Chapter 2: The Revelation

The morning after his transformation at Embraced in Lace, Charles woke with a sensation he'd almost forgotten—genuine excitement about the day ahead. The black lace beneath his crisp white dress shirt was his delicious secret, a whisper of silk against his skin that made even the mundane ritual of his morning coffee feel charged with possibility.

He'd arranged to meet Bryce Landon at Marseilles, their usual spot for what she called "professional catch-ups" and he recognized as carefully orchestrated power plays. Bryce had been his rival since law school—brilliant, ruthless, and now the managing partner of Blackwood & Associates, the firm that had been stealing clients from Hartwell for the past two years.

But today felt different. The secret nestled against his skin gave him an armor of confidence he'd never possessed before. Let Bryce try her usual games of verbal chess—he had something she could never touch, never understand, never take away.

Marseilles occupied the ground floor of a glass tower in Century City, its quasi-French décor a backdrop for the wheeling and dealing of LA's legal elite. Charles arrived precisely on time, as always, but found himself genuinely looking forward to the encounter instead of dreading it.

Bryce was already seated at their usual corner table, her dark hair styled in that sharp bob that framed her face like a weapon. At forty-eight, she was stunning in the way of a perfectly honed blade—all clean lines and dangerous edges. Her power suit was charcoal gray today, tailored to showcase both her authority and her curves, and she wore it like armor.

"Charles," she said, rising to air-kiss his cheek in the Continental fashion she affected. "You look... different today."

"Do I?" He settled into his chair, hyperaware of the lace shifting against his skin. "Perhaps it's the California sun."

Her eyes—sharp as a hawk's—studied him with uncomfortable intensity. Bryce had always possessed an unsettling ability to read people, to spot weaknesses and desires they didn't even know they harbored. It had made her a formidable opponent in court and an even more dangerous friend.

"Hmm." She signaled the waiter with one elegant finger. "The usual for both of us, Marcel."

They engaged in the familiar dance of professional small talk—recent cases, mutual acquaintances, subtle barbs disguised as compliments. But Charles felt unusually relaxed, almost playful. The secret treasure beneath his clothes made him feel invulnerable, like he was playing a game where only he knew the rules.

"You're in a remarkably good mood," Bryce observed, sipping her espresso. "Close a big case? Find a new... hobby?"

The way she said "hobby" made his pulse quicken, but he maintained his composure. "Perhaps I'm simply enjoying the company of an old friend."

"Friend." She laughed, a sound like crystal breaking. "Is that what we are, Charles?"

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed with a text. Without thinking, he reached into his jacket pocket to silence it—and everything changed.

The movement caused his shirt to shift, just slightly, just enough. For a fraction of a second, the edge of black lace was visible above his collar—delicate, unmistakable, and absolutely damning.

Bryce's eyes locked onto it like a predator spotting prey. Her expression didn't change, but something shifted in the air between them, a subtle redistribution of power that made his stomach drop.

"Well, well," she murmured, her voice dropping to a register he'd never heard before—intimate, possessive, dangerous. "What have we here?"

Charles felt heat flood his face. "I don't know what you—"

"Don't." The single word cut through his protest like a blade. "Don't insult my intelligence, Charles. That's French lace, if I'm not mistaken. Expensive. The kind they sell at very exclusive boutiques to very specific clientele."

His mouth went dry. Around them, the restaurant continued its elegant bustle—lawyers and executives conducting their business lunches, deals being made over duck confit and vintage wine. But at their corner table, the world had narrowed to just the two of them and the secret that was no longer secret.

"Bryce—"

"How long?" she asked, leaning forward slightly. Her perfume—something dark and intoxicating—seemed to envelop him. "How long have you been indulging this particular... appetite?"

The word sent a shiver through him. There was no mockery in her voice, no disgust or judgment. Instead, there was something far more unsettling—hunger.

"I should go," he said, starting to rise, but her hand shot out to cover his on the table. Her skin was warm, her grip firm but not painful.

"Sit. Down." Two words, quietly spoken but carrying the weight of absolute command.

To his own amazement, he obeyed.

"Good boy," she purred, and the praise sent liquid fire straight through him. "Now, let's discuss your new situation."

"My situation?"

Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Oh, Charles. Sweet, naive Charles. Do you really think you can navigate this world on your own? Do you think you understand what you've awakened?"

She leaned closer, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"I've been watching you for years," she whispered. "Waiting. You put on such a good show—the perfect professional, the unflappable attorney. But I've always seen the hunger underneath. The need. And now..." Her fingers traced along his wrist, so lightly he might have imagined it. "Now I know exactly what you're hungry for."

His breath caught. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" She laughed softly, a sound that made his skin tingle. "I want to take care of you, Charles. I want to manage your little hobby. Guide it. Control it."

The word 'control' hit him like a physical blow, awakening something deep in his chest that he'd never acknowledged before—a desire to surrender, to let someone else bear the weight of decision and responsibility.

"You don't understand," he said weakly. "This is just... it's nothing serious. Just something I tried—"

"Liar." Her voice was velvet over steel. "You're glowing, Charles. Absolutely radiant with the joy of finally accepting who you are. And you think you can just dabble? Play at this when the mood strikes?"

She signaled Marcel for the check, her movements sharp and decisive.

"Here's what's going to happen," she said, pulling out her black AmEx card. "You're going to pay attention, and you're going to listen carefully, because I'm only going to explain this once."

The authority in her voice was absolute, and Charles found himself hanging on every word despite the chaos in his mind.

"This—" she gestured subtly toward his chest, where the lace lay hidden "—is not a game. It's not a casual hobby you can pick up when convenient and set aside when it becomes inconvenient. It's a need, a hunger that will only grow stronger the more you feed it. And left unmanaged, it will consume you."

She signed the check with a flourish, her movements precise and controlled.

"Fortunately for you, I happen to be an expert at managing exactly this sort of... appetite. I understand the psychology, the physiology, the exquisite balance between shame and pleasure that makes it so intoxicating."

Charles stared at her, his mind reeling. "How do you—"

"Know so much about it?" Her smile was predatory. "Let's just say you're not the first powerful man I've guided through this particular awakening. Though you may very well be the most delicious."

She stood gracefully, gathering her purse and jacket with practiced efficiency.

"We're leaving now," she announced. "Together. There's something we need to take care of immediately."

"Where are we going?"

"To begin your education properly." She moved around the table, her hand settling possessively on his shoulder. "Starting with lesson one: a man who wears lace should have the body to properly display it."

The implication hit him like a thunderbolt. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am." Her fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder—not painful, but unmistakably controlling. "Completely, utterly serious. You wanted to explore this world, Charles? Then you're going to do it right. Under my guidance. According to my standards."

She leaned down, her lips nearly brushing his ear as she whispered: "Starting with a full body wax. This afternoon."

The words sent a shock of pure terror and arousal through him. In public, surrounded by his professional peers, the idea was mortifying. But underneath the fear was something else—a dark thrill, a hunger for the vulnerability she was offering him.

"Bryce—"

"That's not what you call me anymore," she said softly, her breath warm against his ear. "From now on, it's Ma'am. And your answer to my first command is?"

Charles felt the last vestiges of his old life—the careful control, the professional armor, the persona of Charles Mercer, Esq.—crumble away like a discarded suit. In its place was something new, something that belonged entirely to the woman standing over him with eyes like dark fire.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Yes, Ma'am."

Her smile was triumph and possession and promise all at once.

"Good boy," she purred. "Now come along. We have so much work to do."