Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rayne
His grief is the most honest thing I’ve ever felt. I cry too—for him, for me. Cleansing tears, washing away the fears Hollis left behind, making room in my heart for every part of DK.
It all makes sense now. His rigid schedules, the unwavering boundaries he sets around his work—it isn’t just a personality trait. It’s the scaffolding he built to keep himself from sliding back into a death trap. It’s etched in the lines of his tattoo.
What he shared explains why he so easily accepted me learning how to trust my judgment again. We both know what it feels like to let ourselves down.
And for DK, the cost was higher because his family had walked through that fire with him.
He’d let the mask fall away and trusted me with the darkest part of his soul. That right there makes me feel safer than a thousand security details ever could.
Slowly, he pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes behind the lenses are bloodshot, his face is damp. I can already see his mind working to pull himself together.
“Luna.” He clears his throat and brushes a tear from my cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to... meltdown on you.”
“That wasn’t a meltdown.” I keep my arms around him, letting him know he’s more than a systemic collapse. “It was real. And honest. The sexiest thing you’ve ever shown me.”
A ghost of a smile answers mine. “That was sexy?”
“Very. You let me see the man behind the structure. All of you. That’s what I wanted.”
He kisses me then—sweet and tender—before taking my hand and pulling us to our feet.
“Maybe this is the wrong time to say this.” He looks in my eyes, his gaze open and hopeful. “But I’m going to anyway. I’m falling in love with you, Luna.”
My breath catches, my response coming easy. “I’m falling in love with you.”
He blinks, questioning it. “You don’t have to—
“DK, I don’t use that word lightly. I’m surprised by it, too. Not the feelings, but allowing myself to have them. This is not me reacting to an emotional moment. It’s me not blocking my heart anymore. He doesn’t get that kind of power.”
His whole expression shifts, a surge of energy replacing the uncertainty of moments ago.
He lifts me off my feet and kisses me again—this time it’s fiercely possessive.
I wrap my legs around him, his hands gripping under my thighs as we lose ourselves…
until a lake seiche wave crashes in, knocking us off balance.
We go down laughing, the water swallowing us.
DK snatches his glasses just before the tide steals them and goes right back to kissing me.
We spend the next hour on the beach, swimming and playing. I love seeing him this relaxed. Around noon, we brush off sand and let the sun dry us before heading back to the house. We shower and laze the afternoon away.
After lunch, he’s sprawled on the oversized sofa with a cooling charcoal mask tightening on his face, looking utterly ridiculous and incredibly handsome at the same time. On the screen, NeNe is in the middle of a classic showdown, and DK is leaning into the madness.
“Watching these women throw shade is like a masterclass in psychological warfare,” he muses.
“Right?” I say, my grin testing the mask. To see this high-powered strategist analyze the Atlanta housewives is something I didn’t know I needed.
When our faces are clear and glowing, I settle back on the couch.
DK pulls me back until I’m cradled between his legs.
He traces the line of my neck, and the playfulness in the room fades, replaced by a heated awareness.
He might have been vulnerable on that beach, but the virile man holding me now is the same one that claimed me last night.
“You’ve been taking very good care of me, Luna.” His voice drops into that low, gravelly register. “But I think I’m officially relaxed enough.”
I turn, looking up into eyes that are dark with a very specific intent.
“So,” I whisper, my core already clenching. “You wanna see my toys?”
“Oh yeah.” He flips me onto my back, letting me feel the hard evidence of his desire. “What’s on today’s menu?”
“You’ll see,” I play it coy. My pulse is pounding, but I’m steady in my skin, ready to hand him the reins and let him take us as far as we want to go. “Give me ten minutes,” I say. “Then come find me.”
As I get ready, I can picture DK downstairs, pacing the living room, tracking the seconds.
I go for all black and shake out my curls, leaving them loose, frizzy, and wild.
I spritz on fragrance, then grab my toy bag.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I lay out a curated spread for him to choose from—leather, steel, and silicone.
When my phone timer hits zero, I hear his hurried tread on the stairs. A slow, wicked grin touches my lips.
He knocks.
“Come in,” I call, turning from my reflection to watch him walk through the door.
He enters. Freezes. Wide shoulders and delicious thickness fill the frame. He’s got that substantial, big-man power that’s less about size and more about presence. The kind that brings out my feminine energy.
