Joey W.Hill

Mac blinked. “A sub. Makes more sense that way.”

“I’m not seeing anyone buying you as someone’s whipping boy, Mac. Not with

your size and presence.”

She watched him lace, unlace his fingers again, lean forward, and felt the shock run

down to her toes at the truth she saw in his pained expression.

“It’s best I go in under my own preference.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said at last.

“How old are you, Mac?”

“Depends on the day.”

“Mackenzie.”

He glanced at her, relented. “Forty-three. You?”

“I turned eighteen a month ago, I swear.”

He let out a low whistle. “Well, you’re out of luck then, sugar, because I only date

high school girls.”

She was angrier with him than anyone

she’d ever known.

Tyler was right. She was in love.

You don’t need a

Mistress. You need to be neutered.”