Traditional Family Values

I mean, you have to understand, I’m not the sort of woman who takes her clothes off. Not like that. Not for anyone.

I’m the woman in the boardroom with the sharp suit and the sharper voice. The one who makes junior analysts cry, just a little bit, just enough that they learn. The one who closes deals worth more than most people’s houses, more than most people’s entire bloody lifetimes, and then goes for a martini with the partners like it was nothing. Which it was, really. Nothing. Just another Tuesday.

So this. This was not a Tuesday.

Kevin’s hand was warm on the small of my back as we walked up the path. His parents’ house was nice. Suburban, but the wealthy kind, the kind where the lawns are too green and the cars are too clean and everything smells faintly of money and fresh paint. I was nervous. I mean, of course I was nervous. First time meeting his parents. You know how it is. Even when you’re twenty-nine and you’ve got a flat in the city and a six-figure bonus and a reputation for being, I don’t know, formidable. You still want his mum to like you. You still worry about saying the wrong thing. You still change your outfit three times before settling on something that says I’m successful but approachable, I’m polished but not trying too hard. Dark jeans. Silk blouse. Blazer over the top because it made me feel like I had armour on. I always wear armour.

“Relax,” Kevin said, and his voice did that thing. That low, warm thing that made my stomach flip and my shoulders drop about two inches. “She’s going to love you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

And the way he said it. Like it was just a fact. Like the sky being blue. God, I loved that about him. Still do. The quiet certainty. The way he just… knew things. Or acted like he did, which was somehow the same thing, somehow worked just as well on my nervous system.

He rang the bell.

I heard footsteps. Soft, padding. Barefoot, I thought, which was odd for answering the door but maybe she was just casual, maybe she was one of those yoga mums who went around in linen trousers and complicated sandals and—

The door opened.

And I forgot how to breathe.

She was naked.

Not in a towel. Not in a robe. Not with the sort of hasty, embarrassed clutching at fabric that would suggest this was an accident, a misunderstanding, a wrong-time-wrong-place situation. No. She was just standing there, completely nude, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe, her hip cocked slightly to the side like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Angela.

Kevin’s mum.

My boyfriend’s mother.

Naked.

I mean, completely naked. The kind of naked where you can see everything, and I do mean everything, and my brain just sort of… stopped. Froze. Bluescreened like a laptop that’s been asked to do too many things at once.

She was in her forties, but she had the sort of body that made age seem irrelevant. Soft. That’s the word. Soft and full and gloriously, unapologetically abundant. Her breasts were heavy, proper heavy, the kind that swung slightly as she moved and rested on her ribcage with a weight that made my mouth go dry. Dark nipples. Large areolae. The sort of breasts you see in Renaissance paintings, goddesses and nymphs and women who’ve never heard of a push-up bra. Below them, her belly curved outward in a gentle, rounded swell. Not flat. Not toned. Soft. And below that, a thatch of dark hair between thighs that were full and dimpled and completely unselfconscious.

And around her neck.

A collar.

Simple. Brown leather. A single silver ring at the front.

Nothing else. Not a stitch of clothing. Not a scrap of fabric. Just skin and leather and that calm, welcoming smile.

“You must be Kelly,” she said, and her voice was warm. Honey-warm. Like we were meeting at a garden party and she was offering me a cup of tea. “Kevin’s told us so much about you. Please, come in.”

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t move.

My face was on fire. I mean, literally on fire, the kind of heat that starts in your cheeks and spreads down your neck and makes you feel like you might actually combust. I could feel my pulse in my temples. In my throat. In other places I really didn’t want to think about right now.

“I…” I said. And then stopped. Because what do you say? What can you say when your boyfriend’s mother answers the door wearing nothing but a dog collar?

Kevin squeezed my hand. “It’s okay,” he said, and he said it softly, right against my ear, his breath warm and steady. “Remember I told you my family does things a bit differently?”

“You said your mum was a bit alternative,” I hissed back. “You didn’t say she was a nudist.”

“They’re not nudists.”

“Kevin, she’s naked.”

“I know.” And was that amusement in his voice? It was. The bastard. “Come inside. She’ll explain.”

Angela had stepped back from the doorway, waiting patiently, her hands now clasped loosely in front of her. The pose did interesting things to her breasts. Pressed them together slightly. Made the cleavage deeper. Not that she seemed to notice. Or care. She just watched me with those calm, kind eyes, like she was waiting for a startled deer to stop trembling and take a step forward.

