He watched me like a man watches a loaded weapon—dangerous, yet deeply desired.
I stood before him, naked. Exposed. Stripped not just of my clothes, but of everything I once clung to. Pride. Shame. Control.
He pulled a black leather chair from the corner and sat, spreading his legs like a king on a throne.
"Come here," he ordered, voice low but firm.
My feet refused to move.
He tilted his head. "Now, pet."
Something in me rebelled. Maybe it was fear. Maybe pride. Or maybe it was the way he said it—like I was nothing.
I didn't move.
And then—
A sound cracked through the room. A sharp, sudden snap.
He had a crop in his hand. I didn't even see him grab it.
"One," he said calmly.
I blinked. "What?"
"You have three chances to disobey. That was the first. The second will hurt. The third—" He smiled, slow and cruel. "You don't want to know."
I took a shaky breath and walked forward.
When I stood between his legs, he leaned back slightly, eyes scanning every inch of my body. He was admiring his purchase. And I—God help me—felt a flicker of arousal in the way he looked at me.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"A contract?" I asked.
"A list," he corrected. "Rules. Break them, and you will be punished. Follow them, and you'll be rewarded."
He began to read.
"Rule number one: You belong to me. Every part of you. Your thoughts. Your body. Your pleasure."
I swallowed hard.
"Rule number two: You will never touch yourself without permission."
I shifted slightly. Heat pooled low in my belly.
"Rule number three: You will not come until I say. Your orgasms are mine."
A soft whimper escaped my lips.
He smirked. "I see we understand each other."
He dropped the paper and leaned forward, brushing a hand along my thigh.
"Your safe word is 'Glass'," he said. "You speak it, and I stop. Instantly. No questions."
"And if I never say it?" I asked.
His eyes darkened. "Then I'll take you places you never knew existed."
He stood slowly, towering over me, his body radiating control and lust.
"Get on your knees."
I hesitated.
"Two," he warned.
I dropped to the floor.
His fingers tangled in my hair as he looked down at me. "Good girl," he whispered. "Now, let me show you what obedience feels like."
He unzipped his pants.
And I forgot how to breathe.
---
That night blurred into something wicked and unforgettable.
He didn't make love to me. He claimed me.
He bent me over the bed, tied my wrists with silk rope, and made me beg with every inch of my body. His hands roamed like they owned me. His mouth was cruel and sinful. Every time I tried to resist, he reminded me who I belonged to.
By the time he finished with me, my legs were weak, my throat raw from screaming, and my heart—God, my heart—was no longer mine.
He tucked me into bed like I was something precious, kissed my forehead, and whispered:
"You break the rules again, pet... and I'll break you in half."
But the scariest part?
A dark, trembling piece of me wanted him to.