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If not, he’d argue his case later.

For a moment, he was tempted to fight her. He knew he could
escape, just as he knew that she might not accept another mistake on his part.
Her eyes looked cold through the mask and the line of her lips was hard.

He had to let her have this vengeance.

Joanna lifted his wrists high over his head and hooked them
to the chain, ensuring that he was pulled taut. She considered him from her
perch on the chair, lifting his chin with one hand as she looked at him.
“You’re mine tonight,” she said. “And I’ll do whatever I want to you. When I’m
done, you’ll thank me.”

Mike nodded and bowed his head, trying to look subservient.

When he peeked again, Joanna’s eyes had narrowed. “You’re
just pretending to be submissive,” she whispered. “You’re not afraid. You’re
not dreading what I’ll do.”

Mike moaned and tipped his head back, trying to show that
he’d accept anything she’d do to him.

“Struggle,” she commanded, her voice hard.

It was the perfect choice to put him back in his role.

Mike struggled against the shackles and fought against the
chain holding his wrists. He could barely change his position, let alone free
himself. He’d always bought the best quality of bonds, the ones with good
locks, and Joanna knew how to ensure they were tight enough but not
restrictive. And that hook in the ceiling had been forged in a single piece
with an eight inch screw, one that he’d personally embedded in a reinforced
roof joist. The house would fall down before that hook came free of the joist.

He fought his bonds as instructed, his panic rising when he
made no difference in his situation. His heart was racing and his breathing was
quick when he looked at Joanna and saw her smile of satisfaction.

“Now, you pay for your crimes,” she whispered, sending a
bolt of terror through his heart.

He flung himself at her, wanting to bury himself against her
breasts and beg for forgiveness, but Joanna stepped delicately off the chair as
if unaware of his state. She returned to the dresser and picked up a large
dildo. She lubricated it as he watched, taking her time.

“This is for not telling me about your time in jail,” she
said and eased it into his anus. Mike felt stretched and violated, full and
excited at the same time. She worked it back and forth, making him shudder, as
if she was fucking him with the dildo, then left it buried deep within him.

Mike couldn’t believe it when she walked away.

She laid back on the bed, a second dildo in her hand. “Maybe
I should call Eric,” she mused. “Maybe I should make you watch me enjoying
him.”

Mike should his head in violent disagreement.

He watched as she put a cock ring on the dildo, the one with
the latex nubs that was one of her favorites.

No. She couldn’t do this to him. She couldn’t deny him like
this. Mike refused to believe it.

But Joanna positioned the straight chair before him, just
out of his reach, and put one foot on the seat. She eased the dildo into herself,
undulating and parting her lips in pleasure as she moved it deep inside. She
rolled her hips and gasped as the nubs collided with her clitoris. She worked
it for a few strokes, making incoherent sounds before she shivered with
pleasure. Mike stared transfixed, unable to do anything else.

She smiled at him, then pivoted and bent over the chair. She
was right in front of him, just inches too far for him to reach. She lifted
that sheer dress so that her perfect butt was bared to his view, bent over
farther, then began to work the dildo. Her hips rolled as he watched. She
gasped and writhed as he stared. She arched her feet and lifted to her toes,
working with the rhythm of the dildo.

Denying him exactly what he wanted most.

Mike went wild. He fought against the shackles and the hook,
even knowing that he couldn’t change a thing. He roared into his gag and tried
to wrench himself free. He felt the heat rising in his face even as he was
tormented by the smell of Joanna’s wet puss. He was outraged, furious that she
could even think to punish him like this, and determined to exact a vengeance.

One that would last the rest of their lives.

He’d marry her, if it was the last thing he ever did.

He bellowed with frustration and Joanna came with a shout,
shaking right before his eyes. She hadn’t faked it, either. Her eyes were
sparkling when she straightened and turned, her cheeks flushed. She flung aside
the dildo and came to stand in front of him, wrapping her arms around his
waist. She pushed the dildo in a little deeper, even as she kissed one of his
nipples. His cock touched the bottom of her shiny smooth corset and he was
dizzy with his desire.

