CharmaineLouise Books VIP Subscribers Exclusives!
CharmaineLouise Books VIP Subscribers Exclusives!
Glitzy. Glamorous. Steamy.
The Latest Trilogy in STEELE International, Inc. A Billionaires Romance Series:
Read on for your exclusive VIP Subscriber First Peek of the prologue for Capture My Desires Malcolm & Starr Part I. Each Monday a new chapter revealed leading up to the release date Tuesday, April 20. Click here to pre-order your copy today from Amazon.
Enjoy! xoxo Charmaine Louise
18 Years Ago
Starr — 13, Beverly Hills, CA
“—Yeah, right! What makes that loser nerd think anyone wants to go to her corny birthday party?”
“Right! And with her weird hippie parents, too! What’ll she have there? Unicorns and rainbows?!”
“Did you get a glimpse of her face when we told her we’d go? She grinned ear to ear with happiness braces on full blast… SIKE!”
“With a name like Starr, she’s not very bright, is she?”
“That’s the problem she thinks she’s so smart, knows more than the rest of us—”
My mind reels as their voices fade out behind the closing bathroom door. I hug my knees to my chest while I rock on the toilet’s lid. Tears stream down my heated cheeks, blurring my vision.
I don’t need to see clearly to know the voices of Sally, Laura, Gail, Connie, and Jessica—the It Girls of Beverly Hills Junior High School. I could envision Sally, their leader tossing her silky blonde hair over her shoulder as she mimed my glasses. Gail, her main sidekick would have fluffed her curly afro to copy my naturally curly hair.
Obviously, I’m not so smart to have fallen for their easy yeses to attend my thirteenth birthday party this weekend. The It Girls at my simple backyard barbecue? Too good to be true.
For a moment I thought their teasing ways were over since we’re in the seventh grade now. Who knew they’d carry over their mean-girl antics from fifth and sixth grades to a new school?
A drawn-out sigh slips from my lips when I tilt my head back to stare at the ceiling, hoping to stop the flow of my tears. I’m so tired of them being so nasty to me. And for no reason!
Sure, I like to excel in my classes, and I answer the teachers’ questions happily—and correctly. But that doesn’t make me a nerd. Just interested in my schoolwork.
The whole braces thing is messed up too. I got them this past summer and grew five inches. So along with a mouth full of metal, thick-lensed glasses, and unruly curls, I tower over the other girls in our class.
It was bad enough they teased me ruthlessly about my “hippie” parents, clothes, and crystals in elementary school.
So what if my parents changed their names from Jordan and Belinda to Peace and Sun years before I was even born?! I like my name, Starr Knight. And doggone it, I am bright, and I love my parents—hippies and all!
They’re brilliant environmental law attorneys who take on the most challenging cases against big businesses and win billions! The law firm—Knight & Knight LLP—my parents founded years ago after they met at a music festival while at Stanford Law School ranks in the top five of the United States. With offices in LA, Seattle, Denver, Chicago, Houston, New Orleans, Miami, New York City to represent cases in the top environmentally focused cities. They may be hippies, but they’re sharks in the courtroom.
And so am I!
After a sniffle, I rise, shake out my vintage, glittery matchstick midi skirt so the layers fall to my Doc Martens’ eight-eye, patent leather boots on a whisper. I smooth my off-the-shoulder ruffle top over the white camisole before I grab my well-worn leather crossbody bag.
Loose tendrils of curls fall over my eyes as I bend over. I sweep them back into the big bun at the nape of my neck with a resigned huff as my rose quartz pendant slips along its leather cord. Determined, I straighten my spine and leave the bathroom.
Time to face the music on the school bus ride home.
“Hi, sweetheart, how was school?”
I lift my head from my notebook and smile at my mother. We look exactly alike. Sorrel brown eyes full of love as she peers at me. Smooth chestnut-colored skin glows from healthy eating and regular exercise. Long, curly, dark brown hair pulled up in a topknot. Dimples highlight her sculpted cheekbones when she returns my smile. She’s a beautiful woman in her late thirties.
“History class was interesting, and I loved art,” I answer as I stand three inches taller than her petite feet-foot-three-inch frame. “But the crew siked me into believing they were coming to my birthday party.”
I raise my hand when she speaks. A scowl settles on her pretty face.
