The Silence
The suite felt heavier than before, as if the air itself remembered what she had dared. Lena's lips still tingled from his kiss, thighs damp from grinding against him, the taste of victory humming through her veins.
Julian hadn't spoken since. He stood near the sofa, gray eyes fixed on her with a steadiness that felt more dangerous than fury. His breath was measured now, too measured. Every inhale forced, as though it hid something raw.
The Reckoning
"Strip."
Her fingers shook, but she obeyed. Lace slid from her skin, pooling at her feet. She stood bare, pulse racing, breasts rising with each breath.
"On your knees."
The carpet was rough against her skin as she sank, palms pressed to her thighs. This time, she didn't provoke. Obedience guided her body, though tremors betrayed her restraint.
The Discipline
Julian circled her once, silent, a predator measuring distance. Then his hand seized her neck, forcing her forward over the arm of the sofa.
"You think you can take what isn't given."
Julian circled her once, silent, a predator measuring distance. Then his hand seized her neck, pressing her forward over the arm of the sofa.
"Count."
"One."
Again, harder.
"Two."
Her voice wavered. Stinging waves spread through her body.
"Three."
By the fifth, her thighs pressed together, desperate. Her body betrayed her.
The Flash
Julian's hand stilled, resting heavy on her back. He should have struck again. Instead, memory broke through, unbidden and merciless.
Her body straddling his lap. Her mouth forcing his open. The groan that escaped him, guttural, wrecked.
The sound replayed sharp as a wound. His jaw locked. His hand pressed harder against her spine as if weight alone could smother it.
It didn't. It wouldn't.
"You don't control me," he said at last, voice low, ragged at the edges. "You never will."
But even as he spoke, both of them knew she had already seen otherwise.
The Mark
His teeth sank into her shoulder, brutal enough to bruise. Her cry broke into the cushions, half pain, half something deeper, her body arching into the bite.
He held until she trembled. Then his tongue soothed the sting, sealing it, as though his mouth could both punish and heal.
"Every time you think of daring me again," he murmured, lips hot against her skin, "you'll remember what it costs."
Her breath hitched. "Yes, Sir."
The Haunting
He pulled her upright. Her body was flushed and shaking, ass marked by his hand, shoulder branded by his teeth. She rested against him and for a moment his arm tightened as though he needed her weight.
Then he released her, composure sliding back into place like armor.
"Get dressed."
Her hands shook as she obeyed. Beneath the sting of punishment, beneath obedience itself, her heart carried something sharper: the memory of his surrender.
Because she had felt it: his mouth giving, his moan spilling, his body answering hers. He could punish, bite, bruise. But he couldn't erase what he'd allowed.
And she knew it haunted him too.