Our Submissive Sin
I asked, turning a charming smile toward the chubby worker.
“Peter McDowell, but your wolf can just call me Pete, Master Johnson,” he stuttered out, his cheeks turning an instant, bright shade of pink. I always felt a twisted sense of victory when my frame made a mid-rank male blush.
“There is absolutely no need for formal titles in my circle. Pete works perfectly. So, what dark plans are your beasts plotting over this tablet?” I asked smoothly, leaning into his space.
“We are mapping out the potential interior layouts for your new boutique, J-Johnson,” Pete stammered, his fingers tapping the crystal screen. “My shift-partner and I drew these visual scrawls up last midnight for your wolf to
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