Collared by the CEO

The Gala

Amelia

The gown was a weapon.

I understood that the moment I saw it laid out on the bed midnight blue silk that would pool around my feet like water, backless, with a neckline that plunged dangerously low. Beside it sat a pair of silver heels and a velvet box.

Inside the box was a vibrating egg.

"Wear it," Alexander had said, not looking up from his phone. "All night."

Now, standing in the hotel ballroom with hundreds of the city's elite, I understood why.

The egg buzzed inside me at a low, constant frequency not enough to bring me to orgasm, but enough to keep me perpetually on edge. Every step sent a fresh wave of sensation through my body. Every brush of the silk against my skin reminded me of what I wore beneath.

Alexander's hand rested possessively on the small of my back as we entered. Cameras flashed, reporters called out questions. He smiled that cold, practiced smile I'd seen a thousand times and guided me through the crowd like a prized possession.

"Smile, darling," he murmured. "You're beautiful tonight."

I smiled. My lips curved, my eyes brightened, and no one could see the way my thighs trembled. No one knew that I was fighting to breathe, to walk, to exist while pleasure pulsed between my legs.

Dinner was torture.

I sat beside him at the head table, surrounded by senators and CEOs and philanthropists. A plate of seared scallops sat before me, untouched. I couldn't eat. I couldn't think. The vibration increased slightly just enough to make me gasp and I pressed my thighs together beneath the table.

"Are you alright, Ms. Hart?" The woman beside me frowned with concern. "You look flushed."

"I'm fine. Just a bit warm."

Alexander's hand found my knee beneath the table. His fingers traced upward, possessive and slow, and I had to grip my wine glass to keep from moaning.

He increased the intensity.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. My handwriting shook as I made notes on the program. My voice wavered when someone asked my opinion on the evening's honoree.

Alexander watched me with cold satisfaction, his gray eyes glittering with amusement.

The toast came an hour later.

The CEO of some tech conglomerate stood, raising his glass. "To Knight Global Holdings, and to the man who built an empire from nothing Alexander Knight!"

Everyone raised their glasses. Everyone turned to look at him.

He pressed the button on his phone.

The egg surged to maximum.

My knees buckled. I gripped the table, knuckles white, fighting the orgasm that threatened to consume me. The room spun. My vision blurred. I was going to come right here, in front of everyone, my body betraying me.

Alexander's arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me. His lips brushed my ear.

"You are mine. You will come when I say. Not before."

I held back. God help me, I held back.

The orgasm receded, leaving me trembling and soaked and desperate. I smiled and nodded as the toast concluded, as if nothing had happened. As if I wasn't falling apart inside.

Across the room, Victoria Sinclair watched us.

Alexander's ex-fiancée was beautiful in a cold, calculated way blonde hair swept into an elegant chignon, diamonds at her throat, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She raised her glass in our direction, a mockery of a toast.

I felt a chill of danger.

"Don't look at her," Alexander murmured. "She's irrelevant."

But she wasn't. I could feel her gaze throughout the evening, following us, calculating. I didn't know what she wanted, but I knew it wasn't good.

After the gala, he took me to the hotel suite.

The moment the door closed, he pushed me against the window. The city sprawled below us, millions of lights glittering in the darkness. My reflection stared back at me flushed, breathless, utterly undone.

He hiked up my gown and removed the egg. I whimpered at the loss.

"Patience," he said. "I have other plans for you."

He f****d me against the window, my palms flat against the glass, my breasts pressed to the cold surface. Every thrust was deep and claiming, his hips slapping against my ass. Below us, the city continued its endless motion, oblivious to the way I came apart.

Then the bed. He bent me over the edge, pulling my hips back to meet his thrusts. Then the floor, my back against the plush carpet, my legs wrapped around his waist. Then the bathroom counter, my reflection staring back at me as he took me from behind.

He took me in every position imaginable. Every position I'd ever imagined, and some I hadn't. By the time he finally allowed me release, I was a sobbing, shattered mess, my body convulsing with pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

"Come," he commanded.

I shattered in his arms.

Afterward, he carried me to the bed and held me close. His heartbeat was steady beneath my cheek, his fingers stroking through my tangled hair. I felt owned. Cherished. Alive in a way I'd never known.

Then my phone buzzed.

I reached for it lazily, expecting a notification, an email, something mundane. What I saw made my blood run cold.

A photo. Alexander and me in the playroom. Me tied to the cross. Him behind me. Both of us are naked, exposed, unmistakable.

The text beneath it read:

I know what you are. I know what he does to you. You are not safe. Neither is your brother.

I couldn't breathe. The room spun. Someone was watching. Someone had been watching.

"Amelia?" Alexander's voice sharpened with concern. "What is it?"

I handed him the phone. He read the message. His expression didn't change, but something dark shifted in his eyes.

"Who sent this?"

"I don't know."

He pulled me closer, his arms tightening around me. "You're not going anywhere. I'll find out who sent this. I'll destroy them."

But for the first time since signing that contract, I didn't feel safe.

Someone was threatening us. Someone knew our secrets.

And I had no idea who.