“Hey, no worries. ‘Be equally thankful for what you perceive to be good and for what you perceive as bad. It all happens for a reason. Either way, you don’t let it disturb your inner peace. Strive for tranquility no matter the outer circumstances.’ Right?” I ask, reminding my mother of her favorite yogic piece of advice.
She cups my face and beams at me.
“Absolutely, Starr!” My mother exclaims.
“What’s the ‘absolutely’ for?”
We turn to see my father stride into the room. His baritone voice booms around us.
I get my height from him being six feet, five inches. He’s opposite of my mom and me, with his obsidian eyes and pecan-colored skin. Equally fit and health conscious, he exudes power at forty-one. He’s renowned for his command of the boardroom or the courtroom if negotiations reach that extent.
“A bit of a misunderstanding about my party. But no worries!” I respond as I give him a hug.
It’s nearly dinnertime, and they make a point of being home as a family each night if possible. Otherwise the chef makes a meal for me.
“Well, perhaps your gift will make up for it,” my father says as his eyes twinkle. “How about you open it early?”
With a shriek, I grasp the envelope and rip it open. An itinerary for a two-week stay at an ashram in Rishikesh, India, the world capital for studying yoga and meditation rests in my hands.
I never thought my parents heard me rambling about the center for spiritual studies a few months ago when I found it online.
Another of their traits I inherited is their focus on wellbeing. Whenever I have encounters with the crew, I practice breathing exercises to brush off their meanness. It takes the focus away from them and brings it back to me, keeping me centered and at peace.
I whoop and throw my arms around my father, then my mother. Yup, hippies and all, I’d have them no other way!
Roger — 15, Southampton Village, NY
“Oh shit! What the hell is that on your back, Malcolm?! It better not be real, bro!”
My head whips around, my mouth twisted as I glare at my older brother—older than my fifteen by two years barely.
Since we’re so close in age, everyone confuses me with him. We share the Steele clan traits of wavy ebony hair and dove gray eyes. Our olive-colored skin tanned further by the bright sun of Southampton Village, where our family’s compound spans for a mile along our private beach.
Baz has a few inches on my six-foot-frame, so I have to look up at him.
But I don’t look up to him. Hell nah!
He’s Mister Perfect. The supposed leader of the Steele siblings. A role he’s taken upon himself since forever. That’s cool for Roger who’s fourteen and the fraternal twins Harris and Haley at eleven. They freaking idolize Baz.
Me? Not so much. I refuse to be in Sebastian’s shadow. I make my own way and don’t need his interference in my life. My identity is my own. Screw looking alike.
“Oh, screw you, Sebastian! You’re not my father! Back off, bro!!” I snarl viciously as my nostrils flare and my face reddens.
I storm off from the party we’re having on the beach, sick and tired of his crap. I push past the others ranging from my age to twenties.
Of course it’s a crowd. Everyone wants to be around the Steeles. Our multibillion-dollar family has deep roots in New York City with our multigenerational luxury real estate development and management company based out of The STEELE Tower.
Even though it’s the summer and we’re out in the Hamptons for the weekend, each of us interns at the company. Come Monday, we’ll be on Fifty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue in the heart of Billionaires’ Row at our respective divisions, learning our family’s business from the ground up.
We have our mother to thank for “not being spoiled rich kids who only lounge around the pool all day.” Shelley is a native New Yorker who worked as a shopgirl in one of STEELE’s retail spaces. She met our father Morgan when he was on a business call to the store. At the time he was President of the Retail Properties Division and our grandfather was the CEO. Now, our Dad is top dog.
Baz assumes he’s next in line, so he runs around barking orders at the rest of us.
Well, to hell with that!
I want no parts of STEELE International, Inc. I plan to start my own company for extreme sports lovers like me. Baz can have it all—Favorite Son and future CEO. I’ll continue on as the second son; the rebel; the bad boy billionaire playboy of the family. And billions it will be too. Those I make on my own, not handed to me. Thank you very much!
Who the hell does he think he is telling me how to behave and what to do constantly?! He needs to get off my back already, literally.
That’s why I got my tattoo. The wings on my back symbolize freedom from family constraints and the flying as I speed along on my bikes. After I won my latest motocross race, I memorialized it forever in ink. The tattoo artist didn’t give me any flack since my height and attitude make me appear older than fifteen. Plus, I flirted with her, then backed it up once she completed my tat. She did a damn good job, and I thanked her royally.
