Chapter 3:
Boardrooms and Ball Gags
When I stepped into Julian Lancaster’s private conference room the next morning—ten minutes early, with two lattes in hand and my entire lower body still humming from last night—I wasn’t prepared for what waited inside.
He was already there.
Seated at the head of the glass table. Legs spread. Tie gone. Sleeves rolled up. And a thick black ball gag resting innocently on the sleek mahogany surface beside him.
He didn’t look up from his laptop.
“Close the door.”
I swallowed hard and obeyed.
Click.
The moment the lock engaged, his eyes lifted to mine—hungry, deliberate, daring.
“Red,” he said, voice cool but unmistakably pleased. “Good girl.”
I had worn a fitted crimson blouse tucked into a pencil skirt that might’ve been a size too tight. The mo
