Isabelle

I stand outside Adam's office door, paralyzed. After our talk yesterday, he barely said a word to me. He arranged for an eye doctor appointment early this morning so I could get contacts, but then after breakfast, he rushed out of the house to handle "important business," whatever the hell that means. I haven't seen him since. It wasn't until I finished dinner—alone—that Claud found me. His instructions were simple: go to Adam's office—no detours.

So, now, I'm standing here, racking my brain like a child sent to the principal's office, wondering what I could've done to be summoned.

"Come in, Miss Shepherd."

Adam's voice crackles through the intercom, sending a shiver down my spine. It only now hits me that he's probably been watching me stand here like a dummy for the past five minutes and said nothing.

I really hate these stupid cameras.

I snarl at the lens above the door, take a deep breath, and finally turn the knob, stepping inside.

Adam's at his desk, absorbed in paperwork. My mind flashes back to the last time I was ordered to come here, and how hideously it ended. I shake off the memory. That was a long time ago.

Adam and I are different now.

"Miss Shepherd, take a seat," Adam says, his voice cold, eyes still locked on the papers in front of him.

Aren't we?

I swallow hard, my heart thudding in my chest as I lower myself into the chair across from him.

"What's up?" I manage to ask, trying to keep my voice and body steady. But I can't stop the quiver of uncertainty that slips out. His detached tone makes it feel like we hadn't just fucked till dawn two nights ago.

Maybe it wasn't as good as I thought.

The thought makes my stomach churn.

But Adam seemed happy that night.

"Claud said you needed to see me," I add, my nerves rising.

"Yes," he says, shoving the thick stack of papers he was studying toward me, still not looking at me. "I need you to sign this."

I blink down at the stack, more confused the further I flip through the pages. "I thought I already signed this contract when I first moved in," I say, stopping when I find my signature halfway through.

"Call this an addendum," Adam says, walking over to the door and locking it.

The sound of the lock clicking makes me jump in my seat. My anxiety spikes, bouncing around the room. I glance back down at the papers, unsure what else to do. I flip to the page after my signature and freeze. My eyes feel like they're about to fall out of their sockets, and my heart like it's beatboxing for Doug E. Fresh. I instinctively draw in a sharp breath and press my thighs together as I read the title: BDSM agreement.

"Good, you found it," Adam says, now looming over me. He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. "BDSM stands for—"

"My mother was the queen of smut," I interrupt, my breaths shallow. "I know what it stands for."

"Good, that should make this considerably easier," he says, stroking my cheek before flipping through the thick pages of the contract—which could be a mini dictionary with its girth. "In addition to our five-year agreement, you'll agree to be, definitively, my property in the form of my pet. My pup, to be exact."

My thighs clench, and I bite my lip as my clit throbs at the sound of Adam calling me his property. This time, it doesn't feel demeaning. It feels like a protective shield—because I know how fiercely he protects what's his. He nibbles at my earlobe, his hand sliding inside my bra to tease my nipple. A moan escapes my lips.

"Read through this to better understand what will be expected of you. Once you sign, the training will begin," he says, pulling his hand away from my breast and stepping back. I pout and whimper, but he just smirks. "Focus." He returns to his seat, ignoring my protests, and adds, "Fair warning—think twice about signing. If you thought I was a cruel boss, you'll find I'm an even more demanding master to my pups."

Hearing Adam call me his pup sends an unexpected thrill through my core, landing squarely between my legs.

"If I sign, does being your...pup lessen my five-year contract as your servant?" I ask, scanning through the pages. I don't see any mention of my five-year obligation to stay on the estate. Not that I could understand it if it was buried in all this lawyer gibberish.

"Absolutely not," he replies sternly, rising from his chair as I furrow my brows.

"That's not fair. Especially since you'll be getting the most from the new arrangement."

"Trust me, Miss Shepherd, you'll get just as much from this arrangement," he whispers, leaning down behind my chair. His hand glides down my heaving chest, slipping inside my pants. "Your wet, hungry pussy already seems to know you should sign."

My cheeks warm as I curse my traitorous parts.

My cheeks flush as I silently curse my traitorous body.

"What if we just...do what we did last night without the pet and BDSM?" I ask, my feet not so much cold at thought of venturing into BDSM as much as complete blocks of ice.

"No," he cuts me off, sharp.

"But—"

"I crave control, Miss Shepherd," he growls, pressing hard against my clit. "And if we're together, it will be on my terms. These terms. If you don't sign, we'll resume the relationship we had before our relations."

