He found my secret. He knows how I spend my time. Now he’ll take what he wants from me.
Rake was the worst kind of man. The kind of man who found out secrets and weaknesses and exploited them for his own purposes. And now Rake had set his sights on me.
I’ve been using company funds to pay for my needs. I’ve been buying my means on the side, becoming a woman, and exploring myself. He found out.
He found me out and he told me that I had a choice. Spend one night in his clutches or he’d expose me to the board. He’d end me. Destroy my reputation. I didn’t have a choice.
So I let him make me a woman. I let him make me what he wanted me to be. And in the process I discovered more about myself than I’d ever learned before.
Because for too long my needs have gone unmet. Because I’ve never been with a man before, but I can’t help myself now. Because when Rake looks at me the way he does, there is only one thing I want to do.
I want to submit to him. I want him to make me his.
Excerpt
Rake made a bad choice, choosing to come for me now. I’ll show him just what a mistake he’s made.
I put a swing into my hips and I feel it rebound through my body. I sway and I turn so he can’t see my face, so he can’t see the smile that plays on my lips.
It feels so good to be her, good enough to give myself a hint of what I wanted when I was alone in that room, running my fingers up my sides over the folds of my outfit and wishing it was skin on skin.
But this is almost enough. It is enough to make me feel the femininity brewing in me. Enough to awaken the need that is always simmering beneath the surface since the first time I became a woman.
Bending forward and pulling up and knowing that he can’t see up my skirt but that he wants to. Teasing him with my every movement and pushing myself to do things I always swore I would never do.
I told myself time and again this was about me. That I was feeding a beast that lived within myself, but for my own purposes. I swore up and down that this wasn’t about sex, not the blunt act of man and woman, and so all of my experiences no matter how performative had been just for me.
But if I want to win I have to do this for him. I have to make him want me and regret having let me go. I have to pop the buttons at the top of my shirt, every last one, so it hangs loose and open and nearly shows him what lies beneath.
I have to make Rake want me so that he knows he can’t have me and I have to spin now, letting him see me from the front and opening my eyes so I can watch the hunger in his.
Rake isn’t hungry. He sits passive and sips his drink and enjoys the show, no doubt, but gives no indication of that. He is simply watching me and I don’t let the furrow build in my brow too much to show him how much it troubles me before I step forward and close the gap between us a little more.
Maybe if I go a little further. Maybe if I snap the tie that keeps my tartan kilt on and let it fall off my hips, it’ll be enough. Maybe if I spin and shake and let him see the fullness of my ass, casting a glance over my shoulder with a pout on my lips, he won’t be able to help himself.