Chapter 2
My real name was Claire Whitmore. In a certain online kink community, I had something of a professional reputation.
People knew me for my commanding voice and my no-nonsense approach.
They called me the Puppy Trainer.
In person, though, I had a baby face and big, innocent eyes. Strangers took one look and wanted to pat my head.
Fortunately, I'd been kidnapped as a child and raised out in the country. Since finding my wealthy birth family again, I hadn't made many friends.
Nobody would connect me with Nora Blake online.
Meeting Evan had been an accident.
Three years earlier, when I was a college freshman and obsessed with gaming, I'd added him after a match.
He had such a sweet, yielding voice. Listening to him made me itch to take charge.
At first, I just bossed him around in the game.
Then I got bolder. That same tone crept into our private chats.
Evan was painfully shy. He had trouble with it.
So I told him straight: “This is what I like. If it doesn't work for you, we can unfriend each other.”
He didn't speak to me for two weeks.
Just as I was about to give up and delete him, he sent an awkward voice message.
“It's not really something I'm comfortable with. But if it's you... I could try.”
I was thrilled.
I started giving him instructions, asking him to take pictures from every angle. Front, side, looking down, looking up...
To my delight, he was in incredible shape. That only encouraged me.
Some of my demands were pretty unreasonable.
“Put that outfit on.”
Embarrassed, he would plead, “Could we not do this...?”
I'd watch him on the video call and say, perfectly calmly, “Be good. Don't make me mad.”
He'd end up in sheer fabric that barely covered him. Filming himself from above, looking so helpless, he reminded me of a little stuffed bear.
I couldn't resist him.
My requests got more demanding. Sometimes, as he followed my instructions, his eyes would go all watery.
“Nora. Nora Blake...”
He said my name over and over.
It drove me absolutely wild.
“Good boy. Put on your little dog tag. Call me baby.”
“Baby.”
Evan had a beautiful voice. Not the aggressive, gravelly kind so many women liked. His was softer, almost boyish, especially when he sounded close to tears.
He'd work those unfamiliar words out with such embarrassment, so careful and eager to please.
“Next time, wear the outfit with the chains. And work on those biceps for me.”
He struggled to answer, his ears bright red.
“Aren't chains... cold?”
“I don't think I can.”
My tone changed immediately. “Then I'll find someone who can.”
Sure enough, on our next call, gold chains lay over his body, rising and falling with his breathing.
He looked gorgeous.
“Cold?” I asked.
His reply came out muffled, as bashful as ever.
“I was shivering at first. But they're warm now. Because... because hearing your voice makes me feel so hot.”
He was always getting to me with that timid little voice.
I'd been a terrible influence.
More than once, I told him, “If I were an artist, you'd be my one and only muse, Evan Reed!”
He obeyed. He endured. But sometimes even he reached his limit.
My shy, awkward boy would murmur, “Baby, I need a picture of your fingers. Just hold something. Anything. Please...”
“I'm going to lose my mind.”
It made me want to be tender with him. That didn't mean I gave in.
“Giving up already?”
“Be good. Just a little longer.”
“You'll get a reward.”
He held out until he couldn't anymore, then collapsed onto the rug and cried.
I assumed he must be a small, gentle guy. Who else cried like a little puppy?
I'd shake my head and sigh.
“Evan, look at you. You did better yesterday. Is it the suit I'm wearing? Or the red heels?”
“You can handle your own punishment.”
He looked so wronged, but he did as he was told.
On the screen, droplets fell and left dark spots on the rug.
Sweat? Tears?
He never showed his face in those videos. I couldn't see his expression.
“Evan. You're crying, aren't you?”
He gave a thick, muffled little “Mm-hmm.” Definitely crying.
“Because it hurts?”
He shook his head.
“Because doing this makes you miserable?”
Another shake.
I coaxed him along. “Neither? Then is it because you hate me?”
He denied it at once.
“No... I like you. So much!”
I laughed softly, tapping my knuckles against the desk at an unhurried pace.
“Then I think I know what kind of tears those are, Evan.”
That was all he could take. His last bit of control gave way.
Much later, he whispered hoarsely, “Because it's you. That's why...”
“Because I like you.”
How was I supposed to guess that someone so obedient, so easily embarrassed, was a terrifying six-foot-three hit man in real life?
Or that he'd be coming specifically to kill me?
Apparently the universe was punishing me for corrupting an innocent man. I'd been back with my birth family for two weeks, and my past had already come to collect.
I hadn't even had time to enjoy being an heiress.
Now I was about to lose my head.
