I remained silent, caught between pride and desire, between resistance and surrender.
His smile was knowing, victorious. "Your silence is its own answer, Grace."
He released my wrists suddenly, stepping back, leaving me bereft and confused. "But I won't. Not tonight. Not until you ask for it. Not until you obey not because you have to, but because you want what comes after."
The abrupt withdrawal left me off-balance, my body humming with unfulfilled desire, my mind racing to catch up with the shift. This was the consequence, then—not punishment, but denial. Not force, but the absence of what we both knew I wanted.
"That's cruel," I said, my voice unsteady.
"No," he countered. "It's honest. As you requested."
He retrieved his whiskey glass, taking a sip as if nothing had happened, as if he wasn't affected by our exchange. But I couldsee the tension in his shoulders, the slight darkening of his eyes, the carefully controlled breathing.
He wanted me as much as I wanted him. The realization was both empowering and terrifying.
"So what now?" I asked, straightening my sweater, trying to regain some composure.
"Now," he said, setting down his glass again, "you make a choice. Continue testing boundaries, playing this game of partial compliance. Or..."
"Or?"
"Or obey," he said simply. "Fully. Completely. See what happens when you surrender that control you cling to so desperately."
The challenge hung between us, electric and dangerous. Part of me wanted to refuse on principle, to maintain the last shreds of my autonomy. But another part—a growing, insistent part—was curious. Wanted to know what would happen if I gave in. Just once. Just to see.
"What would you have me do?" I asked, the question itself a small surrender.
His expression remained neutral, but something flashed in his eyes—satisfaction, hunger, triumph. "Go upstairs. Change into the blue dress you were considering earlier. Return here in fifteen minutes."
He knew. Somehow, he knew which dress had caught my eye, which one I'd almost chosen. The realization sent a shiver down my spine—a reminder of how closely he'd been watching me, for how long.
I had a choice to make. Continue resisting, maintain the illusion of control, keep us locked in this stalemate. Or obey. Surrender this small thing. See what happened next.
Without a word, I moved toward the door. I felt his eyes on me as I left, tracking my movements, waiting to see what I would choose.
Fifteen minutes later, I returned.
The blue dress fit perfectly, the silk cool against my skin, the open back revealing more than it concealed. I'd let my hair down, applied a touch of makeup, even found matching heels in the closet. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to know what would happen next.
Rafe was standing by the fire when I entered, his back to the door. He turned slowly, his eyes widening slightly as they took in my appearance—the only break in his perfect control I'd seen all evening.
"You came back," he said, his voice low and rough.
"I did."
"And you obeyed."
I moved further into the room, the dress whispering around my legs. "I made a choice. There's a difference."
He smiled, the expression transforming his severe features into something almost beautiful. "Yes," he agreed. "There is."
He crossed to me, his movements deliberate, predatory. When he reached me, he circled slowly, taking in the dress, the exposed skin of my back, the way the silk clung to my curves.
"Beautiful," he murmured, coming to stand before me again. "But then, you always are."
He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw, tilting my face up to his. "Do you know why I wanted you in this dress?"
I shook my head slightly, not trusting my voice.
