Dom (Alliance #3)

Her top is bright white. Some sort of flowy silk material that she’s tucked into her skirt. And it’s…

It’s low.

It’s cut really fucking low.

Or maybe it’s just her big tits that make it seem that way.

Val takes the last step down, brushing her hair back from her face and straightening her clothes before she spots me.

I watch her do a second take at the large TV in the middle of the living room, probably wondering where it came from. So I hit the button to lower it back into the floor. I won’t be able to concentrate on watching anything after she leaves.

“Sneaky.” She nods to the disappearing television.

“Valentine, what are you wearing?” I stand from the couch.

She looks down. “What’s wrong with it?”

There’s a slight hesitancy in her tone that I don’t like.

“Nothing’s wrong with it, Wife. You just look like the secretary in the beginning of a porno.”

She narrows her eyes at me.

Rob clears his throat from the kitchen, catching our attention.

Right.

I hold a hand out toward my second. “Val, this is Rob. He’ll be driving you to and from work today.”

Something in Valentine’s stance tells me she’s annoyed. But I’m not quite sure what about. There’s no way she knows about me spying on her session yesterday. And I got called out to check a lead last night. She was asleep by the time I got home, so it’s not like we had an argument.

She looks at Rob, then back at me. “At least you got me someone hot to look at.”

I think my mouth might drop open.

Did she just call Rob hot?

My traitor of a second coughs to cover his laugh. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Please.” Val walks toward Rob. “Call me Mistress.”

This time Rob does laugh.

“The fuck he will,” I snap, moving toward the kitchen. “If anyone calls you that, I’ll slice out their tongues.”

Val pauses at the island to slip her laptop into her backpack, then rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” I repeat.

And then, as she’s zipping up her bag, I see it.

“You want to play, Wife. We’ll play.” I cut the distance between us in a matter of strides.

She tries to back away from me, but I catch her around the waist, slamming her front to mine.

“What are you—”

I grab her left wrist and lift her hand. “No.”