“And do you know what that tells me?”
She didn’t answer. Just looked at me like she expected to be punished. And maybe she should’ve been. But fuck, I wasn’t going to let her off that easy.
“It tells me I already own you,” I said, low and brutal. “So deep in your head you don’t even need my permission anymore. You come because Iexist.”
Her breath caught.
And still, her hands hadn’t moved.
“Good girl,” I murmured, leaning in until my mouth brushed her ear. “But good doesn’t meanfree.”
She gasped, and I didn’t give her time to think.
I slapped her thigh—hard. Once. Sharp enough to make her jolt and cry out. Sharp enough to leave a mark.
Then I kissed the sting. Slow. Reverent.
“That’s for breaking the rules.”
Another slap. The other thigh this time. Her moan was wrecked, her hips twitching—but she didn’t pull away.
“And that one?” I whispered. “That’s for making me need to taste you again.”
I dragged the ruined lace aside with both hands this time, peeled it down her legs, slow and deliberate.
“You came without permission, Grace.” My voice was pure heat. “Now you’re going to come again—with mine. And you’re going to feel every second of what it means to belong to me.”
I stood, unbuckled my belt in silence, and watched her eyes darken the second she heard the sound. She didn’t move. Didn’t beg. Didn’t even breathe. Just stayed right where I’d left her. Naked, marked, soaked, and waiting.
She’d already come once without permission.
Now I was going to fuck her until she forgot what it felt like to come any other way.
I wrapped a hand around her jaw, dragged her gaze back to mine, and leaned in close enough to taste her breath.
“No more rules,” I said, voice low and final. “Now I take what’s mine.”
20
GRACE
"Ihave something for you."
Rafe stood in the doorway of the music room, watching me as my fingers stilled on the piano keys. I'd been playing for hours—Chopin, mostly, the melancholy nocturnes that matched my mood. The afternoon light slanted through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor.
It was the first time all day I’d heard his voice without it being a command. Without it being pressed into my ear as he held me down, or whispered low as he dragged me to the edge with nothing but his hands. In the weeks I’d been here, our days had blurred into something visceral, rhythmic, unspeakable. We’d fucked everywhere. Against walls, across silk sheets, in the shower, in the dark quiet moments just before dawn. I had no idea how he still wanted me like that. HowIstill wanted him. But it hadn’t burned out—it had only deepened. Until it wasn’t just sex. It was ritual. Hunger.Need.Until I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began.
And maybe that was why I hadn’t looked at the outside world yet. Why I hadn’t asked for answers, even when I knew they werewithin reach. Because every time he touched me, every time he called me good girl while I came for him, I forgot there had ever been another life at all.
"What is it?" I asked, curious despite myself. In the time I'd been here, Rafe had given me many things besides orgasms—clothes, books, freedom to roam the estate—but his expression now was different. Hesitant, almost.
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. In his hand was a small black rectangle I recognized immediately.
My phone.
My breath caught in my throat. "Is that?—"
"Yes," he said, crossing to where I sat at the piano. "I thought it was time."
