---
The morning after felt unreal.
Ava stood alone in her bathroom, steam curling around her as the shower ran, untouched. Her reflection in the mirror was a stranger—flushed cheeks, bruised lips, hair tangled like it had been gripped, pulled, worshipped. Which, it had. Every inch of her had been claimed, slowly and deliberately. Damien hadn't just taken her. He'd studied her like a sacred text—read every shiver, tasted every sound.
She should've been embarrassed by how easily she'd broken.
Instead, she was still wet just thinking about it.
Her fingers ghosted over the faint red marks on her wrists where he'd held her down, and a tremor passed through her. The kind of tremor that didn't come from fear.
No. It came from wanting to go back.
From needing more.
But the worst part? That voice in her head whispering what she couldn't deny anymore:
She wanted to give him everything.
Even the parts of herself she hadn't known were still locked away.
---
She returned to the Crimson Room that night without being called.
No invitation. No summons.
Her feet moved without permission, like her body had already chosen for her. When the elevator doors slid open on the penthouse level, she was greeted by silence—thick, seductive silence.
The red hallway pulsed with low amber light, and the only open door tonight wasn't Room 23.
It was Room 9.
And it was Damien who opened it.
---
He stood shirtless, dark trousers slung low on his hips, the dim lighting catching the sharp edges of his chest. But his expression wasn't playful.
It was unreadable.
Ava hesitated, suddenly unsure.
But Damien only stepped aside, allowing her in without a word.
The room was cooler than the others. Simple. No chains. No displays.
Just a large bed, a mirror, and a single high-backed leather chair positioned at the foot of it.
He gestured for her to sit.
She did.
Silently.
Obediently.
Damien walked past her, picked up a black velvet blindfold from a side table, and came to stand behind her. He didn't ask.
He just lowered the silk over her eyes.
And the moment it settled against her lashes, Ava's entire world became breath, sound, sensation.
She couldn't see.
But she could feel everything.
The floorboards creaked.
Something shifted.
And then—his voice.
Low, gravel-soft.
"Tonight isn't about punishment, Ava. It's about exposure."
Her lips parted, her breath shallow.
"I'm not going to touch you. Not once."
He circled her slowly, and though she couldn't see him, she felt his presence move like wind across her skin.
"You're going to touch yourself."
Ava's pulse spiked.
He leaned in.
"And you're going to pretend I'm the one doing it."
---
Her hands moved to her thighs.
Slowly.
Shaking.
He didn't say another word, but he didn't have to. The room became a stage. The chair, a throne. And she—a performer under command.
She slid a hand over her stomach, circling her navel, then further.
The air thickened. Every breath she took felt watched. Judged. Worshipped.
Her other hand cupped her breast, fingers teasing her nipple. She bit her lip to keep quiet, but then his voice sliced through the dark:
"Don't hide. I want to hear it. Every sound you're ashamed of."
She moaned.
Louder this time.
Because shame was no longer something she carried alone—it belonged to him now, too.
And that knowledge broke her open.
---
She came once, trembling.
A second time, gasping.
And when she reached for the third, Damien finally spoke.
"Stop."
Her hand froze mid-motion, muscles twitching from denial.
He exhaled.
"You crave release like it's salvation. But what you really crave… is surrender."
Then the blindfold lifted.
And Ava blinked through the tears and heat and want—only to see Damien on his knees before her, eyes fierce, mouth set.
"I want more than your body."
"What more is there?" she whispered.
"The part of you that still holds back when you moan. The part that still wonders if this is just a game."
He cupped her cheek, thumb tracing the wetness beneath her eye.
"It isn't a game, Ava. It's a reckoning."
---
The silence between them was electric.
Heavy.
But Ava didn't run.
She didn't pull away.
She leaned in.
And kissed him.
Not sweetly.
Not shyly.
But like a woman starving for something she never thought she'd be allowed to want.
---
Later, when she lay in his bed, hair damp from sweat, body still sore from pleasure denied and teased and finally given, she turned to him in the darkness.
"What are you afraid of?" she asked.
Damien stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched.
"That I'll fall too far. That I'll let you see the parts of me no one has ever survived."
She traced his chest with her fingers.
"Then let me be the first."
He looked at her then.
And for a brief, raw moment—he let her in.
Just far enough to know:
There was more to this man than dominance and rules.
There was pain.
There was darkness.
And there was a heart that had never been touched… until now.
---
[To Be Continued in Episode 5: Surrender Isn't Weakness]
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