves lightning-fast, tangling in my hair and pulling—not roughly, but with enough force to tilt my head back, exposing my throat. His eyes lock with mine, pupils dilated with interest.
"No," he says quietly. "My job is to deny you."
The word shoots straight through me, a delicious frustration that makes me want to scream.
"Do you know why, little one?" His grip tightens fractionally.
I swallow, the movement visible against the stretch of my neck. The truth rises to my lips, no longer a shameful secret but an identity I'm claiming.
"Because you're my Master," I whisper, the words both surrender and liberation. "And you're going to show me how to be owned."
16
I press my back against the cold stone wall outside Emmaleen's room, listening. The surveillance feed runs constantly, but there's something more visceral about hearing their voices firsthand—the subtle inflections, the breathing patterns, the moments of silence that cameras miss. Every sound filters through the heavy door, precise and unforgiving.
Jino's voice is measured, methodical as he explains the dynamics of submission to her. I don't need to see his face to know his expression—clinical detachment layered over expertise. He's giving her the academic foundation first. Smart. He always starts with theory before practice.
Her breathing changes when he touches her. The slight catch, the subtle acceleration—like the moment before prey decides whether to flee or surrender.
Something tightens in my chest when I realize she's going to say yes. Not just compliance, but consent. Voluntary surrender. The weight of that decision hits me harder than expected, setting off an electric current under my skin.
I could keep her. Actually keep her, here in this house, permanently mine. No more exit strategies, no more preparing for her inevitable departure. No more questioning whether she'll be safer somewhere else.
She'd be here. Under my roof. Under my control. Under my protection.
The fantasy builds with dangerous speed, sweeping through my mind like wildfire—Emmaleen in my bed every night, her body yielding beneath mine, then kneeling at my feet during virtual meetings with that perfect submissive posture Jino will meticulously drill into her. Her eyes downcast, hands placed exactly as instructed, waiting silently for my command. Every movement controlled, every response calibrated to my preferences.
Mine to command, mine to protect, mine to possess completely in ways I've never allowed myself to imagine before this moment.
No more Rico, no more threats. Just us, locked in our own world of power and surrender.
It's a ridiculous fantasy. Childish. Selfish.
But it burns through me with surprising force.
What's more telling is how easily Jino obtained her compliance. No threats. No ultimatums. No financial incentives. Just words, touch, and understanding. He recognized what she needed and offered it to her—structure, boundaries, someone to take responsibility.
The stark contrast to my approach isn't lost on me. I've been holding a gun to her head—metaphorically, at least—since the moment we met. Threats and coercion, even when disguised as choice. Jino offered her insight instead, and she's responding like a flower turning to sunlight.
One line keeps replaying in my head, over and over. Jino telling her his mission is to deny her. Not to hurt her or break her, but to deny her. Which, I understand means that he will build her up. Tempt her. Arouse her. Push her into a lustful haze of want and longing for his cock.
He will be hard. He’ll want her just as much as me. I can already tell he likes her.
And in denying her, he will be forced to deny himself.
The satisfaction of that approach resonates with me in unexpected ways. It's not jealousy I feel—it's recognition. The perfect strategy to manage someone like Emmaleen. She doesn't need punishment. She needs restraint applied with precision.
Just minutes ago, Jino laid out our roles with military efficiency. He'll be Master trainer, the architect of her transformation into a lifetime submissive. He'll push her limits each morning. Putting her through posture drills, binding her to the pillar, strapping her to the bench. Forcing her into stillness. Then, at the same time, he will tease her body into arousal that leads nowhere.