“Poor Mike,” she whispered, her breath cool against his hot
skin. “Maybe you’ve been good enough for a reward.” Before he had time to hope
she wasn’t messing with him again, Joanna bent over and took his cock in her
mouth.

Mike moaned from the depths of his soul as she slipped her
tongue over him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes with pleasure as
she teased and tempted him. Joanna knew how to build him up then ease off to
start over again, but Mike was too close to losing control this time to be
taken higher. She closed her mouth fully around him and took him into her
mouth, moving slowly down the length of him, and it was heaven. He glanced
down, needing to see those red lips wrapped around his cock, and she flicked a
playful glance upward in exactly the same moment.

It was a perfect image of his perfect lover, as beautiful as
she’d ever been. Something passed between them like a spark of electricity,
then she moved her tongue against his head and Mike was coming as if he’d
orgasm to the end of time.

* * *

The Count awakened abruptly, but not quickly enough.

He was already securely gagged and his ankles were bound
together with heavy rope. He was being rolled to his stomach in his large bed
when he woke up in alarm. Someone was already sitting astride him, and his
wrists were being tied together behind his back with similar rope. He roared
but the gag ensured that he made almost no noise. He writhed, trying to fight
his bonds and his attackers.

“Don’t be so obstructionist,” Athena scolded and slapped him
hard across the butt.

Athena?

But he’d left her securely bound in her room.

Of course, it was Athena in those high leather boots, the
spiked heels jabbing him in the arms when he moved. He could feel her wet puss
against his back too—so, at least she was enjoying herself. Why didn’t
that surprise him? Why wasn’t he surprised that she’d found a way to rebel and
break free of her bonds? She never did as she was told.

He’d never met anyone so in need of discipline.

The Count snarled in frustration that Athena should dare to
use him in this way, but she swung her leg over his head and got off his back.
He rolled over immediately, having no intention of smothering in his own
pillow. He was livid, but Athena calmly bound his ankles to the post of the
bed.

“Stay put for a moment,” she advised him, which he wouldn’t
have done if he’d had a choice. “You won’t get any farther than the floor
beside the bed, and I’m sure it’s far less comfortable.”

The Count snarled at her, but she laughed. She brushed her
hands together and walked away. He couldn’t even enjoy the sight of her
retreating figure, because he was so angry. She went into the walk-in closet as
he writhed in anger.

How dare she turn the tables on him?

How dare she tie him down, as if he were some slave of hers?
He wasn’t a submissive and she knew it. She was his possession, his toy, his
pride and joy, and when he got free, he’d make sure she learned just how much
of a mistake she’d made.

She wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week.

Maybe a month.

Maybe he’d give her to the houseboys for their pleasure. The
problem with that plan was that Athena would enjoy it.

The real issue with Athena was that she’d always been a
rebel. Even leaving her tied up wasn’t enough. She had so much charm that she
could convince anyone to help her—and when that didn’t work, she had no
problem being deceptive. He’d have to build her a prison, one with only one
key, and a key that only he had. No, he’d key the locks to his fingerprint,
that would ensure that she could never trick him or get away.

The Count snarled into his gag, appalled that he should be
in such a position. All because he loved this hellion, who would take him an
entire lifetime to train. It had to be the challenge of her. Athena was
unethical. She was disobedient. She was bad...

And she had something in her hand.

He froze when he saw that she had emerged from the closet
with a document in one hand. Her purse was hung over one elbow, so she’d found
that.

She showed him a key that she held in the other.

No. The Count felt his eyes round in horror. Not that.
Anything but that.

She sauntered toward the bed, so confident that he wanted to
spank her all over again.

“I’ve decided that our relationship is doomed,” she said in
a conversational tone that was completely inappropriate. She might have been
discussing the weather, instead of the destruction of his hopes and dreams.

The Count hoped he had misunderstood.

