Amelia
The gown was a statement.
Black silk that clung to every curve, a slit that ran dangerously high up my thigh, a neckline that left little to the imagination. Alexander had chosen it himself, laying it across the bed that morning with a smile that promised trouble.
"Wear this tonight."
And beneath it, seated deep inside me, filling me with a constant, maddening pressure, the plug.
I'd inserted it with trembling hands, knowing what was coming. Weeks of this had taught me the rhythm of his games. He would tease me, edge me, push me to the brink of public humiliation, and then he would reward me in private.
Or he would deny me entirely. I never knew which.
The ballroom glittered like a jewel box, chandeliers dripping crystal, champagne flowing freely, the city's elite draped in