I took a step forward.

My heels clicked on the hardwood floor. The door closed behind me. Kevin’s hand stayed on the small of my back, steady and grounding, and I was grateful for it, I was so pathetically grateful for that one point of contact because everything else felt like it was spinning.

The house was tasteful. That was the first thing I noticed, after the naked woman. It was tasteful and elegant and absolutely normal. Cream walls. A vase of fresh flowers on the hall table. Family photos in frames. A staircase with a runner in a muted floral pattern. It looked like the sort of house where you’d expect to find a golden retriever and a subscription to the Financial Times, not a woman walking around in the nude with a collar around her throat.

“I know this must be a bit of a shock,” Angela said, and she said it gently, turning to face me. Her breasts swayed with the movement. I tried not to look. Failed. Looked again. Felt my blush deepen to something almost painful. “But we don’t stand on ceremony here. Or rather, we do, but our ceremonies are… a bit different.”

“I’m sorry,” I managed. “I don’t mean to stare. I just…”

“You’re not sure where to look.”

“Yes. That.”

She smiled. It was a lovely smile. Genuine. Warm. The sort of smile that made you want to tell her things, confess things, let her wrap you in a blanket and make you cocoa. Which was absurd, given the circumstances. The woman was naked. And I was standing here in my power blazer like an idiot, clutching my handbag like it was a life raft.

“Let me explain,” she said, and she gestured toward the sitting room. “Sit down. Kevin, love, would you get us some drinks? I think Kelly could use a glass of wine.”

Kevin kissed my cheek. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, and then he was gone, heading toward what I assumed was the kitchen, leaving me alone with his naked mother.

I sat on the sofa. It was a very nice sofa. Cream. Deep cushions. I sat on the edge of it, my knees pressed together, my handbag on my lap like a shield. Angela sat opposite me in an armchair, crossing her legs at the ankle, and the movement was so casual, so unguarded, that I felt something twist in my chest. Something that wasn’t just shock. Something that was, I don’t know. Envy, maybe. How did she do that? How did she just exist like that, so comfortable in her own skin, while I was wearing three layers and still felt exposed?

“This is going to sound strange,” Angela began, and she leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. Her breasts hung down, full and soft, and I watched a bead of sweat trace a path between them. It was warm in the house. Or maybe it was just me. “But in this household, we have a tradition. A way of living that we’ve practised for… oh, almost twenty years now.”

“Okay,” I said. My voice came out a bit squeaky.

“The women in our family remain nude at all times when we’re at home. It’s a symbol. A gesture, really. Of loving obedience.”

I blinked.

Loving obedience.

Those two words. I mean, I’d heard them before, I’m not naive. I’d been on the internet. I’d read things. But hearing them come out of this soft, motherly woman’s mouth, in this tasteful suburban house, with the flowers on the table and the family photos on the wall and the golden afternoon light coming through the windows…

“Obedience,” I repeated.

“To the men of the household,” Angela said, and she said it so matter-of-factly. Like she was explaining the recycling system. “Carl—that’s my husband—and Kevin, when he’s home. It’s not about degradation, dear. Please don’t misunderstand me. It’s not about shame or punishment or any of those unpleasant things. It’s about… respect. Devotion. A gift we give them, freely and lovingly.”

“You mean…” I swallowed. “You submit to them.”

“Yes.”

“In… everything?”

“In everything.”

The word hung in the air between us. Everything. I thought about what that meant. What that really meant. My mind raced through possibilities, images, scenarios that I’d only ever half-admitted to myself I found intriguing. The collar. The nakedness. The way she’d said devotion like it was a prayer.

“The collar is a symbol of my bond to Carl,” Angela continued, her fingers rising to touch the leather at her throat. “I’ve worn it for many years. I only take it off to bathe, and even then, he’s the one who removes it and puts it back on. It’s… I can’t really explain it. It’s like wearing a wedding ring, but more. More present. More constant. Every time I move, every time I swallow, every time I turn my head, I feel it. I feel him.”

My mouth was dry.

My mouth was dry and my knickers were damp and I was having a lot of very complicated feelings that I didn’t want to examine too closely.