Athena sat on the side of the bed and smiled down at him
serenely. She dumped her purse on him as if he were a side table. The Count
wriggled but the purse wasn’t budging. “There are a couple of big issues.
Insurmountable ones, really. A lack of trust, for example. I knew you would
never give this title to me, even though you promised to do so if I surrendered
to you for one night. Two nights later, I was still tied to a bed.” She clicked
her tongue in disapproval.

The Count moaned a defense of his actions that Athena
ignored.

“Much less this key. But now it’s mine, as it should have
been all along. Let’s just say that I paid the price in services rendered.”

She was stupid if she thought she could take his property
without his signature, but then, she really was still like a child...

Athena put the key into her purse. She pulled his passport
from the purse’s depths, feigning surprise at having found it there. She
reached into the purse again and conjured a pen.

The Count glared at her. He would never sign anything, not
when she had him in this state...

Athena flipped through the passport and considered his
signature, tapping the pen against her lips. She opened the pen with a purpose
that the Count found worrisome. “You seem to be a bit tied up right now, so
I’ll just take care of details for you.” As the Count watched, she looked
between the two documents, then adroitly signed his signature to the title. She
held the two documents up together, glancing between them, letting him see what
she’d done. “Not bad, is it? The only way I made friends at that school was by
forging notes for them when they skipped class.” She blew on the signature,
glancing down at him. He made an appeal for freedom, even knowing she’d ignore
it.

The Count growled into his gag and she smiled at him.

“I know exactly what you mean. You could deny that it was
your signature, even say that I’d forged it.” She feigned surprise. “That’s why
I need a little insurance.” Another dip into the bag and her cell phone was in
her hand. She grabbed the purse, stepped away, and took a picture of the Count
bound helpless in his own bed.

Actually, she walked around the bed and took half a dozen
shots. When he looked up, she was examining the phone, as if reviewing her
messages. “You know, there have to be twenty people who would pay good money
just to see you like this, to know it’s possible...” she mused and he realized
she was scrolling through her address list.

The Count roared.

Athena smiled. “Not necessary? I thought we’d come to an
understanding. So long as the title is mine and you keep your distance, this
little moment can be our secret.”

The Count glowered at her.

Athena braced her hands on the bed and leaned over him,
giving her a view of her cleavage. “The big problem with our relationship,
though, is that you don’t really want me. You want someone you’ve long imagined
me to be. That would be one thing, but I’ve realized that I don’t want you
either. In fact, I don’t think I ever did. Once upon a time, you were exotic to
me, but not any more.” She bent and kissed his forehead. “I think we’ll both be
happier on our own.”

She straightened and crossed the room to glance out the
window. He moaned and struggled, because he couldn’t
not
do so.

“The lack of trust is tied to another issue, one that really
is a deal breaker,” Athena said softly, almost as if she were talking to
herself. “I’m talking, of course, about betrayal.” She pivoted to look at him,
her gaze hard, and the Count’s heart stilled with the realization of just how
angry she was. “You were wrong to destroy the Plume, no matter what your petty
reasons were. You had no right to eliminate my partnership, my investment and
my life, just to make it fit better with your idea of what or who I should be.”
She let the curtain drop. “And that’s why I have to punish you. You’re the one
who taught me that all mistakes must result in punishment, so you’ll
understand. In fact, I like to think of what’s going to happen next as your
final gift to me.”

Athena smiled coldly and the Count was suddenly very afraid.

She returned to the closet, leaving him to dread her plan,
whatever it might be, and returned in the demure suit she’d been wearing when
she arrived the night before. She showed him that she’d taken a sum of cash
from him, as well, although that didn’t matter as much as everything else.

She rang the bell for the staff, and the Count was horrified
that they would see him like this. To his astonishment, it wasn’t Lars who
answered the summons but Trish, one of the junior maids. She was a redhead who
kept her hair boyishly short. Her figure was boyish as well, even in the
corset, and the Count’s body responded predictably to the sight of her. She
stared at him in astonishment, and Athena smiled, not having missed his reaction.