His Eager Fiancée's Midnight Leather Discipline

The apartment was dark except for the low amber glow of a single lamp in the corner. Emma knelt in the center of the living room, knees spread wide on the hardwood, back straight, palms resting upward on her thighs. The black leather corset hugged her like a second skin, cinching her waist so tightly that every shallow breath pushed her full breasts upward against the stiff boning. The tops of her breasts spilled over the edge, nipples already stiff and flushed. Matching thigh-high leather boots clung to her long legs, the heels forcing her ass higher as she knelt. A thick leather collar circled her slender throat, the silver ring at the front catching the light each time she swallowed.

In her open palms she held the heavy leather flogger, its thick braided handle and wide falls of supple black leather presented like an offering. Her shaved pussy was already slick; she could feel her own wetness coating her inner thighs. The apartment smelled faintly of the leather polish she had used earlier, mixed with the warm musk of her growing arousal. She had been waiting exactly as they agreed—midnight discipline, no excuses, no mercy unless she safeworded. Her heart hammered against her ribs with eager, filthy anticipation.

The lock clicked. Marcus stepped inside, still wearing his tailored charcoal suit, tie loosened. At twenty-eight he moved with the calm authority of a man who knew exactly what belonged to him. His dark eyes found her instantly. The door shut with a heavy finality. He set his briefcase down without a word and began to circle her slowly, shoes clicking on the floor. Emma’s breath caught as she felt his gaze travel over every inch of her exposed, corseted body.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “My shameless little fiancée, already dripping before I’ve even touched her. Did you touch that greedy cunt while you waited?”