So Baz can shut up with his nagging.
I need to feel the wind in my face to cool down. A quick walk to the garage and I’m astride one of my KTMs, ready to hit the dirt trails outside of the ritzy town. Just as I lift my helmet—I may be a rebel who takes risks, but I value my life—a movement to my left catches my attention.
Damn. Belinda Crane.
Belinda Baz’s Girlfriend Crane, to be exact.
By her expression, she’s not thinking of Big Brother right now. Nor does she mistake me for him. Nope. That heat is all for me.
She twirls a strand of her long silky red hair between her delicate fingers as her eyes travel from my boots to my leather-clad muscular thighs and chest to my smirking mouth. When green meets gray, the lust rolls through us in waves.
I may be fifteen, but this isn’t my first rodeo, nor will this be my first ride of this little filly. Poor Baz has no clue. Yeah, height and attitude make all the difference in life.
Belinda sashays over to me, her grip-worthy hips sway, making the strings of her white bikini dance. The round mounds of her tits bounce with each step. Her hooded eyes never leave my face, but my eyes travel the curves of her luscious body. She’s a true redhead.
“I love your tattoo, Malcolm… A lot,” Belinda says breathlessly as her fingertips skim over my back from shoulder to shoulder, sparks reach through the leather to make my cock jump to attention.
“Do you now, B.?” I smirk.
She nods and licks her full glossy lips.
My eyes dart to them, and I chuckle.
The first time her little pink tongue wrapped around my hardness, I nearly came before she even started blowing me.
I’ve learned more control since last winter’s break. And I plan to use it.
“I’m going for a ride. You wanna cum?” I ask, not missing she picked up on my word choice when her pale cheeks flush bright red.
A quirk of my eyebrow has her nodding and scurrying to hop behind me. The warm, wet folds of her pussy press against my ass.
Yeah, I can’t wait to bury my thick ten inches balls deep in her greedy snatch.
The purr of the engine is a precursor to the purrs I’ll have Belinda moaning as soon as I get her writhing beneath me.
At times, it’s good to be a Steele.
But on my terms.
Chapter 1 — Malcolm
Present — New York City
“Good evening, Mr. Steele.”
On reflex, my gaze travels over the mâitre d' at LEVELS 4 Restaurant as her whisky-colored bedroom eyes drink in every one of my six feet, four inches. Her sultry smile widens with satisfaction. Unmistakably impressed by my bespoke three-piece suit, custom dress shirt with Hermès silk tie and pocket square, and A. Testoni Oxfords.
I run my hand over the five o’clock shadow covering my firm jaw, partially to distract her heated gaze and to hide my delight in her beauty.
Not one to flirt when in a committed Dominant-submissive relationship, even if it has lost its allure. I can still appreciate a gorgeous woman.
The mâitre d’s honey-colored skin glows naturally with minimal makeup. Only ruby-red lips that draw my attention to her lush mouth. My cock—having a head of its own—twitches at the vision of her lips wrapped around my girth as she kneels naked before me.
I incline the head on my shoulders in response to her greeting.
“Your guest has not arrived yet. Would you prefer to wait at the bar, or shall I escort you to your table, Sir?”
This time I can’t contain my smirk at her innuendos. Well played.
“The bar will do, thank you… Tabitha,” I answer as I read her name on the tag placed strategically on the ample curve of her left tit.
Her eyes gleam after my gaze lingers on the fullness of her breast.
I give her an appreciative nod, then pivot to stride towards my bar.
Yeah, my bar as in part of my global, luxury, members-only BDSM/dance club LEVELS New York in Manhattan’s Meatpacking District. Apropos for the flagship location since men pack their meat into willing women and willing men allow women to pack them with their toys, or whatever combination suits members’ fancies.
The decorative theme for the club is minimal and industrial in deference to its warehouse history. The fixtures and furniture that appear well worn are high-end, modern replicas used to add authenticity without the grime of old pieces.
My cousin Lucien Jackson cooked up the idea and told me about it. Lucien literally cooked it up since he thought of it as he finished his hospitality and culinary training at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris.
Of course, when we presented the concept to Sebastian for his approval, his response was typical Sebastian. “Who the hell goes through that prestigious training to come up with a titty bar?”
