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No one would ever know that behind my spectacles and business-blazer lies a body longing for lust. My dreams of being dominated by an experienced Alpha are wild, explicit, vivid, and uncensored, but in reality, I behave. I have a good job and do all the good things that good girls do. I’ve never dared to take my first filthy foray into the world of submission, BDSM, daddies, masters, slaves and subs.

I’m a self-confessed control freak. You have to be when you own a bar dominated by strong, competitive Alpha males who know no shame. But you, you seem different: masculine and Alpha, undoubtedly, but without the arrogance. I study you unwavering. You don't look like you should be wearing a suit; you look like you should be scaling a mountain somewhere, or rescuing cats. You have the kind of muscularity that comes from hard work, not hard gym.

We’ve never touched before this moment. We’ve never been alone. For months now, I’ve fantasized deeply, wildly, about your big hands on me, around me, inside me... but the reality is, I barely know you. And now you’re here, in my home, with a bulging massage package, coconut oil and deeply therapeutic fingers.

“I’ve never done this before! I’m not sure I can!” I panic in the candlelit room. The sound of my own voice startles me. It’s barely been above a murmur for the past three years. “You can do this,” says the low deep voice from the bed. My gaze is pulled back to him. Matthew Goddard. Injured and found on the grassy mountain slopes three months ago, nursed back to health by me. Well, me and the other flush-faced nun standing here too.