Chapter 3
Selene
I wake to pain.
Not the sharp, immediate pain of injury, but the deep, satisfying ache of being thoroughly used.
My wrists burn where the rope held them.
My throat is raw.
Between my legs, I'm swollen and sensitive.
Every mark is a reminder of what happened, of what I let him do to me.
Of what I begged him to do to me.
The room is different from last night.
Sunlight filters through heavy curtains, revealing elegant furniture that probably costs more than my annual salary.
The sheets beneath me are silk, soft against my abraded skin.
I'm clean—someone bathed me while I was unconscious.
The thought should disturb me.
Instead, it makes me clench my thighs together.
A silk robe lies across the foot of the bed.
Black, of course.
There's a note on top in masculine handwriting:
Breakfast. Then we continue.
- C
C.
Cassius.
Cassius Wolfe.
The name sends a shiver through me.
I dreamed about him, dark dreams where he hunted me through empty corridors, caught me, consumed me.
Even unconscious, my body knew its master.
Master.
The word comes unbidden, and I flush.
One night and I'm already thinking of him as?—
A knock interrupts my thoughts. "You have five minutes," a male voice calls through the door.
Not Cassius. One of his men.
I dress quickly in the robe, noting how it falls to mid-thigh, clearly chosen to display the bruises on my legs.
My hair is a disaster, my makeup long gone.
I look debauched. Ruined.
I look like myself for the first time in eight years.
The door opens exactly five minutes later.
One of the twins from last night—Peter or Paul, I can't tell them apart—gestures for me to follow.
He doesn't leer, doesn't comment on my appearance.
I'm Cassius's, and that apparently means something here.
He leads me through hallways I don't remember from last night, past doors that could hide anything.
Or anyone.
The building is massive, more than just the club.
This is Cassius's domain, his kingdom.
We stop at a set of double doors.
The twin knocks once, then opens them for me.
Cassius sits at a dining table, fully dressed in another expensive suit, reading what looks like financial reports.
He doesn't look up when I enter, just gestures to the chair across from him.
"Eat."
The table holds a full breakfast—eggs, toast, fruit, coffee.
My stomach rebels at the thought of food, but the look he gives me when I hesitate makes me reach for the fork.
I eat in silence while he reads, hyperaware of every movement.
The way the robe gaps when I lean forward.
The way his eyes track the movement of my throat when I swallow.
The way my body responds to his presence, already wet just from proximity to him.
"You can leave now," he says suddenly, not looking up from his papers. "Last chance to return to your safe little life."
"No."
Now he looks up, those steel gray eyes pinning me in place. "No?"
"I'm staying. For the three nights. Like we agreed."
"Two more nights," he corrects. "Two more nights of me doing whatever I want to you. Breaking you in ways you can't imagine. Are you certain?"
Instead of answering with words, I let the robe fall open slightly, revealing the bruises he left on my chest.
His marks. His claim.
His eyes darken. "Dangerous game, little lamb."
"I thought that's what we were playing."
He stands abruptly, and I think he's going to touch me.
Instead, he walks past, stopping just behind my chair. "Finish eating. You'll need your strength."
His fingers ghost over my throat, the lightest touch over where he gripped me last night, and I nearly moan.
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with my breakfast and racing pulse.
Twenty minutes later, the twin returns.
This time, he leads me to what's clearly Cassius's office—all dark wood and leather, windows overlooking the city.
Cassius is on the phone, speaking in clipped tones about a shipment delay.
He gestures for me to kneel beside his chair.
I don't hesitate.
The carpet is soft under my knees, and the position feels natural now.
Right.
He continues his conversation, his free hand tangling in my hair, not pulling, just holding. Possessing.
"Tell them if the shipment isn't here by midnight, I'll personally visit each of them," he says into the phone. "They know what happened to the last crew that disappointed me."
The way he speaks so casually about violence makes me shiver.
This isn't roleplay.
This isn't a game.
He's genuinely dangerous, genuinely deadly.
And I'm kneeling at his feet like a pet.
He ends the call and looks down at me. "Scared yet?"
"Should I be?"
"Yes." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "But you're not, are you? You're excited. I can smell how wet you are from here."
Heat floods my face, but I don't deny it.
"Take off the robe."
I slip it off my shoulders, letting it pool around my knees.
The morning sunlight highlights every mark he left on me—bite marks, bruises, the clear outline of his hand on my ass.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, but it sounds like a threat. "Stand up. Hands on the desk."
