The red room didn't sleep.
Neither did she.
After he came inside her—slow, deep, claiming—Luca didn't let her fall back into rest. Instead, he kissed the sweat off her skin, massaged warm oil into her thighs, then whispered:
"We're not finished. Not even close."
Sienna's body trembled, still sore and overstimulated. But the hunger was still there. Ravenous. Hot. Wet.
She had never known need like this. Never known a man who didn't rush to his pleasure, but unraveled hers first. Again. And again. Until she felt like she was coming undone molecule by molecule.
He guided her to the center of the room—where ropes hung from the ceiling like invitations.
"Up," he said softly.
She obeyed.
He bound her wrists above her head, using thick velvet cuffs that held her snug but safe. Her toes barely touched the rug. She was suspended, open. Her breasts swayed with every breath.
Then—blindfold again.
Darkness wrapped around her eyes, heightening everything. Every sound, every shift of air, every inch of skin exposed to his will.
"I want you quiet tonight," he murmured. "No words. No instructions. Just feel."
He circled her. Slowly. The air stirred by his presence made her nipples pebble, made her clit throb.
A soft thud—leather on palm. The sound of a flogger.
Her breath caught.
He struck once—light, a whisper of heat across her ass. Then again, with more weight.
She moaned, her hips rolling, her skin stinging in the most delicious way.
"You take pain like pleasure," he murmured. "I wonder what else you'll give me."
He flogged her in a slow rhythm—never too hard. Just enough to make her skin hum. Between strokes, he kissed her spine, bit her shoulder, dragged his fingers through the slick heat between her thighs.
"Still so wet," he whispered. "So greedy."
A pause.
Then she felt something cold.
A metal hook—a small clamp—on her nipples. The pressure made her gasp.
And then… vibration.
Small, wireless clamps that pulsed against her nipples with a rhythmic hum.
Sienna arched, moaning loudly.
Still, he didn't touch her clit. Not yet.
He made her stand there—bound, blindfolded, vibrating—for minutes that felt like hours. Her knees buckled. Her body begged. She couldn't speak, but her hips said everything—thrusting toward him, silently pleading for more.
And then he knelt behind her.
She felt his mouth.
His tongue slid between her folds, slow and possessive. She cried out, her head rolling back, body trembling. The combination—the clamps, the heat of his tongue, the pressure—was too much.
She started to shake.
But he didn't stop.
He gripped her ass, spreading her wide, fucking her with his tongue until she was sobbing with need, dripping onto the floor, body on fire.
And then…
"Now you may come," he whispered.
She shattered.
Her orgasm ripped through her like a storm, wild and endless. Her scream filled the red room as her body thrashed against the cuffs. Her thighs trembled. Her whole world narrowed to the pleasure he'd dragged out of her soul.
He unhooked her, caught her as she fell.
Carried her to a massive, low bed in the corner and laid her on her stomach, stroking her back with warm oil, kissing every sore spot, murmuring against her skin.
"You did beautifully," he whispered.
She couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
She didn't have to.
He slid into bed behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and held her like a man who hadn't just conquered her body—but who cherished it.
Her body was spent. Her mind was blank.
But in her chest, a new warmth began to glow.
Trust.
And maybe—dangerously—something deeper.