Chapter 4. Florian
Share Current Location.
The little map loaded, placing a blue pin on my pathetic building. Until I turn it off, I selected.
"I'm sending you my location," I typed. "If I don't check in by midnight, call the police. Or do something."
I stared at the words. They looked melodramatic, like lines from a bad movie.
But the knot of dread in my stomach was very real.
This wasn't a movie. I was going to the home of a man I didn't know, a man who had bought my time just as he would buy a Louis Vuitton bag.
He could kill me. Or do something even worse than death.
I added one more message. Pray for me. I had been very obviously raised Catholic. That was long gone, though.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and stood up, smoothing down my shirt. It was my best one, a white button-down I’d salvaged from a thrift store bin in the wealthy part of town. I’d ironed it on the floor using a towel. It felt thin against my skin.
I grabbed my yellow hoodie, even though wearing it would ruin my look.
Just in case I couldn’t handle the cold.
I got my phone, shoving Knox’s card into my pocket.
The taxi was already waiting downstairs.
I chose a taxi instead of an Uber because…
I don't know why. It was more expensive.
But he'd told me to take a taxi. So I took a taxi.
The ride was a blur. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching my reflection ghost over the passing city.
We moved away from the cramped, graffiti-stained streets of my neighborhood.
Gradually, the landscape changed. The laundromats were replaced by boutique storefronts and beautiful parks.
"This is it," the driver said, slowing down. He eyed the destination through the rearview mirror, then looked back at me with a raised eyebrow. I didn't blame him. I looked like I was there to deliver a pizza, not… whatever this was.
"Here is fine," I said quickly. "Just at the gate."
I couldn't bear the thought of him driving through those gates. I wanted to walk. I needed the air. I paid him and scrambled out. He left me standing alone on the sidewalk.
The gates were massive. Iron twisted into thorny patterns that spiraled upward to black spikes.
Beyond them, through the gaps in the metal, I could see a winding stone driveway lined with hedges so well maintained that they looked more put together than me.
And further back, the house. It was modern with glass and dark stone, exactly how a millionaire’s house looked in my imagination.
Warm light spilled from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I swallowed, my throat dry. I looked like a stray dog sniffing at the palace doors.
I approached the intercom mounted on the stone pillar. It was steel, polished to a mirror shine. My finger hovered over the button. Turn back, a voice in my head screamed.
Run back to the main road, catch a bus, forget the money. You know you can’t do this. You’ll fail and it’ll be another embarrassment for your pathetic life.
But I thought of the eviction notice. I thought of Finn’s texts. I thought of the nine dollars in my bank account.
I pressed the button.
There was no static, no buzzing. Just a clear, resonant click.
"Florian."
Knox’s voice was deep and calm. He had been waiting. Watching.
"I'm here," I squeaked, then cleared my throat, trying to sound like an adult. "I'm here."
There was a soft hydraulic hiss. The massive gates began to swing inward, moving with a smooth, silent weight.
They opened like arms welcoming me into the trap.
I stepped through. The gravel of the driveway crunched loudly under my sneakers.
I walked slowly, one foot in front of the other, my eyes fixed on the massive oak front door at the end of the path.
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my legs kept moving, carrying me to a predator’s mouth, like a little scared bunny.
I didn't have to knock. Before my knuckles could even graze the dark wood, the door swung open, revealing him.
God, he was even more handsome now. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes.
Knox wore a crisp white dress shirt, tucked perfectly into gray trousers.
The top button was undone, exposing his throat, but it didn’t make him look relaxed.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that were thick with muscle and dusted with dark hair.
That sight alone made my cock twitch uncomfortably.
He was crazy attractive; there was no denying it.
"You're punctual," he said. His dark eyes swept over me, lingering for a second on my windblown hair and cheap hoodie that I carried in my arms. "Good."
He stepped aside, a silent command to enter. I crossed the threshold, and the heavy door clicked shut behind me.
I’d die of nerves at any moment.
The house was… quiet. The air was cool and smelled of nothing. My sneakers squeaked on the gleaming hardwood floor, a sound that made me wince.
"Jacket," Knox said, holding out a hand. I handed it to him. He didn't toss it over a chair; he opened a concealed closet and hung it on a wooden hanger, placing it with care.