I position myself as instructed, bent over his desk, completely exposed.
I hear him moving behind me, but can't see what he's doing.
The anticipation makes every nerve ending spark.
"Your phone has been ringing," he says conversationally. "Thirty-seven missed calls. Sixty-two text messages. Your friend Emilia is quite concerned."
Fuck. Emilia. I forgot about?—
His hand comes down on my ass without warning, directly over last night's bruises.
I cry out, more from surprise than pain.
"You'll need to respond to her. Can't have her calling the police." Another strike, harder this time. "But you'll do it while I'm playing with you. Let's see if you can maintain a normal conversation while I make you fall apart."
He retrieves my phone from his desk drawer, already has it unlocked—of course he does—and hands it to me. "Call her. Tell her you're fine."
With shaking fingers, I dial Emilia's number. She answers on the first ring.
"Selene! Oh my God, where are you? I've been worried sick!"
"I'm—" Cassius's fingers slide between my legs, finding me embarrassingly wet. "I'm fine, Em."
"You don't sound fine. You sound weird. Where did you go last night?"
His fingers push inside me, two at once, stretching me. I bite my lip to keep from moaning. "Just needed some space. After David?—"
"You're with someone." Her voice sharpens. "Oh my God, you're with a guy."
Cassius adds a third finger, fucking me with them while his thumb finds my clit.
I grip the edge of the desk, trying to keep my voice steady.
"It's not—it's complicated."
"Selene Elizabeth Deveraux, are you having rebound sex right now?"
If only she knew.
Cassius's fingers curl inside me, finding that spot that makes me see stars.
I have to mute the phone to gasp.
"I have to go," I manage. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"Selene—"
I hang up and immediately moan as Cassius speeds up his fingers.
But just as I'm about to come, he stops, pulling away completely.
"Please," I whimper.
"Please what?"
"Please let me come."
"You haven't earned it yet." He walks around the desk, sits in his chair, and spreads his legs. "On your knees."
I drop immediately, crawling between his legs.
He's already hard, the outline visible through his expensive pants.
"You know what to do."
I reach for his zipper with shaking hands, free him from his pants.
He's huge, thick, already leaking precum.
I lean forward, eager, but he stops me with a hand in my hair.
"Slowly. And while you do, I'm going to read these reports. You don't stop until I tell you. If you do a good job, maybe I'll let you come."
What follows is exquisite torture.
I worship him with my mouth while he casually reads whatever reports are in front of him, occasionally making notes.
The only sign I'm affecting him is the slight tightening of his hand in my hair when I do something particularly good.
My jaw aches.
My knees hurt.
My pussy throbs with need.
But I don't stop, taking him deeper with each stroke, until I'm choking on him, tears streaming down my face.
"Good girl," he murmurs, setting aside his papers. "Such a good little whore for me."
The praise makes me moan around him.
He laughs, dark and cruel.
"Touch yourself. You can come when I do, not before."
My hand flies between my legs, finding my clit and circling it desperately.
I'm so close already, have been on edge since he started touching me.
He fists my hair, controlling my movements now, fucking my throat brutally.
"Look at me."
I meet his eyes, mascara running, lips stretched around him.
"You're mine," he says. "Say it."
I pull back just enough to gasp, "Yours. I'm yours."
"Again."
"Yours, Sir. Only yours."
He pushes back into my throat, and I feel him pulse. "Come. Now."
The orgasm rips through me as he fills my throat, so intense I nearly black out.
I swallow everything, cleaning him with my tongue while aftershocks wrack my body.
He pulls me up onto his lap, surprisingly gentle. "You did well."
The praise shouldn't affect me so much, but I find myself preening, pressing closer to him.
He allows it for a moment, then sets me on my feet.
"Get dressed. Real clothes this time. We're going out."
The clothes he provides are expensive—a designer dress that covers all his marks but clings to every curve, heels that make my legs look endless, underwear that's more suggestion than coverage.
I look sophisticated. Elegant.
Nothing like the broken girl who just came on his office floor.
He takes me to what appears to be a legitimate business meeting in a restaurant he clearly owns.
I sit beside him while he discusses territory with men who radiate violence despite their expensive suits.
His hand rests on my thigh under the table, a constant reminder of who I belong to.
"The Covenant is moving into the east side," one man says. "They think you're distracted."
Cassius's hand tightens on my thigh. "Do they?"
"Word is you've gone soft. Spending too much time playing instead of working."