Gregory Holmsworth’s country house was set behind a very serious f–k off fence, topped with spikes, and guarded by a security team twenty-four seven. Once admitted past the gates, the drive stretched forever through tree-filled gardens, until suddenly the house appeared through the greenery.
It was a very serious looking house, as if Gregory had instructed the architect to make it look like something from a gothic horror film. Beautiful, but forbidding, with a hint that entry did not come with any guarantee of exit.
Vixen was not a delicate flower, and in her twenty-six years of life, she had learnt that there were some people that just had decayed souls, and that the law only went so far towards controlling them, but Gregory was a good guy, for all his shady side. She trusted her sense of people, it was what made her a good Domme, and had never led her astray.