The thought of going back to that cold war between us sends a shiver through me, the horrific idea of growing to hate Adam again after he took my virginity and made me crave him as much as he craves control. It's unimaginable.

"Think of it as a way for you to finally get all those adventures you so desperately yearned for your entire life," Adam says, reaching to his desk and dropping my journal on top of the contract.

I shrink, mortified as I stare at the black notebook on my lap.

I knew he stole it from me!

It disappeared from my inventor's bag after my first month here. He swore he hadn't removed it from my room, and I figured I just misplaced it because my first month was, well, hell—and my brain barely functional. But no—just like everything else here—Adam claimed it as his. He now knows all my secrets, all my desires—including the ones I fantasized about him. Which were a lot, but in my defense, he's hot, and I had zero access to TV or the internet.

He knows everything about me.

I clench my thighs around his hand as he continues to toy with me.

But what adventures can he possibly give me from my gilded cage?

"It's your choice," Adam purrs into my ear. "You desire a new, adventurous world, and that's what I'm offering you."

He's right. That's all I've wanted since I was eighteen.

"What if..." I begin to negotiate but pause, feeling Adam start to pull his hand from me. I know that there's nothing I can say that would end with me in control of this situation. He has me exactly where he wants me. His subservient servant. My body would never forgive me if I denied it the chance to have him again. "I read this some more."

I can hear the satisfaction in his smile, knowing he's won this round of our mini battle of wills as his fingers return to my clit, making it impossible to concentrate. The words of the legalese I do understand frighten me a bit but also... fascinate me. Obey completely. Please him. Collars. Control. Master. It's like the stories I've read a million times with the small variance that it was actually happening to me.

Are you seriously thinking of signing this? You've already signed away your physical freedom to this man, and now you're considering giving him your sexual freedom?

I'm crazy. I have to be to consider giving Adam complete power over all of me. If I sign this, I agree he's in control over every sexual interaction. Plus whenever he 'collars' me, even if I don't want to be collared, I'll have to call him Mr. Marsters. And those are just the tame rules. There's a whole list of possible punishments if I don't follow the rules--ending ominously with, 'Whatever the master deems fitting.'

My face screws as I scan, finding one thing missing that every BDSM romance book always includes. A safe word. I have to come up with a safe word to say if things go too far out of my comfort level.

"Where's the section for a safe word?" I ask, flipping through more pages, sure I must've overlooked it.

There isn't one," he replies, as if not having one is the most casual thing in the world.

"What?" I ask, alarmed.

"You see, nothing I'll be doing with you will be... safe," he hums into my ear, sliding his finger back into my needy pussy. "You'd be calling out your safe word every minute if there was one."

"How will you know if I've had too much?" the words can barely form and escape my lips, contending with my mind's swirling with thoughts of Adam being inside me again, just like his finger is now.

"I dictate when you've had enough," he growls, the harshness of his tone sending a tingle down my spine.

I bite my lip to stifle a mounting moan as I glance back at the contract. There's a list of example activities I'll be subjected to in addition to the collars—ropes, chains, and...various objects.

What's that supposed to mean?

"Tick tock, Miss Shepherd," he hisses, and from all the previous arguments we've had since I moved into the mansion, I can tell he's losing his patience with me.

"I can barely understand any of this," I admit, flustered as he tugs on my clit, arching my back in pleasure. "How am I supposed to know what you expect of me?"

"I'll fucking tell you as we fucking go," he growls, grabbing a pen off his desk and thrusting it into my hand, matching the thrust of his finger in my pussy. "Now fucking sign the damn thing, or get the hell out of my office, Miss Shepherd."

I freeze for a moment, his vicious nature giving me a flicker of doubt.

Living here under his sinister rule has already made me crazy. But now, he's offering me a chance to explore an entire new world. With him. One that isn't just arguments and heartlessness.

With a deep breath, I make my decision. I scribble my name below Adam's signature, letting the pen fall to the floor as I surrender to the relentless finger fucking my pussy is enduring.

"Good girl," he murmurs, kissing my forehead gently before finally stopping his finger assault and pulling his hand out of my pants.

He picks up the thick contract from in front of me, thumbing through the pages with a devilish grin as he admires my chicken scratch signature, then files it away with satisfaction.

"Good. Now, let's start your training," he says, pulling two large bags onto the desk.

"You mentioned training earlier. What exactly do you mean?" I ask, leaning back into the chair, slightly afraid yet intrigued.

"Take off your pants and panties," he orders, completely disregarding my question. His eyes are wild, ablaze with a sinister intent.