Page 86 of The Owner's Temptation

Sienna just stares at me, silent, blue eyes wide with stunned fury.

And fuck, I want to see what she does next.

And soon I will.

Because the new lock and security monitoring?

That’s not the only change happening in her apartment today.

No less than a dozen cameras are being installed—discreet, invisible to the untrained eye. Jaxon’s tech. His best work. Firewalled, encrypted, completely secure.

No creeps. No risks. No chance of some perverted fuck hacking into the feed and watching what belongs to me.

I’ll get alerts when she leaves. When she gets home. When she’s in the shower or curled up on her couch or asleep in bed with that damn plush blanket pulled up to her chin like she’s not the most temptable thing I’ve ever seen.

And when she touches herself—when she spreads those pretty thighs and plays with her tight little pussy and that goddamn purple vibrator—I’ll be able to hear the breathless sound of my name fall from her lips as she comes around it.

Because she will.

She already does.

I clench my fists beneath the desk, dragging in a slow breath as I try to push the thought away, but it’s no use. My cock’s already hard again, straining against the confines of my pants like it’s just as obsessed with her as I am.

Fuck.

I have to stop.

If I let these thoughts keep spiraling, there won’t be a single drop of blood left in my brain to keep me sane. It’s all going to rush to my dick.

Sienna doesn’t stay quiet long.

Her mouth parts like she’s about to launch another tirade—probably something about boundaries, privacy, or how I’m violating every line in some imaginary rulebook she thinks applies to me.

But I’ve had enough.

“Drop it, Sienna.”

My voice is low. Firm. Final.

Her eyes flash with defiance, but she hears the edge in my tone. The warning. She huffs, arms crossing over her chest in a petulant gesture that makes my cock twitch again.

I record the look for later—burn it into memory.

That’s three spankings now: one for the mouth, one for the attitude, and one just because I want to feel her writhing under my hand.

Soon.

But for now, there’s work to do.

* * *

Half an hour later, we’re in the training room.

The girls are seated in a semi-circle, a sleek black monitor mounted behind me, ready to light up. I stand in front of them, hands loose at my sides, watching each face with calculated ease.

Some of them fidget.

Some look too confident.

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