Chapter 4
Theo
I'd fucked up.
Like, seriously messed up.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I gripped the bar counter. The memory of slamming into that tall, blond Viking kept replaying in my head. His icy blue eyes had flashed in surprise, and his lips had parted a bit. The scent of his cologne—expensive, crisp, and masculine.
And I'd slammed right into him like a fucking idiot.
“Theo, you with us?” Pedro's voice yanked me back to reality. He leaned across the bar, one eyebrow raised with a shit-eating smirk. “You've been polishing that same glass for five minutes. I think it's clean, brah.”
I blinked, looking down at the tumbler in my hands. “Sorry,” I mumbled, dropping it with the others. “Just... zoning out.” I sighed as my thoughts went back to the guy I bumped into. No one here wore a silk suit like that, radiating confidence and style.
It made me feel even more naked than I already was.
The way he looked at me seemed to cut right through me, like he'd bend me over the nearest piece of furniture and do what he wanted, his gaze so intense that when I replayed that moment in my mind, I wanted to surrender to whatever he wanted.
“Anyway,” Pedro continued, oblivious to my internal crisis, “it sounded like an accident, right? They probably won't fire you for that.”
Thanks, dude. “I hope so. I can't afford to lose this job.”
Pedro handed me a crate of beer to stock in the cooler. “Besides, you're still in your trial period. You're not expected to be perfect.”
My trial period. Right. The fancy way of saying I wasn't yet servicing clients, still just a bartender trying to hold on to normalcy before diving into high-end sex work.
“When does The Master want you to start your... other duties?” Pedro asked, his voice gentler now.
I shrugged, concentrating on organizing the beer bottles. “He said he'd let me know when he thought I was ready. That he'd find the right client when the time came.”
“He's good at that, reading people, knowing what they need.” Pedro's expression softened with something like affection. “The Master may seem stern, but he cares about us in his own way.”
Ibrahim Nassar–The Master. The mere thought of him sent a shiver down my spine—not entirely unpleasant, but not comfortable either. He was intimidating, with his piercing gaze and authoritative presence.
“I just hope—”
The words got stuck in my throat as looked up and spotted the man himself.
Ibrahim Nassar moved with the quiet confidence of a predator, his dark eyes scanning the room before finding me. The white leather he wore clung to his frame like a second skin, showing off his tall, built physique as he strode purposefully in my direction.
Shit. The Master was never just here to chat. He walked closer, each step radiating authority. “Mr. Bennett,” he said, his voice smooth like polished stone. My heart raced in my chest.
“Yes?” I somehow croaked, feeling small under his scrutiny. I wiped my hands on my briefs, aware of how clammy they felt.
“I need to speak with you privately,” he said, no room for argument.
My stomach dropped as I nodded.
This was it. I was getting fired.
He led me away from the busy bar toward a secluded garden hidden behind tall hedges. The sound of the bustling crowd faded into a peaceful murmur as we stepped into the cool shade of the green space.
“Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to a stone bench beneath a flowering arbor.
My body obeyed without a second thought, anxiety tightening around my throat.
Ibrahim stood tall, blocking out the sun and casting me in shadow. “I understand you had a... run-in with one of our VIP guests today.”
My mouth went dry. “I’m really sorry about that, sir. I wasn’t paying attention and I—”
He raised a hand, cutting me off. “Mr. Bennett, carelessness is not acceptable here. Our clients expect nothing less than perfection.”
I stared at my bare feet, shame burning my cheeks. “I understand.”
“Do you?” His voice softened. “Look at me.”
I forced myself to meet his gaze.
“Despite your clumsiness, it seems you've made quite an impression on one of our guests already. This is highly irregular,” he added with a sneer.
“As you know, we rarely assign clients to our new employees for the first week or two. However, after some discussion, Mr. Stone and I will make an exception in your case, should you agree. There will be no penalty if you decline, and the final decision is yours.”
My heart skipped a beat. A client already? The news hit me like a wave, filling me with a weird mix of pride and holy-shit-what-am-I-doing panic.
Then I got it.
The Viking with his piercing blue eyes.
My mind spun, thrill tangled with nerves. I agreed without hesitation. “Absolutely, Master. What are the details?”
Ibrahim took a deep breath, shifting into a more clinical tone. “The client's name is Ricard Crestien, Duke d'Moncloud, Grand Duke of the royal house of Avaline. It's a small principality in Europe, and the duke is the king’s youngest son.”