Kevin came back with the wine. He handed me a glass, and I took it gratefully, drinking half of it in one go like it was water. He sat beside me on the sofa, close enough that his thigh pressed against mine, and his hand came to rest on my knee. Just resting there. Warm. Heavy. Present.

“So,” Angela said, leaning back in her chair, “that’s why I’m dressed like this. Or rather, undressed.” She chuckled. Actually chuckled. Like this was funny. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Kevin told us you might be… receptive.”

I looked at Kevin.

“You told them about me?”

“I told them you were curious,” he said. “That you’d asked questions. About the things we’ve been… exploring together.”

My blush, which had been starting to subside, came roaring back.

“Oh god,” I said.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Angela said quickly. “Please. There’s no shame here. None at all. That’s the whole point, really. We don’t hide anything. We don’t pretend. We live honestly, openly, in the roles that make us happiest.”

“And your role is…?”

“To serve. To obey. To please.” She said it simply. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. “To be naked and vulnerable and completely myself, without the armour of clothing or pretense. To give Carl the gift of my submission, and to receive the gift of his dominance in return.”

I thought about my armour. My blazer. My silk blouse. My heels that clicked authoritatively on marble floors. My voice that made junior analysts cry.

“I don’t know if I could,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to,” Kevin said. His hand squeezed my knee. “There’s no pressure. No expectation. If you want to stay fully clothed, you’re welcome to. We’re just… sharing this with you. Because we thought you might understand.”

“But if you’d like to try,” Angela added, her eyes meeting mine with that unnervingly kind gaze, “we do have traditions. Rules, I suppose you’d call them, though I prefer to think of them as rituals. The women of the house are nude. That’s the first and most basic one. But we don’t expect you to jump into anything you’re not ready for.”

I looked at her collar.

I thought about Kevin’s hand on my knee.

I thought about the boardroom, about the way my shoulders ached after a twelve-hour day, about the way I sometimes lay in the bath and fantasised about someone else being in charge. About someone else making the decisions. About being able to just… let go.

“What if I wanted to try,” I said, and the words came out before I could stop them, “but not all the way? Not yet?”

Angela’s smile widened. “Then we adapt. We adjust. We find a way to make you comfortable while you explore. Kevin mentioned you might be nervous. That’s why I suggested… perhaps just your top, to start with.”

My top.

Just my blazer and my blouse.

The blazer that was my armour. The silk that was my second skin.

I looked down at myself. At the dark grey wool. At the pale cream silk beneath it. At the way the fabric covered everything, protected everything, kept the world at a safe distance.

“You don’t have to,” Kevin said again.

But I was already standing up.

My hands were shaking. That’s the thing I remember most clearly. My hands were shaking as I reached for the button of my blazer, and I thought, this is ridiculous, I’m a grown woman, I’ve undressed in front of people before, I’ve had sex, I’ve done things that would make my mother faint, why is this so terrifying?

Because it was different. Because it was deliberate. Because it meant something.

I slipped the blazer off my shoulders. The air in the room felt cool against my bare arms. I folded the blazer carefully, because I’m the sort of person who folds things carefully even when I’m having a minor emotional crisis, and I laid it on the arm of the sofa.

Then I reached for the hem of my blouse.

“Take your time,” Angela murmured.

I pulled the blouse over my head.

And suddenly I was standing in Kevin’s parents’ sitting room in my bra and jeans, my skin prickling with goosebumps, my nipples tightening against the lace of my bra, my face burning so hot I thought I might actually catch fire.

It was just a bra. A black lace bra, nothing special, nothing particularly revealing. But I felt more naked than I’d ever felt in my life. More exposed. More seen.

“Lovely,” Angela breathed, and the word washed over me like warm water. “You’re absolutely lovely, Kelly.”

I felt something swell in my chest. Pride, I think. Or something close to it. The same feeling I got when a client signed a big deal, when my boss praised my work, when I won. But this was different. This was softer. More intimate. More vulnerable.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Angela rose from her chair and walked toward me. Her bare feet made no sound on the floor. Her breasts swayed gently with each step. She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell her—something floral, something clean, something warm and womanly—and she reached out and touched my collarbone.

Just a touch. Fingertips tracing the line of bone from my shoulder to the hollow of my throat.

“Such lovely skin,” she said. “So smooth. Kevin’s a lucky man.”

My breath caught.