Well, five years later Lucien’s idea proves it’s bigger than that and has a high profit margin with additional locations in Paris and London. That’s all that concerns Sebastian and me, to be honest: will it add to STEELE International’s bottom line? Yes, well, it’s a go. No, then no go.
LEVELS is one of many business partnerships that STEELE has with Jackson Corporation. World-renown for their award-winning eateries, choice cigars, and distinguished liquors and wines, their products pair well within STEELE’s casinos, hotels, resorts, and residential and retail properties.
On the personal side, my mother is best friends with the Jackson matriarch. They spent most of their adult lives together forming a closer bond than they have with their blood siblings and relatives. Not sharing DNA doesn’t keep our families from being a close-knit group.
Growing up, Lucien and I were the deviants, the ones who took the most risks—and won. As the second son of the Jackson clan, he relates to my frustrations, especially as teenagers. He set his course to prove himself within their company, just as I did with STEELE.
As the president of STEELE’s Entertainment Properties Division, I oversee our casinos, hotels, and resorts. LEVELS falls within my milieu. I’m the most appropriate sibling to take on the division. My wild ways of pushing the envelope and my love of the challenge extreme sports triggers prepared me for the role to lead our most profitable division focused on pleasure and thrills.
While in my sophomore year at Harvard University—our family’s legacy school—I came to terms with my position when Baz saved my ass from being thrown out due to lack of focus. As a Steele didn’t get me accepted, I’m smarter than the average guy. But I slipped when once again I was in my older brother’s shadow.
My come-to-Jesus moment occurred when Baz laid it all out on the table. He had no interest in competing with me, controlling me, or clashing with me. His purpose being to look after his younger siblings and do well by our family name. He urged me to work with him and not against him as I had for years.
I got everything off of my chest as we shared some Jackson Special Blend Scotch in his off-campus loft apartment one night. The fact he offered the liquor to me despite my age put him in the cool category for the first time in our lives. It loosened my tongue, and we resolved our issues—or rather mine.
The next weekend I flew to New York for a session with a tattoo artist famous for his intricate designs. He morphed the wings on my back into a work of art that wraps around my shoulders to my pecs like a mantle. The wings still represent my freedom and flight, but the additional design elements blend with them to serve as a reminder of my responsibilities to my family and to STEELE International, Inc.
I reapplied myself to my studies from undergrad through Harvard Business School to graduate with honors at the top of my class both times. Combined with my summer internships over the years, I was more than ready to join our family’s company upon graduation.
Every one of the successive positions led to my current role, along with being the Second Vice President of the Board.
Each sibling works at STEELE and has board positions: Sebastian, president of the Retail Properties Division and First VP; Roger, president of the Residential Properties Division and Third VP; Harris and Haley, fraternal twins, co-founders of the subsidiary STEELE Technology and Cyber Security and Members.
At the moment, our father serves as CEO and Chairman of the Board. He trusts Baz to carry our legacy into the future and my younger brothers, sister, and I respect him and accept his leadership.
Fortunately, Baz and I grew past my teenage angst to develop a close relationship. We’ve come a hell of far since my wild days.
Although I still enjoy my adventurous activities. Excursions happen around my work schedule with Lucien, Anton Alexeyev—my Vice President of Development and college friend—and his cousin Borya The War Defender Alexeyev, my personal trainer and former MMA champion. Now I control my fighting, no longer chaotic with the MMA fights I take part in regularly to blow off steam.
Harris nicknamed me The Enforcer from my lethal fighting skills and for my no-nonsense, take-care-of-it attitude.
So while Baz is the leader and Roger the responsible one, I’ve become the guy everyone comes to get shit done… Or corrected.
The thought brings my mind back to the present and my reason for being at LEVELS New York tonight and not my usual Dominant/submissive scene with my current sub, Vicky Reynolds. Although who I’m meeting would most definitely be a sub I’d like under my palm.
My guest being Sebastian’s former girlfriend/sub Lola Lewis. However, not former in his mind… And I’ll use her request to meet as a means of correction for him.
One night six months ago, Sebastian and Lola literally bumped into each other at LEVELS New York. Then by chance Lola turned out to be the owner of the Paris-based luxury lingerie company Baz had a meeting with the next morning at STEELE. Lola’s expansion plans for her Lola’s Coterie turned into an expansion of her sexual desires with the Alpha Dom.
Yeah, Baz and I have more in common than our doppelgänger looks.