“Hi,” I say, leaning against the dresser, crossing one leg in front of the other.
He doesn’t say anything at first—just breathes, heavy and ragged, making my skin tingle.
Behind his glasses, his eyes drag over every inch of me from my hair to the tips of my shoes, and back up, clocking each detail.
The stockings that stop at my thighs. The six-inch stilettos.
The pearl opening of my crotchless thong frames me in front, while the mirror reveals the strand behind, notched between my cheeks.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” His voice is rough.
His steps forward are measured and deliberate like a prowl. He pauses at the edge of the mattress, his gaze dropping to the toys. He reaches out, his fingers tracing over the different textures. He doesn’t look shocked. He looks inspired. Like a man beyond ready to tap into his baser instincts.
DK picks up the leather straps, the silver buckles glint in his hands, setting my blood on fire. I’ve wanted to explore this side of myself, to really push those boundaries, but only if there was that absolute foundation of trust—which I feel with him.
His gaze shifts back to mine, his eyes dilated to near-black. “Turn around.” His voice is even raspier than before.
I do as he orders, my heels clicking on the floor as I turn to face my reflection.
It wasn’t an easy journey to get to the point where I could look at my full self in a mirror without being my own worst critic.
I read books, went to therapy, made a conscious effort to surround myself with women who looked like me and who lived loudly.
Now, when insecurity tries to suck me back in, the opal that sits between my collarbone is a quiet reminder that no one gets to define my beauty. It belongs to me.
The map of my vitiligo against the dark lace and pearls, the generous curve of my hips, the soft pouch of my belly, and the weight of my breasts… I no longer see a project to fix.
With DK closing the distance behind me, looming large in the glass, tapping the leather in his hands, my soul feels liberated even as my body burns with the desire to be bound.
He steps in, his heat at my back, his eyes meet mine in the mirror.
A muscle leaps in his cheek as he lowers his head to kiss the side of my neck, the curve of my shoulder…
I watch his teeth sink into my skin. Feeling the contrast from a tender touch to a sharp bite heightens everything.
Witnessing it takes my lust to a whole new level.
I moan and grip the dresser as the warm velvet of his tongue soothes the spot.
Then, he lifts the black leather. It smells rich and earthy. I’ve tried it on before, but alone I can’t get that pressure he’s able to give when he loops the straps around the swell of my breasts—pulling taut to fit one band above the nipples, the other below them. The restriction is immediate.
The hide bites into my softness, sending a lightning bolt between my legs. He’s framing me, binding me, the pressure of the straps forcing me to spill over the edges, pushing my chest forward, making my nipples stand out, dark, peaked, and aching.
He buckles the cold metal at my back. “Is that tight enough?” he rumbles, his breath hot against the shell of my ear.
“Yes,” I moan, unable to move without feeling the reminder of his restraint.
“You’re perfect like this,” he whispers, his gaze locked on the leather compressions. “Bound and waiting for me.”
My heart hammers against the reins.
DK doesn’t rush. He’s a man who understands that anticipation is half the conquest.
He reaches around to spread his hands over my belly, the flesh rippling through his fingers.
They slowly climb up my torso, over the leather band to circle my nipples, sharpening them to tight points, pinching and plucking them.
My back arches, his name falling from my lips in a breathless chant.
My nipples are ultra sensitive, and watching him play roughly with them already has me nearing a climax.
Knowing my body, he stops. His heat leaves me as he goes back to the bed. He moves past the silicone flowers that give my nipples that vibrating pressure I use solo. Instead, he chooses the metal for that heavy, uncompromising pull that tells me he’s not looking for ‘playful’ right now.
And neither am I.
His touch is warm in contrast to the cold steel. I watch in the mirror as the clamp takes hold of my pert nipple, the weight pulling at me, creating a deep, throbbing squeeze that makes my head fall back against his shoulder.
“Okay?” He waits. His hand wraps around the curve of my ribcage to settle me.
“Yes,” I breathe as my body adjusts. “More.”
He attaches the second one, his thumb brushing over the steel, adding friction to the weight. I bite my lip on a moan
“How does it feel?”
“Like I’m caught. Like I can’t escape it.”
“Do you want to?”
“No,” I breathe, my gaze on him in the glass. “I’m all yours.”