LOGINNico
She doesn’t belong here. I could tell. Once glance at her I know she’s better off outside this world, outside this kingdom of lust, sin, and sex that I built, but it’s not in my place to care about employees. But yet, I find myself interfering when I know better than to get involved in petty drama amongst workers. That’s the reason I pay Grayson. It’s his job. But there’s something about this small waisted, brunette with fiery eyes, and lips that could ruin a man in ways she doesn’t even know yet. And before I can stop myself, I’m standing behind her asking what the problem is. The other waitress, I don’t know her name and I really don’t care, is visibly shaken. She’s Grayson’s little slut. He thinks I don’t know about his habit of sticking his dick in places that shouldn’t concern him, I like to act like I don’t notice things, but I do. Fucking an employee is a no no for me. I don’t like to shit where I eat. And Grayson, he knows I hate it. Because relationships like that make you sloppy and Grayson knows that. With his wife who isn’t aware of his affair. But I don’t have to remind him that. It’s useful actually, because like they say information is power. And if I ever need to pull his string, I know where to tug. “Is there a problem here?” I ask, standing to the side, eyes fixed on Grayson’s slut as she swallows. She’s shaken, part of it is because this is the first time she’s seen me. “There’s no problem, sir.” “I wasn’t talking to you,” I say, shifting my gaze toward Wren Foster. She’s surprised, taken aback as she gives me a brief look before turning to Grayson’s pet project. “No, Sir. There’s no problem,” Wren says, gaze fixed on the ground with her fingers interlocked behind her back. “Hmm,” I bring my eyes down Grayson’s slut, not in approval or admiration, but trying to remind her who she is and which person’s fort is this. “I don’t care if you’re fucking Grayson, but this isn’t his bedroom. You try and intimidate other employees again, and I’ll have to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. Am I understood?” With her gaze fixed to the floor, she bends her knees forward like she’s about to prostrate. “Yes, Sir.” “Get the fuck out of my sight.” She doesn’t wait around as she turns around and quickly disappears. I sigh, scanning the lounge area as I notice the gaze of my patrons on me. When they notice I know they’re staring, they all pretend to go back to what they are doing. “I guess you have a habit of attracting trouble, don’t you, Wren?” I ask, shifting my gaze to the beautiful woman in front of me. She’s small, maybe 5 feet 6 compared to my tall frame. Her short leather skirt covering nothing but her ass. Her thighs are covered in thigh high stockings, and against my better judgment my gaze drops to her cleavage peeking out of the corset top she’s wearing. Fuck. I have never been proud of myself for picking out this uniform. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.” Wren says, still avoiding my gaze. She’s probably wondering what the fuck I am doing talking to her. I’m doing the same too. Asking myself what’s special about her that I had to interfere. Maybe it’s her innocence. Or maybe it’s the look in eyes the minute she realized who I was. Fuck’s sake this woman just broke my rules, trying to use my private access which was made clear that employees are not allowed to use. But for some reason, I’m still here, wondering what on earth it would feel like to listen to her moans and her cries when I punish her. Let her have a taste of this world she doesn’t belong in. “If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to get back to work,” she says, her voice soft, and sultry. Sexy. I take a step toward her, ignoring the gazes from patrons and other staff as I drop my voice to a filthy whisper. “It is Mr. Ravelli…unless it’s in the dark, and I’m the only one who gets to hear you say sir.” I don’t wait for to react or her response, I walk away, my fingers brushing against hers as I head toward my private elevator that leads to my private suite. As I head down the private hallway, buried behind the lounge area and far from public eyes, I can only imagine Wren Foster still standing there trying to make sense of what I just whispered against her skin. Fuck. I scan my fingerprint against the scanner on the door as the door slides into the wall with a slow hiss. The elevator comes to view and I press my thumb against it before the elevator opens. I step inside, pressing the only button on the panel, and then I scan my retina on the panel for access before the elevator slides shut and start to ascend.NicoAnyone who says red isn’t a color to worship has never seen Wren in this dress. God. She’s beautiful. Breathtaking. Dangerous. The moment she walked in tonight, my heart skipped—an involuntary beat I haven’t felt in years.It’s been a long time since I’ve collared a submissive as mine. Too long. But one look at Wren—especially in one of Sovereign’s scant uniforms—and all I can think about is fastening my collar around her neck, staking my claim where everyone can see it.But first, dinner. If she’s going to understand who I really am behind the suits, what I’m capable of, what I can offer if she agrees to my proposition, she needs a taste of my world. A controlled taste. A preview of what surrender to me would feel like.The thing about being a wealthy man with a taste for ropes, kinks, and a little pain is this: women love the fantasy, but very few are brave enough to hand you their trust and their body in exchange for mind-blowing pleasure.And yet there’s something about Wren—
