TAMING MR. WHITMORE: THE CEO FROM HELL.
Beside them: a handful of soft black rope, a pair of padded cuffs, a short leather flogger, a slim silicone plug still in its packaging, a bottle of lube, and a neat black harness with a realistic, mid-sized dildo already seated in it.
My lungs forgot how to work.
Hudson didn’t reach for anything. He closed the drawer halfway, then sank to his knees right there on the hardwood in front of me, black suit trousers stretching over thick thighs, white shirt still open at the collar. He looked up at me with an expression I’d never seen on him before—open, almost nervous, completely stripped of the easy confidence he usually wore like a second skin.