Locked In (Locked in Love) (Volume One): An Alpha Billionaire Romance by Myra Song Page A

whole new level. Now that I’m in the press of bodies, overhearing their cultured accents and seeing the food being served, I realize I have no idea what I’m doing. These people are country-club wealthy. They are own-small-islands wealthy.
     
    Crudites on trays pass by and I take a piece. It’s Wagyu beef. My jaw would drop if it could. This beef alone costs hundreds of dollars a pound . It’s heavily marbled in thin, gorgeous ribbons. Popping it in my mouth, it practically melts and I hum a little in appreciation.
     
    Eyeing the trays more carefully, I see raw oysters flown in from the shore; chocolate-dipped raspberries with flakes of gold leaf; tiny octopuses, deep red and skewered.
    I’m not going to down much of it, but I venture a taste of champagne. It’s the real deal. This is hundred-dollar-bottle bubbly. Even without downing it, it makes me feel a little heady.
     
    Not for the first time, I begin to doubt myself. What was I doing here? What did I think to accomplish? It had seemed an amusement to play Jameson’s game. He was smart, I’ll give him that. When he challenged me, there’d been what… a thrill?
     
    It didn’t help that just sharing a room with him sent me buzzing. Thinking about him now, I can feel my skin heating. Hopefully people will think my blush is from booze, not lusty thoughts.
     
    Even in sex, he has me bested. He just doesn’t know it, and I’m not about to tell him. We’ve only fucked twice and each time he’s taken me to new heights. I’ve never come so hard, ever.
     
    My fingers drift across my throat, recalling the way he’d choked me, just enough to make it feel dangerous, while pounding away at my ass. Beneath the silk of the dress, my bottom still tingled, sensitive from the spanking he’d given me.
     
    I’ve seen enough in my work, both as a cop and as a PI, to know that if he did these things…
     
    He was just getting starting.
     
    My knowledge of BDSM was small; mostly what I needed for the job. Locke felt like more than that. Like he didn’t just want to make sex a little daring-- it was like he wanted to possess me.
     
    Gnawing on my lip, I secret away to the hall that leads back to my room. God knows I need this money right now. But my heart is pounding, my palms are sweating, and I am realizing I’m in over my head with this guy.
     
    It isn’t easy to admit.
     
    I’ll have to forgo the check, because suddenly, I’m not sure about anything anymore.
     
    It’s the memory of your father speaking. You can do this better than anyone, and Locke deserves to be caught .
     
    This was true, I knew, but it didn’t change my need to be alone for a moment. To regroup, and change, and head home. Besides-- what was Locke doing to deserve being caught, besides being arrogant and domineering?
     
    I turn a corner and am surprised at how quickly it became quiet. For fun, I scuff my sneaker on the marble. The tiny squeak is quickly muffled. Well, it shouldn’t surprise me that a guy this wealthy has ensured proper acoustics in each room. The bustle of the auction is only just audible.
     
    It’s good to be quiet. I stop and look at a painting on the wall. It’s a copy, but signed by the copier-- no forgery. My arms cross in front of my chest, protecting me. It’s a copy of a Monet, La Promenade . I love the way the girl is standing with her back to the wind, her eyes just peeking over her shoulder at you. The colors, the little boy in the background, all seem to be telling you this is a good day. A happy walk. But to me her expression is troubled, like you caught her doubting herself, doubting the moment.
     
    Something I’m uncomfortably familiar with.
     
    Shoes click near me and I turn to see one of the patrols. “Hey Martin,” one of them, Forrest, I think, says. “Looking good.”
     
    It was these kinds of comments that rankled me so much when I was a Detective, but I manage a smile and nod.
     
    Their footsteps disappear and I’m alone again,