Somehow he fucked up, and here I am to fix things. Naturally.
My chuckle catches in my throat when I glimpse Lola strutting off of the elevator. She captivates more than my attention as several heads—male and female—turn to track her path across the floor.
Lola stuns in a black, long-sleeved mini dress side knotted with a plunging neckline. Her magnificent tits play hide and seek with the soft fabric. The draping follows the natural curves of her body elegantly. Its hem skims her upper thighs, lengthening Lola’s petite frame. Her toned legs end in nude fuck-me sandals.
I slam back my Scotch and rise from the barstool. Time to save the lucky prick’s relationship.
“I’m here to meet Mr. Malcolm Steele for dinner—”
“Lola, good to see you,” I interject as she speaks to Tabitha, who’s eyes dim when she sees my sexy AF dinner guest.
I don’t harbor any intimate attraction to Lola. My hard limit of no involvement with my brothers’ or friends’ partners—current or past—stops my cock from coming to life. Despite Lola’s beauty, it’s a definite hell no.
She tilts her head back to reach my eyes and smiles warmly.
“Malcolm, good to see you, too,” Lola trills.
A less enthusiastic Tabitha leads us to our table in the center of the dining area, perfectly situated with an unobstructed view of the large room and of the bar. A spot from which I can easily observe all the patrons and the staff. I may be here for personal reasons, but I can keep an eye out on my business too.
The bar and dining room bustle as usual with the crème de la crème of society. They hobnob with top-shelf drinks and eat Continental cuisine of pastas, meat, and steaks with favorable sauces crafted by Lucien.
My gaze alights on several recognizable faces enjoying nightcaps at the bar area’s high-top tables or savoring the dishes. Tonight, the box office hit action movie actor and his wife, a former senator of Connecticut, and a high-powered female CEO of an online shopping conglomerate represent some members and guests. The club caters to the most wealthy and influential in society. They prefer the relative safety that one can expect from the ironclad nondisclosure agreement that LEVELS requires every member and their guests to sign.
Membership offers two options: Global All Access or Dine/Dance. GAAs can choose from any of the seven levels: 7th Sky Lounge that offers a stunning, 360-degree view of Manhattan and across the Hudson River to New Jersey’s shoreline, a bar, restaurant by day dance club by night, a coverable pool that’s open during the warmer months, and a glass-retractable roof; 6th and 5th multilevel dance club with two bars and a lounge for food and drinks; 4th Level 4 Restaurant and bar open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner; 3rd has twelve private suites for members to continue their pleasure apart from the BDSM levels; 2nd Peepshow for BDSM with seating alcoves, primary stage, mini-stages, performance rooms, and a bar that serves non-alcoholic mocktails; below ground the Cellar a BDSM dungeon with mocktails bar. The DD members only have access to the party levels—Sky Lounge, Dance Club, and Level 4 Restaurant.
Like the other members, my brothers and I seek LEVELS New York for the solution our bodies crave. We’re Global All Access Members. Other than Haley, who we forbid membership. Our baby sister in a BDSM club? Errr… Hell no!
We’re all guilty of not having longstanding relationships. Our work to increase STEELE International’s success as the next generation takes most of our time. All of us, including our sister Haley, commit at least ten hours a day on business. In Sebastian’s case, it’s fourteen hours. We put pressure on ourselves, but he does it even more. I’m not far behind with thirteen. We’re not left with enough time a relationship requires.
Although I make time for my sub. I prefer commitments of three to four months at a time or until they get too clingy. As with my current sub, Vicky. Fortunately she’s bicoastal, so we see each other a couple of times a month.
Women are more than willing to have a one-night tryst or a few months with one of the STEELE Quaternity, as the media has labeled my brothers and me. They’ve dubbed us the most sought-after of the world’s eligible billionaires. Our near-limitless wealth, power, and good looks attract women like bees to honey. They clamor for a taste, if only for one night.
I dispel thoughts of Vicky to focus on Lola. She slides into the chair I hold out for her, then I sit across the table. We exchange pleasantries before we place our orders.
Once the server leaves, Lola tosses her lustrous ebony hair over her shoulder and leans forward to pin me with her hazel eyes fringed with long lashes.
“I have a business offer for you, Malcolm,” she says as her eyes glitter.
For a second, I choke on my sip of Pellegrino. What the everlasting fuck?!
