NINE
I’d never been chained before. Not in play or punishment.
The idea had never even occurred to me – submission wasn’t in my nature.
Control was. Precision. But she’d locked the cuff around me with a terrified kind of devotion, and something in me…
shifted. Realigned. I was surprised. At how still I’d gone.
At how my dick had stayed hard despite the restraints. Or maybe because of them.
I should’ve ended it. I didn’t know why I hadn’t.
No—
I did. I’d wanted her to learn. She had been hungry for it. So I had let her. I’d offered myself up like a lamb for slaughter.
And that choice sat heavy in my gut. Mainly because I couldn’t give it a name, couldn’t label it.
She’d looked up at me like I was the only god she’d ever knelt for.
Maybe that was the truth of it. I hadn’t submitted. I’d only wanted to see how far she’d go when she thought I was hers to take.
I pushed the night aside and sank into my chair, relishing the cool leather. But it was a poor substitute for control.
Across the screen lay Paula’s ten-thousand-word work of art.
She was writing well into the night. I’d stayed up longer than intended, watching her type, fascinated and entranced by the creative chaos unfolding across the shared workspace. She’d written feverishly, only to delete entire paragraphs, chasing something deeper, darker.
And then I saw my likeness crawling over the page. Not the name, but the mouth, the smile – the way the character looked at the other one as if she were a secret he wanted to own.
The rational shard of my mind knew I was imagining it, but the fractured remainder screamed louder. And something wicked unfurled inside me.
The characters had been deep in it – Chloe shackled to a bed, Damien between her thighs with a mouth full of promises and teeth marking her skin. He’d spanked her until her cries blurred with moans, and then kissed the bruises away.
I couldn’t help wondering if that was what she really wanted.
No, I thought to myself, it was just projection.
But I had still drunk my beer and stared at the screen long after that – at the lines pooling over the page – waiting for it to happen again.
It didn’t.
Stupid fuck. That was what I was.
I thought I could outlast her, but by three in the morning, it’d been obvious that Scarlett had wrung me dry. My body was heavy with exhaustion, and I surrendered to sleep.
As I lay in my bed, I was surprised that Paula had overshadowed my masked beauty that night – not even an hour after I’d fucked Scarlett’s mouth.
I thought she’d drained me. Thought I’d been left thoroughly satisfied by her lips, her moans, and the hard lines of her Venetian mask pressing into my thighs.
But as I watched Paula write, as the screen flooded with dark sensuality, I realised I wasn’t. Not even close.
Her words had poured straight into me, weaving one depraved idea after another; each scenario hotter and more twisted than the last. She wrote the part where Damien bent Chloe to his will with such vivid, agonising perfection and cruelty. And it made me feel almost inadequate.
It wasn’t just her imagination; it was her execution. Her descriptions were electric, her writing style visceral. It hit me so low I felt stupid.
I gave in to desire – again. Not to Scarlett. But to Paula. That rattled me more than the act. She wasn’t mine. And she never would be. The line between Scarlett’s red-painted lips and Paula’s relentless creativity was blurring, and I found myself questioning everything.
By the time I woke, the morning streamed through the blinds like penance. It was no surprise she hadn’t been in the office on time. Our Damien and Chloe had clearly kept her company throughout the night, their story taking her far past any reasonable hour.
If she’d just owned up to it, I might’ve admired her dedication.
But it wasn’t the lateness that grated on me. It was the lie.
There had never been a line at Giuliano’s, and we both knew it.
The predator and the dominant in me wanted to call her out, to push until she cracked.
To see what excuses she’d fumble through, and what truths she’d eventually spill.
But the human in me – the part that craved stability and control, not chaos – held me back. Barely.
So I chose restraint. I let it slide.
Her shoulders eased the moment I praised her work, and I could see the tension melting away. Hope sparked in her eyes, as though she thought I might press on.
But I didn’t.
I shouldn’t.
Christ… here I was, torn between the phantom of Scarlett and the reality of Paula; between the assistant I shouldn’t ogle and the woman who broke me nice and slow.
It was a line I couldn’t afford to cross, not now when I’d found Scarlett, who completed me so well.
But fuck if last night hadn’t reminded me just how thin that line could be. Changing the package had cost me an extra hundred euros, but it was worth every cent.
Prompted by the restlessness in my chest, I logged into the portal and sent Scarlett a request for tonight. The screen refreshed—
Rejected.