Wren The minute I step out of Nico’s car, his personal shopper, Stephanie, is already waiting for me by the entrance of a high-end boutique. She doesn’t waste time on pleasantries—just takes me by the arm and ushers me inside like I belong here. And maybe for tonight, I do. Everything in this boutique screams wealth: red-bottom heels, couture dresses, handbags that cost more than rent. The kind of luxury reserved for models, actresses, and billionaire wives—or mistresses. Not waitresses scraping by on tips from drunk men. Yet here I am, slipping into fabrics that feel like sin and silk had a love child. By the time Stephanie is done with me, I don’t recognize the reflection staring back from the mirror. My hair falls in glossy waves down my back, my makeup soft but sharp enough to kill, and the crimson silk dress she chose clings to my body like it was sewn just for me. One shoulder bare, fabric draped artfully over the other, the hem brushing just below my knees. It makes
Wren His mouth crashes against mine in a brutal, punishing kiss that rips the air from my lungs. There’s nothing soft about it—no hesitation, no tenderness—only need. Raw, unfiltered, consuming. His tongue claims mine, fierce and demanding, leaving me breathless as his grip tightens like he’ll never let me go. A broken moan slips from me, swallowed instantly into the heat of his mouth. My fingers clutch at his shirt, curling into the fabric, desperate to anchor myself against the storm of muscle and tension beneath. His hold on the back of my neck is firm, unyielding—a silent brand that screams mine. Then his hand slides higher, fingers tangling in my hair, fisting the strands as he deepens the kiss. It’s a mix of pain and pleasure, that sharp sting tugging low in my belly, feeding the ache burning between my thighs. The other hand traces down my back in a slow, deliberate slide, igniting fire wherever he touches. It lands on my ass, gripping hard before hauling me flush again
Wren My breath stutters as I stare at the desk. His desk.Polished, dark, and wide enough to hold everything—including the weight of what he just asked of me.My legs move before my brain catches up.Be a good girl.That command spins through my bloodstream like a drug. It buries itself in every pulse point, every aching place between my thighs. And I obey.I step forward slowly, heels clicking against the floor like the beat of a war drum. I reach the desk, swallow down the nerves tightening in my throat, and then I bend—softly, gently—until my elbows are on the cool surface and my back arches without him asking.God.My heart’s pounding too loud. My breathing is embarrassingly shallow.Behind me, I hear his low exhale. Like he’s just taken in the view of his favorite sin.“You make a very pretty picture like this, Wren,” he murmurs, voice molten.I grip the edge of the desk tighter.“Do you know what you look like, bent over my desk?” he asks, his footsteps slow and steady as he cl
Wren“So tell me, how long have you been working here?” Julian asks, grinning at me as he wipes down tables alongside me.He’s new—barely started yesterday—and Teri decided I was the best person to show him the ropes. He’s quick on his feet, sharper than I was on my first night. We’ve got less than two hours before Sovereign opens, and for now it’s just the two of us, prepping in the glow of low red lights.“A few months,” I answer simply.“Wow,” Julian hums, still grinning like I’ve just said something fascinating. “If you don’t mind me asking… why here? No offense, but you don’t look like the kind of girl who’d work in a place like Sovereign.” His eyes linger on me, curious, searching.I shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I don’t want to tell him anything—he’s practically a stranger—but snapping would feel rude. So I give him the safest truth.“Well, like most employees here, I need the money.”“Hmm,” Julian chuckles, cocking his head. “Secretive, huh?” His gaze flicks
Nico Going up the stairs and down the hall, I stop outside my room—the only room in this house free of cameras. No one watches me here. No one but the women I bring inside. I swipe my access card, the lock clicks, and I push the door open. Wren steps inside hesitantly, her eyes flicking around like she’s afraid of what she’ll find. I follow, shutting the door behind us with a solid thud that makes her flinch. The sound echoes like finality. She looks around, taking it all in. There’s no gaudy luxury here—no gold-plated chandeliers, no silk sheets meant to impress. My space is stripped down, functional, designed for one purpose. A king-sized bed sits in the center, dark sheets stretched tight over the mattress. Against the wall, a long table gleams under the low light, cuffs bolted to its edges—leather restraints meant to hold wrists and ankles wide apart. Drawers line the side of the bed, half-open, revealing a glimpse of what waits inside: floggers of braided leather,