Her fingers drifted lower. Brushed the upper curve of my breast where it rose above the lace of my bra. Not grabbing. Not groping. Just… touching. Acknowledging. Letting me know that she could see me, all of me, even the parts I’d hidden for so long.

“You feel it already, don’t you,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “That little flutter. That spark. The way your body knows this is right even if your mind is still catching up.”

I did feel it. God help me, I did. My nipples were tight and aching against the lace. My knickers were damp. My thighs were pressing together in a way that I hoped wasn’t too obvious.

“It’s overwhelming,” I admitted.

“I know. It was for me too, the first time. But it gets easier. And then it gets wonderful.” She let her hand drop, stepping back. “Sit down. Finish your wine. Let’s talk.”

I sat.

Kevin’s arm came around my shoulders, and I leaned into him, grateful for the solid warmth of his body. My bare skin pressed against the fabric of his shirt. The contrast was… something. Something I didn’t have words for.

“So,” Angela said, settling back into her chair, “you wanted to know about Kevin. How we raised him.”

I nodded. “He’s… different. From other men I’ve been with.”

“Different how?”

I thought about it. About the way he touched me. The way he spoke to me. The way he never asked—he told. But gently. Always gently. The way I felt safe with him even when I was on my knees, even when my hands were tied, even when I was doing things that the Kelly in the boardroom would never, ever admit to wanting.

“He’s dominant,” I said slowly, “but not cruel. He’s in control, but he doesn’t need to prove it. He just… is. And when I’m with him, I feel like I can let go. Like I can stop being the person I have to be all day and just… just be his.”

Angela’s eyes were bright. Warm. “That’s exactly what we hoped for. Carl and I. When Kevin was born, we made a decision. We were going to raise a son who understood dominance as a form of care. Not aggression. Not control for its own sake. But leadership. Protection. The kind of strength that makes the people around him feel safe.”

“We taught him that submission isn’t weakness,” she continued, and her hand drifted to her collar, stroking the leather absently. “It’s a gift. The most precious gift a woman can give. And a man who receives that gift has a duty to honour it. To cherish it. To be worthy of it.”

I was leaning forward now. My wine forgotten. My embarrassment fading into something else. Something hungrier.

“He told me you taught him how to… how to handle a woman. Sexually, I mean.”

Angela laughed. Not embarrassed at all. Just warm and open and utterly unashamed. “We did. When he was old enough to understand. Carl and I explained the dynamics. The responsibilities. The techniques. Carl demonstrated, and I… well.” She shrugged, and her breasts bounced with the movement. “I was the demonstration.”

I pictured it. Kevin as a teenager, watching his father touch his mother. Learning. Studying. The thought should have horrified me. Instead, it made my cunt clench.

“That’s so…”

“Unconventional?”

“I was going to say hot.”

Angela’s smile turned just slightly wicked. “It was. It is. The way Carl touches me… I’ve been his for twenty-two years now, and I still melt every time. Still get wet the moment he walks in the door. Still ache for him when he’s gone more than a few hours.”

My thighs pressed tighter together.

“The submission isn’t just about sex,” she added. “It’s about everything. The little things. The rituals. The way I kneel when he comes home. The way I ask permission before I sit on the furniture. The way I keep myself smooth and soft and ready for him, always. It’s a constant reminder. I am his. Wholly. Completely. And that knowledge—that certainty—is the most peaceful thing I’ve ever known.”

Peaceful. That was the word that stuck with me. Because I wasn’t peaceful. I was never peaceful. My mind was always racing, always planning, always fighting. Deals and deadlines and dominance, the exhausting, endless performance of being Kelly the Investment Whiz, Kelly the Closer, Kelly the Woman Who Eats Men Like You For Breakfast. It was exhausting. It was so fucking exhausting and I’d never admitted that to anyone, not even myself.

But here was this woman. Naked and collared and smiling. And she was peaceful.

“I want that,” I whispered. The words came out before I could stop them. “I want…”

What did I want? I didn’t even know. I didn’t have the vocabulary for it. Not yet.

“You want to let go,” Angela finished for me. “You want someone else to carry the weight for a while. You want to be naked—not just in body, but in soul. You want to be seen and held and owned, in the best possible way.”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place.”

Kevin kissed my temple. His hand slid from my shoulder down my bare arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I told you she’d understand,” he murmured.

