One Night With My Brother’s Worst Enemy
I sold myself to a masked stranger for one night.
My brother is dying. The medical bills are drowning me. So I walked into a private auction wearing black lace and a mask, and I let a stranger buy me.
He was cold. Commanding. Twice my age. He called me princess and made me beg for things I had never dared to whisper out loud.
For one night, I was not the broke, exhausted twin sitting at a hospital bedside. I was his. Every moan. Every tear. Every orgasm. He gave me the first pleasure of my life and then sent me home with fifty thousand dollars and a bruise on my throat that I could not stop touching.
I told myself I would never see him again.
Then I walked into my new job.
He was standing in the corner office. No mask this time. Just a sharp suit, cold eyes, and a smirk that said he had known exactly who I was all along.
Ezra Dane. My brother's former best friend. The man who destroyed my family.
He owns the company I just got hired at. He signs my paycheck. He holds the door to his office open every morning and waits for me to walk through it.
And last night, he sent me a message.
My penthouse. 9 p.m. Wear the collar.
I should report him. I should quit. I should run as far from this forty two year old nightmare as humanly possible.
But when he looks at me with those dark eyes and says good girl, my legs spread before my brain catches up.
He wants to own me. And I am terrified that I want to be owned.
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