Today, I woke up late because of how exhausted I felt.

From: Jonathan King

To: Aurora Harper

Subject: Your Morning Will Take a Turn for The Worse in Exactly Sixty Seconds.

Every minute you’re late for breakfast is extra punishment. In case you want to sit at all today, come down. Now.

I went down, ten minutes late, and true to his word, I’m sitting sideways to not put pressure on my arse.

In no time, I’ve grown attached to his emails and the orders in them. The way he demands my attention and confiscates it as if it’s always been his for the taking.

It doesn’t help that I hear his commanding voice when reading them. Jonathan’s authority is one of the few things I’ll freely admit is attractive.

There’s something about a man who takes what he wants with powerful self-assurance. I’ve always known I had a tendency to connect with dangerous men, but this is the worst possible scenario to practise that.

Other than the email exchanges and the power games, it’s almost like we’re living completely separate lives. Jonathan never invites me to his room or spends the night in mine.

And I’m thankful for that. After all the sexual stimulation and the explosive orgasms he coerces out of me, I need some time alone to come down from the high and the guilt trip I always find myself drowning in.

The shame of enjoying his touch when I shouldn’t, and the reality of what Jonathan actually is always slams into me afterwards.

So to make myself forget about that, I’ve been sneaking into Alicia’s room whenever he’s not here — and behind Margot’s back. She’s as stand-offish as her tyrant master. The butler, Tom, doesn’t speak either. Seriously. If I hadn’t heard him ask Margot about something once, I would’ve suspected he was a mute.

There’s also Harris, who joins Jonathan in his office or sometimes interrupts our breakfasts with a snobbish expression smearing on his face. He’s the man in smart glasses who came with Jonathan to our office that first day. His bland eyes have the same disregard for humans as his CEO.

I swear the tyrant handpicks those who orbit his haughty arse so that they’re an extension of him.

Anyway, my snooping in Alicia’s room hasn’t been useful. I can’t bring myself to continue reading those books either. I just…can’t.

The moment I open them, I get dark flashbacks filled with vacant eyes and duct tape. There’s a reason I don’t read thrillers and keep to chick lit. I spent a long time slamming Pandora’s box shut, and I can’t willingly open it again.

Not that Jonathan would leave evidence behind. Next up, I need to go into that locked room, which I assume is his office.

I haven’t mustered the courage to go up there when he’s home. I might enjoy the spanking and how my arse feels afterwards, even now, but I’m not stupid enough to purposefully bring out his wrath.

Self-preservation has always been my strength.

Besides, the more time I spend in his company, the more anxious I get about why he’s not taking the next step.

Jonathan has never tried to fuck me. Not even once. He seems content with owning my body, then turning it against me in the most brutal way possible.

Whenever I sit on his lap, I feel his hard-on, but he’s never acted on it.

Not that I want him to.

I don’t.

It’s just that the unknown is keeping me on my toes.

“Earth to Aurora!”

I startle, biting my lower lip and the pen. Ouch!

I’m on the sofa, looking at proofs of the designs. Or was. Until I got lost in my head.

Layla slides an iced coffee in front of me and takes a long slurp of hers. Her baggy trousers fall all around her as she sits opposite me, knees splayed wide apart, and leans her elbows on her thighs.

That’s the same position her army brothers sit in when they’re in town. She’s such a tomboy, and the most adorable thing is that she doesn’t even notice it. When I call her out on it, she thinks I’ve lost my mind.

“Okay, shoot.”

I take a sip of my coffee. “What?”

“Talk to me, mate. I’m all ears.”

“About what?”

“About what you’ve been daydreaming about lately.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Since you moved in with Johnny, you’ve been distant and often get lost in that pretty little head of yours.”

“I have not.”

“You have, too. He’s consuming you, isn’t he?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I sigh and push the proofs away. I’m not focused enough to do a good job at it anyway, so I might as well stop pretending. “Hey, Lay, can I ask you something?”

“I’m your man. Shoot.”

“I know you’re saving your virginity for marriage, but you know stuff about stuff. Being nosy and all.” Layla’s mum, her aunts, cousins and extended family — which is huge — are really forthcoming about sex, but only with their female friends and family.

I might have had sex before, but Layla knows more about it than I ever will. She’s an encyclopaedia in practically everything.

“First of all, suck my D. Second of all, I’m not nosy. I like to know things so I’m prepared.”

“Okay, fine. So my question is…” I trail off, wetting my lips.

“Any day now.”

“What does it mean if a man only likes oral?”

“He needs Viagra. Wait a second, Johnny needs Viagra? Way to ruin my daddy fantasy. Hey, what do you think his reaction will be if I mail him a pack?”

I burst out laughing. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not? I’m giving the man a boost. If anything, he should thank me.”

“It’s not like that. He does get…you know…hard.”

“Then his performance must be rubbish.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I actually don’t think so either.”

“What do you mean?”

“He seems like the type of man who commands everything, even in the bedroom. Control is his kink.”

She can say that again.

Layla drinks her coffee, seeming deep in thought. “How about you ruin it?”

I pause with the straw halfway to my mouth. “Ruin what?”

“His control. People like Jonathan get off on knowing the result before they even go in, so when you destroy that pattern, they act out, either by showing their ugly side or their hidden side. Both are their true selves.”