And then we heard it.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

Angela’s whole body changed. I watched it happen. Her posture straightened. Her eyes brightened. Her nipples—I couldn’t help noticing—tightened into hard peaks. A flush spread across her chest, rosy and warm and unmistakably aroused.

“Carl’s home,” she said, and her voice had changed too. Lower. Softer. More reverent. “Kevin, love, you know the routine. Kelly…” She turned to me, and her expression was both kind and serious. “This is the ritual. When the men come home, we greet them properly. On our knees.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“You don’t have to,” Kevin said quietly. “You’re still half-dressed. No one expects—”

“I want to try.”

The words surprised me. But as soon as I said them, I knew they were true.

Angela nodded, clearly pleased. “Then follow my lead.”

She moved to the front hallway, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. I followed, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Kevin stayed in the sitting room, giving us space.

Angela knelt.

It wasn’t just kneeling. It was a pose. A presentation. She positioned herself just beside the door, facing it, and then she lowered herself to the floor with a grace that spoke of years of practice. Her knees spread wide. Not obscenely wide, but wide enough that I could see the dark curls between her thighs, the glint of moisture already gathering there. Her back was straight. Her hands rested on her thighs, palms up. Her head was bowed, her eyes fixed on the floor in front of her. Her heavy breasts rested on the tops of her thighs, the nipples brushing the skin.

She was beautiful. She was obscene. She was peaceful.

“Like this,” she said softly. “Knees apart. Head down. Eyes lowered. You’re presenting yourself to your man. Your body is an offering.”

My whole body trembled as I lowered myself to the floor beside her.

The wood was hard against my knees. My jeans rubbed against my skin. My bra felt suddenly too tight, too present, and I wished—I actually wished—that I’d taken it off too. But I wasn’t ready. Not yet. This was enough. This was already so much.

I spread my knees like she had. It felt obscene in jeans, somehow more obscene than if I’d been naked. The denim pulled taut across my thighs. I could feel the seam pressing against my cunt, and I was wet enough now that it was definitely noticeable. God. God.

I lowered my head.

My hair fell forward, curtaining my face. I stared at the floorboards. At the grain of the wood. At a tiny knot in the timber beside my right knee. I focused on that knot because if I thought about what I was doing—kneeling in the hallway of my boyfriend’s parents’ house, half-naked, waiting to greet his father who I’d never met—I might actually lose my nerve and bolt.

“Breathe,” Angela murmured. “Slow and deep. Feel your heart beating. Feel the floor beneath you. Feel yourself settling into your place.”

My place.

I had a place. Right here. On my knees.

The front door opened.

I heard footsteps. Two pairs. Carl’s heavier tread, and Kevin’s moving from the sitting room to join his father in the doorway. I didn’t look up. Angela had said eyes lowered. I kept my eyes lowered even though every instinct screamed at me to look, to see, to know what was happening.

“Welcome home, my love.”

That was Angela’s voice. Soft and sweet and full of something that made my stomach flip.

A man’s shoes came into my line of vision. Nice shoes. Brown leather. Polished. They stopped directly in front of Angela.

“Look at you,” Carl said. His voice was deep. Warm. The kind of voice that filled a room without trying. “My beautiful girl. Waiting for me.”

“Always,” Angela breathed. “Always waiting for you.”

“Lift your eyes.”

I saw her head rise, just slightly, from the corner of my vision. I kept my own eyes fixed on that knot in the floorboard.

“There you are,” Carl murmured. I saw his hand reach down. His fingers touched her collar. Stroked the leather. Traced the silver ring. “My lovely wife. My good girl. You’ve been kind to our guest?”

“I have. She’s nervous. But she’s trying.”

“I can see that.”

And then his shoes turned toward me.

My heart stopped. Actually stopped. I’m sure of it.

“Kelly.”

It wasn’t a question. The man had never met me and he said my name like he’d known it forever. Like he had every right to say it.

“Yes,” I whispered. Then, remembering how Angela had spoken to him: “Yes, Sir.”

The word felt strange in my mouth. And also not strange. Also like something I’d been waiting to say my whole life.

“You’re not fully undressed,” Carl observed. His voice was calm. Neutral. Not accusing, just… noticing.

“She’s easing in,” Angela explained. “We thought it best.”

