Page 109 of The Owner's Temptation

“Bring me a whiskey,” I say simply.

She obeys without hesitation, crossing the office to pour a glass. Two fingers. Two cubes. No more, no less. Her hands are steady, but her breathing isn’t.

I take the glass and watch her. “The men who hold these contracts… they crave control. What they’re buying is submission.”

She swallows hard, her throat bobbing with the motion. I track it like a fucking predator.

My eyes stay on hers as I take a slow sip. I lick the whiskey from my lower lip, and her gaze drops to my mouth. Predictable.

She wants more.

She always does.

I set the glass aside. “Come here.”

She steps forward, cautious but curious. The last correction clearly did its job, but I know her—know her bratty little fire only simmers beneath the surface.

“Give me your foot.”

She blinks. “Why?”

I don’t answer. Just raise an eyebrow and hold out my hand.

She sighs, placing one palm on my shoulder for balance as she lifts her heel. I slip it off carefully and set it beside my chair.

“The other.”

No protest this time. The second shoe joins the first, and I lean back again, the picture of ease.

“On your knees.”

She gasps.

I want to see her lips around my thumb, her mouth worshipping anything I give her. But this isn’t about what I want.

Not yet.

“Knees,” I repeat, voice low. I tap the spot two feet in front of me. “Right there, Angel.”

She lowers herself slowly, wary. Uncertain.

“Sit back on your heels. Relax.”

That earns me a snort and a roll of her eyes.

My palm twitches. The brat is back.

“Knees apart, Angel.” The nickname makes her cheeks flush—still so innocent in ways she doesn’t even realize.

She slides her knees out, but not far enough. Testing me.

“More.”

Her jaw clenches, but she complies. God, I could play this game for hours.

“Hands on your thighs.”

She does it, but her posture’s off—slouched, shoulders rounded. She’s not using her training.

---