Instant. Clinical.
It hit hard. A dismissal without explanation – or delay.
Just fucking no.
I stared at the screen, teeth grinding, hands curling into fists until my knuckles cracked.
Realising I wasn’t alone in my office, I snuck a glance towards Paula, but the faint smile on her face told me she’d already been immersed in the story.
I ran my fingers first through my hair, then my thoughts through the night like a man retracing his steps at a crime scene, examining every sigh, every shift of her hips, every breath she’d offered up.
She’d enjoyed it all. There had been no fear, no flinching. Only surrender.
She had wanted it. She had wanted me.
This wasn’t regret.
It couldn’t have been.
I hadn’t crossed any lines.
Had I?
The worry simmering beneath my frustration threatened to bubble over until my vision spotted and I realised I was holding my goddamn breath.
But before it culminated, a new private message lit up my screen.
An address.
I stared at the letters, my irritation melting into something else entirely.
Fucking hell – and to think I’d decided to go with jeans today – I pulled at the seams to make room for what was brewing down below, casting another look in Paula’s way to make sure she wasn’t looking. This could’ve been easily misinterpreted.
The address was a hotel, tucked into a discreet corner of the city half an hour from my penthouse. I knew the place. It wasn’t well-known, and its anonymity promised the kind of privacy we needed.
Smart.
Scarlett’s boldness intrigued me, as always, but this was different. The portal was controlled, distant, with layers of detachment that allowed for clear boundaries. But this – this felt more intimate. More personal. She wanted to take it a step further.
I couldn’t help feeling as if it was all moving too fast.
I lounged back, my fingers tracing the edge of my desk as I considered her move. It wasn’t just an address. It was a challenge served with subtlety.
For a moment, I hesitated, letting the meaning of her message seep into me.
My pulse surged until it beat like a warning drum. My fingers curled against the desk’s edge, the sharp bevel biting into skin.
She’d peeled away a layer of distance without asking. And fuck me – I felt it everywhere.
But it was expected. She thought she could lead – I’d let her feel the illusion last time. Just enough slack to test the leash, not snap it. But I knew when to pull it taut.
Too much freedom and the balance tipped. If I gave her room to run, soon she’d think she owned the reins.
And that?
Unacceptable.
I wasn’t there yet.
I don’t think I ever would be. I shouldn’t be.
So I declined and rebooked Room Eight in Obsidian. And as a small token of punishment, I moved the booking to tomorrow. A slight delay – just enough to remind her who set the pace.
Paula let out a sharp sigh, bringing me back into the now.
‘All good?’ I asked.
‘What?’ She glanced my way, catching herself. ‘Oh, no… Fine. I just… made a small mistake.’
‘Thankfully,’ I exhaled, ‘those can be fixed very quickly in our line of work.’
Clicking the browser closed with a touch more fervour than it deserved, I stood, the decision already made. Whatever Scarlett wanted, she had my attention. And now, she’d have more than she’d bargained for. If she didn’t run tomorrow, she never would.
‘Done for the day?’ Paula’s warm, husky voice cut through the fog of my spiral.
‘Yep,’ I said, zeroing in on the clock – nearly four.
Urgency gripped me.
Grabbing my phone and car keys from the edge of the table, I said, ‘I have a booking with a photographer in an hour. No idea how long the session will last.’
The lie slipped out too easily, but the dread coiling up my spine made it necessary.
That cold, creeping feeling folded around me like an old blanket; the same one that had haunted me when I was a boy.
It had stayed with me well into my forties, a reminder that some things never left you, no matter how deep you buried them.
‘I’ll lock up,’ Paula offered, raising the set of keys Vinnie had left for her.
I nodded, unable to meet her eyes, and headed out the door.
With every step I took, Scarlett’s soft, red, sinful lips faded from the forefront of my mind.
Every intake of breath pushed the good memories, the satisfaction, and even pride into a black pot where I briefly stored my thoughts to protect them until the rain passed.
I lidded it and shoved it into the corner of my mind where it would live for the next couple of hours.
And then I let the dark clouds loose.
By the time I sank into the driver’s seat of my car, the shadows inside me had taken full control.
The engine roared to life.
The hospice was in Tivoli, about an hour outside Rome. I’d chosen its location deliberately – far enough to give me time to stew, to feel my sins pick harder through my brain with every mile.