I shook my head, feeling frozen. Royal house? Son of the King?
“When assigned a client, you’ll receive all the info needed to prepare yourself.
” He handed me a folded note with details.
“Since this is your first assignment, I wanted to go over it personally.
Unless he states differently, you will address the duke as 'Your Grace' or 'Sir.
' His Grace enjoys dominance and control, but he also appreciates finesse and sensuality. You must find a balance where you submit without losing your individuality.”
Heat flooded my face at the thought of submitting sexually to that tall, blond man. I swallowed hard. “Yes, Master Ibrahim. I understand.” I glanced down at the paper. Light bondage, penetrative sex (active), privacy of the utmost importance.
This was it. This was what I was here for. “I will please him, Master Ibrahim. Thank you for the opportunity.”
“The duke is expecting you this evening. Prepare yourself, then head over soon. Also, don't miss your morning check-in tomorrow. Your roommates will debrief you after your assignment.”
With a nod, Master Ibrahim stood and pulled out his small tablet, tapping it twice. In an instant, my wristlet changed from blue to red, from not available to claimed. “Good luck, Theo.”
Claimed.
My mind raced, adrenaline coursing through my veins like wildfire. “Yes, Master.” The word felt strange on my tongue but oddly fitting in the moment.
With one last nod, Ibrahim turned and walked away. I took a moment to gather myself, focusing on my breathing to calm the storm inside my head.
As I stepped back into the bustling scene of the main pool area, I caught sight of Pedro still at the bar, pouring drinks and chatting with guests.
Our eyes met for a brief second before I waved goodbye, excitement and anxiety bubbling within me.
The knot in my stomach returned, but this time, there was a flicker of thrill mixed in with the nerves.
Fuck. I needed to get ready.
I headed back to my room, almost tripping over my own feet with nervous energy. Once inside, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for support. My heart pounded like a drum echoing through my chest as I glanced around, wondering how much prep I needed to do.
Time was slipping away fast. I needed to focus.
I ran a hot bath with lavender oil like Kaiden, one of my roommates, had shown me, to help relax, then prepped myself for bottoming. No way was I screwing this up.
As the hour approached, I stood in front of the full-length mirror. I grabbed a clean robe and threw it on over my shoulders. “Don't fuck this up, Bennett,” I said to my reflection.
Villa Six was all the way at the back of The Ranch, like a ten-minute trek. With every step, I felt more freaked out but also weirdly excited. My heart was going crazy and my hands were getting sweaty by the time I reached the place, hidden behind a bunch of oak trees.
I knocked, and the door opened.
It was him. The blond guy. “Your Grace.”
His eyes widened, but he said nothing, just opened the door wide to let me in.
I stepped into the villa, my heart racing.
The duke, still in his dress shirt and suit pants, stood with a silk tie hanging loose around his neck, ice blue that matched his eyes—eyes that were cold as he turned to look at me.
He checked me out, sizing me up like I was something he might or might not want to buy. Standing there in my robe and underwear, like I was not what he'd wanted.
“Pardonnez-moi, I wasn't expecting you,” he said, his voice all deep and rumbly, with a surprisingly French accent, not the Scandinavian one I'd expected.
“I—I'm sorry,” I stammered, feeling my face get hot. Great. Smooth move, Bennett.
He frowned. “I was told you were unavailable.”
I almost smirked as it clicked. They probably wanted to make sure his stay was exactly what he wanted—and apparently, I was part of the package. “I'm here for you, Your Grace.”
His eyes scanned over my body, super detached, but it still made me shiver, not gonna lie. “Turn around.”
I did what he said, feeling a weird thrill as his boss energy took over. I heard fabric moving, then gasped as he wrapped something soft around my right wrist. He pulled it behind my back, then did the same with my left.
My brain was short-circuiting as he tugged the fabric, pulling my arms tighter behind me. “On your knees.”
Oh fuck.
His voice was ice cold and demanding. It sent a shiver through me, and before I knew it, I was doing exactly what he said.
My knees hit the tile floor with a thud, and I could feel myself getting turned on.
I looked up at him, feeling small, like, really vulnerable.
His eyes softened for a millisecond, showing something almost human underneath all that ice.
But it disappeared super fast, replaced by this intense stare that made my pulse go crazy.