No Faces. No Names

RHETT VOSS

I walked into the elevator leading to the penthouse, anticipation to see her thrumming through my veins, but underneath the arousal I was feeling, my mind kept going back to what happened earlier today.

Walking into that hall, what I had seen was not what I had expected. When he slapped the professor, I thought it was a student—until I got closer and realized something else was going on.

I gritted my teeth at the memory—his stare, his words, the mark on her face. I didn’t know any of them, but I hated abusers. I’d lived through enough to recognize the type.

“Fuck, why are you still hung up on that,” I growled, raking my hand over my hair as I watched the numbers on the elevator go higher and higher.

“It’s none of my business,” I said to myself, but the image of her face kept flashing across my eyes—the second thing I never expected: my rehab specialist to be so fucking pretty and young.

When Coach Carter called me yesterday and told me I still had to undergo monitored rehabilitation after my dislocated shoulder, even though I was cleared to play, I was pissed. I didn’t need that shit, and I sure as hell didn’t want to go back to my old university.

But I had to—my team didn’t trust me to manage it alone. My anger only worsened when I got to the wellness center and found out the professor in charge wasn’t even out of class.

So I decided to find her in that lecture hall—and only to find that bastard hitting her.

But that wasn’t even the main issue. I still couldn’t get my mind off the way she looked—so flustered, cheeks flushed, unable to look me in the eyes. And fuck, her voice—it was so soft, yet something about it cut through all the noise in my head.

I shook it off. Focus, Rhett. This wasn’t supposed to be a distraction.

But damn, she made it hard.

Just as the doors slid open, every thought shattered.

My submissive.

She knelt on the floor, her fetish hood pulled low, concealing everything but her eyes and lips. Her gaze was cast downward, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

I smirked as I stepped out of the elevator. The doors slid shut behind me.

She was dressed exactly as I commanded—black lace lingerie that matched today’s hood, hugging every curve of her trembling body.

“Good girl.”

“Did you miss your Master, princess?” I asked, my voice firm.

She shuddered. “Yes, Master.”

I let out a low hum of approval and walked past her toward the bedroom, where my things were already laid out as requested. I didn’t have to look back. I knew she wouldn’t dare move, wouldn’t even look up to try and see my face.

That was the contract.

No faces. No names.

Just control. Just surrender.

And I preferred it that way.

Inside the room, I began to undress, stripping off my hoodie and unbuckling my jeans. The cool air against my skin was a welcome contrast to the fire licking under it. I crossed the room to the dresser, pulled out a fresh pair of black leather pants, and slid into them. The tight fit clung to my hips like a second skin.

No shirt.

I wanted her to see the lines of my body—the strength she was meant to surrender to.

I reached for my custom hood. Sleek. Sculpted. Dominant. A reflection of the control I wielded. Pulling it over my head, I felt the shift the moment it locked into place.

My breath slowed. My spine straightened.

Master had arrived.

The man from the ice—the rehab patient, the son of a broken home—that version of me didn’t exist here.

Not in this space.

Here, I had full control.

And I intended to use it.

I turned toward the moonlight spilling across the glass walls. Shadows stretched long across the polished floor as my boots thudded softly with each step.

She was still kneeling.

Good girl.

I moved to the couch and sat down, legs spread. I stared at her—still facing the elevator doors, posture perfect, her pert ass resting against her heels.

“Come here.”

She began to rise.

“Don’t walk. Crawl.”

My voice dropped to a low growl, slicing through the silence.

She froze mid-movement. Then, obediently, lowered herself to the floor again, palms flat.

And she began to crawl.

Slow. Sensual. Deliberate.

Just the way I trained her.

Each movement made the lace at her hips stretch tighter, the sway of her ass teasing me with every shift. The soft sound of her knees brushing the rug was almost reverent.

Her gaze remained locked on the floor in front of her, never daring to meet mine.

By the time she reached me, heat had coiled tight in my core.

I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, letting her feel the full weight of my gaze—even if she couldn’t see my eyes behind the hood.

She stopped at my feet and waited, her breathing shallow, lips parted in silent anticipation.

I reached out and hooked a finger under her chin, lifting her face just enough for her eyes to meet mine.

Even through the narrow slit of the hood, I saw it.

That submission. That need.

“You look beautiful like this,” I murmured. “So obedient. So ready to serve.”

A soft whimper escaped her lips—barely audible, but enough to make my cock twitch with anticipation.

I slid my thumb across her bottom lip. “Open.”

She obeyed instantly, lips parting without hesitation.

I pushed my thumb into her mouth, brushing her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She shivered.

Then I pulled away, settling back into the couch. My gaze dropped to my crotch.

“Now,” I growled, voice low and commanding. “Show me how much you missed your Master.”