Lola giggles and claps her hands in glee.
“Okay, you have my attention. But do know, I value my life and will not tangle with you, vixen,” I tease with a smirk, wiping the sparkling water from my lips. Baz trains with Borya too.
She places a hand over her heart and raises her other hand in the air as she grins.
“I swear to not inflict you with bodily harm by your brother, Captain Caveman,” Lola laughs.
We chuckle as the server sets our appetizers on the table between us.
Over our meal, Lola explains her thirtieth birthday trip to Laucala—a private island in Fiji—for a fitness retreat a couple of months ago. She raves about the location, classes, and the instructors.
I listen politely, unsure of the direction she’s taking. Does she want me to tell Sebastian to take her back there for a makeup holiday? Does she think I need a vacation? My head nods automatically as I eat my main course.
“—Starr is phenomenal! We’re so much alike being driven to succeed with our businesses, in our early thirties, and only kids.” Lola gushes.
“Wonderful,” I respond, partially in response to Lola and to the delicious Shrimp Oreganata.
Lola narrows her eyes and purses her lips.
“Maybe this will keep your attention, Malcolm,” she huffs before she continues. “Starr plans to expand her center, Starr Light Fitness & Wellness Beverly Hills, into international fitness retreats at luxury resorts around the globe and to open a location in the Caribbean to start. She wants a partner. Just like Lola’s Coterie did with STEELE International. Get it?”
Lola ends on a triumphant smirk.
Now, she has my attention.
Fitness? Could be conducive to my new venture with Lucien and his older sister Lydie, who is second in command to their father Connor at Jackson Corporation. Our latest project Jackson Hole at STEELE Resorts concept is a members-only, high-end beach clubs for the jet set. It’s my second foray with clubs in co-ownership with Lucien. Basically, Jackson Hole is LEVELS on the beach minus the BDSM.
A fitness and wellness center could offer more amenities for JHSR and placed within one of our STEELE resorts, increase activities for guests. Fascinating.
I thank Lola for the introduction, then it’s my turn to lean forward.
“You… Sebastian. Tell me how to make the two of you work again?”
Lola crumbles a bit in her seat. Her eyes lose their glitter as she glances down to adjust the linen napkin on her lap. She sighs and raises her gaze back to mine.
By the time she finishes her side of their captivating story and swears me to secrecy, I have the mind to box Sebastian upside his thick head. Seriously, bro? I wonder to myself.
To Lola, I give her tips on how to handle my brother. Tips I learned from years of being around him and the women with whom he’s had brief encounters. He’s a playboy who never settles with one woman for longer than a night or two.
I can tell his feelings for Lola are on a different level. Now speaking with her and witnessing the gut-wrenching hurt in her eyes, I know she cares deeply for Baz too.
When we stand outside of LEVELS New York, I give Lola a squeeze and promise to not say a word to Baz and to contact Starr tomorrow afternoon. I help Lola into her chauffeur-driven Bentley Bentayga SUV and wave as they pull off.
I duck inside the back seat of my Bentley Mulsanne Duo-tone in platinum and black as my driver Oscar Carrera holds the door open.
As we weave through the evening traffic of Manhattan heading north along the West Side Highway to my penthouse on the fifty-third floor of The STEELE Tower, I stare out the window. My mind goes over the conversation and the emotions that rolled off of Lola in waves.
I sense she loves Baz truly and neither of them know how to deal with their unchartered relationship as they explore D/s for her. But it’s deeper.
If Baz is on the verge of love at thirty-five, should I reconsider my relationship status since it’s not as fulfilling as in the past?
A vibration and buzz from my trousers pocket bring me back to the sedan. I withdraw my mobile and glance at the screen. The glow in the dim interior reveals a text message from Vicky.
Sir, I miss you.
I click the video link and my lower head takes over.
Vicky lies on her bed spread-eagle with a blindfold over her cornflower blue eyes. Nipples pointed peaks atop her DD mounds. Her soaked pussy glistens with her juices in the candlelight.
“Oscar, change in plans. Take me to Vicky’s, thanks,” I say into the sedan’s intercom as I adjust my burgeoning erection, then type my response.
Do not touch yourself, or I will punish you, Little Pet…
I chuckle to myself.
Nah! I’m good!
Check your email on Monday, April 19 for Chapter 2, then purchase your copy here!
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