You're dozing. Barely conscious.
But you feel it—the warm cloth cleaning between your legs. The soft blanket pulled over your body.
The kiss he finally gives you—deep, slow, full of reverence.
"Still with me, sweetheart?"he whispers, voice threaded with something close to affection.
You nod against his chest.
"Think you can take one more?"
"Not because I command it... but because you want it."
You don't even hesitate.
"Yes, Sir."
He smiles.
Not a smirk. Not a taunt. But something real.
He flips you gently, pulling you on top of him this time—your knees straddling his thighs, your palms on his chest.
"Ride me,"he says. "Show me what that body does when it's fully mine."
You start slow. Shaky. Sensitive.
But he holds your hips, guiding you down—his cock already half-hard again, twitching with promise.
You cry out as you sink onto him, walls so tight from overstimulation it almost aches—but god, it's perfect.
He doesn't control you now.
Not this time.
"This is your rhythm,"he murmurs."Take what you need. Show me how you want to be fucked."
And you do.
You move over him, hips rolling in desperate circles, riding the high of everything he's given—and everything he's taken.
He watches you with dark, reverent eyes—his hands on your thighs, jaw clenched as he fights the urge to take back control.
"Look at you," he groans. "My perfect little ruin."
You moan his name again and again—not Sir this time. Just C.
And when your nails dig into his chest, when you shake and scream and come for the third time—he lets go too.
Together.
This time... softer. Still intense. But closer.
Afterward, you collapse into his arms—sweaty, shaking, fully spent.
And this time?
He kisses your forehead.
Pulls the blanket higher.
And whispers:
"Sleep now, BabyGirl."
"You're safe. You're mine. And you were... perfect."
The morning light filters through sheer curtains, casting long shadows across the bed.
The sheets are tangled around your waist.
Your skin smells like leather and cedar.
And you're still wearing the collar.
You stir, slowly, groggily, muscles aching in the best way. Every shift reminds you of what he did to you—how many times he made you come, how many times he didn't.
The room is quiet, the low hum of his playlist, plays softly in the background.
And then you hear it—
The gentle clink of a mug being placed on the nightstand.
"Morning, BabyGirl."
His voice is warm now. Smooth. Still deep from sleep.
He leans over, pressing a kiss to your temple before holding the mug out to you.
"Vanilla oat milk. Just the way you like it."
You smile, still curled beneath the blanket, and take it with both hands—carefully. Your wrists are red but not bruised. Your thighs ache in places that make you blush.
He watches you sip, brushing fingers gently through your hair.
"How's my girl feeling?"
You look up at him with sleepy eyes, voice soft and small.
"Used... sore... happy."
That makes him smile.
"That's the perfect answer."
He slides into bed beside you, shirtless, the waistband of his joggers riding low. His hand wraps around your hip, grounding you instantly. Possessive in the gentlest way.
"You gave me everything last night," he says quietly, kissing your bare shoulder. "I don't take that for granted. Not for a second."
You don't need to speak. You just curl into him, your cheek pressed to his chest, letting his heartbeat lull you.
His fingers find the back of your collar and play with the clasp—but he doesn't unclip it.
Not yet.
"I want you to wear it a little longer,"he murmurs. "Just until I feed you."
You nod.
"Good girl."
He shifts, rising from bed.
"Stay right there. I'll bring your food. You don't lift a finger this morning. That's an order."
And you know better than to disobey.
⸻
When he returns, it's with a tray—fruit, eggs, avocado toast cut just how you like it, and another mug of tea.
He sits beside you, feeds you the first bite himself. Smiles as you moan softly at the taste.
"My obedient little mess," he says."You wrecked the bed last night. And now look at you. Spoiled. Fed. Collared."
You glance down at yourself—you don't blush.
You glow.
Because you're not ashamed.
You're his.