"Follow me."
He led me deeper into the house. The hallway was wide, the walls adorned with art. Most paintings depicted storms, which was curious. There was no clutter. No mail on a table, no shoes kicked off near the door. Everything was terrifyingly precise, almost as if no one ever lived there.
"The kitchen is through there," he said, gesturing to an archway on the left. I caught a glimpse of stainless steel and black marble. "You are free to eat whatever you wish. If there is something specific you require, leave a note for the housekeeper."
I nodded, mute. Housekeeper. I hadn't seen a soul. A brief thought crossed my mind: maybe I could be his housekeeper instead. I could clean, and then we wouldn’t need to… well.
We continued. "My study is down that hall. The door is usually closed. If it is closed, you do not enter. If it is open, you may knock."
His tone was informative, like a landlord showing a tenant around.
He pointed toward the back of the house.
"There’s a heated pool, year-round. There are trunks in the guest changing room, though privacy is absolute here, so they aren't strictly necessary.
Feel free to use it." I had no idea when he was even considering that I might use it.
Maybe he expected us to finish our business early, so I could get up at 3am and eat all his snacks and go for a swim before leaving.
He stopped at the edge of a giant living room. It was breathtaking. A wall of glass looked out over the city, the lights of downtown shimmering. The furniture was fucking expensive. It was planned. Modern. Gray fabric. A single orchid sat on a glass coffee table, its white petals perfect.
"Sit," Knox said, gesturing to the sofa.
I sank onto the fabric and almost moaned. It was soft, really fucking soft, swallowing me up. I tried not to look too comfortable, but it was impossible.
Knox didn't sit. He stood in front of me, blocking the view of the city. He put his hands in his pockets, and my mouth almost watered at the sight of him. He looked down at me, his black eyes too dark.
"Let's discuss why you are here."
He paused, letting the words settle. I tried to nod. I tried to make a professional face. Yes. Me, Florian Freeman, I did that a thousand times before. A million times even! You aren’t the first man, no, sir. I could do it. Yes.
"I understand what your profile offered. But I want to be very clear about my interests, Florian. And I want to know about you as well."
My breath hitched. I nodded a jerky nod. Maybe I wasn’t looking that professional after all. I was pretty sure I looked absolutely terrified.
"I require total submission," he continued, his tone conversational, as if he were discussing a stock portfolio.
"Tonight, I intend to take you over my knee. If you allow me, I’d like to spank you until you are sore.
I want to see you cry. I want to see you struggle, and then I want to see you give in. "
He took a step closer, towering over me.
"After that, I’d like to take you to my bed.
I will fuck you. No condoms, unless you insist, though I am clean, negative, and vasectomized.
I expect you to be negative as well. I will be rough, and I will be thorough.
But I'll take care of you afterwards. I never leave without aftercare.
You are free to use your safewords at any moment as well.
Red means I'll stop, completely, at any given moment.
Failing to use your safeword when you need means you'll break my trust entirely, and you'll never be hired again. "
The crude words, spoken in that voice, hit me hard. It was the contrast, the pristine room, the expensive shirt, and the raw, animalistic promise of violence and sex.
Not that I didn’t like violence and sex. Those were my thing as well. It was just that I couldn’t stop shaking, even if I really, really tried.
"Is that understood?" he asked.
I opened my mouth to speak, to say yes, to say please, to say I'm scared. But nothing came out.
"Would you like a drink before we begin?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, going softer. "Water? Wine? I’ll also need to know your hard limits."
Reality crashed down on me then. The enormity of it.
This wasn't a fantasy on a screen. This was a man, a stranger, a giant, standing in his castle, telling me exactly how he was going to break me apart.
The clinical way he described my body, my pain, my pleasure, stripped away the bratty armor I wore.
My muscles locked. My throat closed up tight, choking off my air.
I stared up at him, wide-eyed, my heart hammering a frantic, erratic beat against my ribs.
I couldn't move. I couldn't nod. I was frozen, pinned to the expensive gray fabric by the gravity of his presence and the terrifying realization that I had walked willingly into the lion's den, and the lion was hungry.