“Of course. Good instincts.” I heard the smile in his voice. “You may rise, Angela. Come here.”

I watched from the corner of my eye as Angela rose gracefully to her feet. Carl’s hands reached for her immediately, and I saw—I couldn’t help seeing—the way he pulled her against him. The way his mouth descended on hers. The kiss was deep. Thorough. The kind of kiss that was practically sex all by itself. His tongue slid into her mouth and she moaned, actually moaned, a soft hungry sound that made my cunt throb in sympathy.

And then his hands were on her breasts.

Not gentle. Not tentative. He cupped them both, full and firm, squeezing until the flesh bulged between his fingers. His thumbs stroked her nipples—once, twice—and they tightened into hard points. Angela gasped into his mouth.

“Beautiful,” Carl murmured against her lips. “My beautiful, obedient wife.”

“Yours,” she whispered back. “Oh god, Carl. Yours.”

One of his hands slid down. Over her belly. Over the soft curve of her stomach. Lower. Into the dark hair between her thighs. I watched his fingers disappear into her, heard the wet sound of his touch, heard Angela’s choked moan. It was brief—just a moment, just a quick intimate caress—but it was enough to make my face burn and my thighs clench and my cunt pulse with a need I’d never felt so intensely.

Carl withdrew his hand. Brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, holding Angela’s gaze the whole time. “You’re ready for me.”

“Always.”

“Good girl. Go pour me a drink.”

Angela turned to leave, and her eyes met mine for just a moment. She looked dazed. Happy. Drunk on something that wasn’t wine. She smiled at me, a small reassuring smile, and then she was gone.

And then it was Kevin’s turn.

I saw his shoes. Trainers, not leather. Familiar. Safe. My heart rate slowed just slightly.

“Kelly,” he said. “Look at me.”

I lifted my eyes. Slowly. The way Angela had done.

Kevin was standing in front of me, his father just behind him. Carl was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with silver at his temples and the same quiet authority that Kevin had. But I barely registered him. My eyes were on Kevin. On the warmth in his expression. On the way he was looking at me like I’d just given him the most precious gift in the world.

“You’re still on your knees,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Did my mum tell you to stay there?”

“She said… she said to wait until you told me I could rise.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So you listen to her authority too. Good. That’s good, Kelly.”

The praise hit me like a wave. I felt my shoulders drop. My breath ease. Something inside me unclenched that I didn’t even know had been clenched.

“You’re still in your jeans,” Kevin observed.

“I wasn’t ready. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. This is your first time. You’re doing exactly what you should be doing. Being honest about where you are.” He reached down and touched my face. Just his fingertips, tracing my jaw. “But I want you to know—I’m proud of you. For trying. For kneeling. For letting me see you like this.”

My eyes stung. Actual tears. God, I was a mess.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Rise.”

I stood. My knees were a bit wobbly. Kevin’s hands found my waist, steadying me, and the touch was electric. Even through my jeans, even through the denim, I felt the heat of his palms like a brand.

“Now,” he said, and his voice had dropped into that lower register, the one that made my brain go fuzzy, “I missed you today. I’ve been thinking about you all afternoon. About the way you look when you let go. About the sounds you make.” His hands slid up my sides. Brushed the underside of my breasts, still covered by the bra. “About these.”

My nipples ached.

“Kevin,” I breathed.

“Shh.” His fingers traced the edge of the lace. “You’re still half-dressed. That’s fine. But these”—he cupped my breasts through the bra, and I made a sound that was definitely not dignified—“these belong to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes… Sir?”

He smiled. That smile. The one that made me feel like I’d just won something. “Good girl.”

And then his hands moved lower. Over my stomach. Around to my back. Down. And then they were on my arse, gripping firmly, pulling me against him so I could feel exactly how hard he was. Exactly how much he wanted me.

“Tonight,” he murmured against my ear, “you’re going to undress completely. You’re going to kneel at my feet like Mum kneels for Dad. And I’m going to touch you the way he touched her. Do you want that?”

I nodded, my face pressed against his chest. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, Sir. Please, I want…”

I couldn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t know how. But I think he understood anyway. His arms tightened around me. His lips pressed against my hair. And I stood there in the hallway of his parents’ house, half-naked and trembling and wet and more turned on than I’d ever been in my entire life.

I was in trouble.

The best kind of trouble.

And I was just getting started.