To have dominance was one thing.

But to be a dominant was another.

And that was the sole difference that set apart Sylus 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. 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.

Sylus 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—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.