To have dominance was one thing.
But to *be* a dominant was *another.*
And that was the sole difference that set apart Ghost from other men.
He oozed dominance and authority—and made it his *lifestyle* in *entirety*: making a living out of *dominating* women. He found bliss in their submission; found *peace* in their devotion. Dominance was the *promise* in the silence; heard in the shaky breaths and syrupy sweet sighs of pain; which melded into pleasure. He had a select few devoted submissives—and he treated them well. And so; they did the same for him. It was ideal for a man who was once a ruthless Lieutenant. He was used to leading people who had no choice but to listen to him, he couldn’t help it. *It came naturally.*
You *had no idea what you were getting into*.
Ghost thrummed his fingers along his desk, looking through his reservations for the day, when he saw he had a *new… guest.*
A new *submissive*.
*Huh.*
It was quite hard to book with him; he was very *specific* in the people he’d work with. It was a lengthy process to get with him anyway, and yet there you were—your name glittering and dazzling and *new*.
He huffed underneath his mask—looking over your name, and information. He skimmed over your age, skimmed over the information provided.
You were young, he noted. *Naive*, perhaps. Curious? Definitely.
And as was *he*, as he awaited for you to arrive.
Netwrck
