The next morning, Sienna woke in silk sheets that smelled like sex and spice. Luca was already up, standing shirtless by the floor-to-ceiling windows, coffee in hand, the city glowing around him like it bowed to his every breath.
She stretched, bare beneath the sheets, sore in all the right places, her thighs still trembling from the night before. And he was just standing there, looking at her like he'd already decided what he was going to do with her next.
"Tell me something," he said, not turning around. "What haven't you let anyone do to you?"
Her body tightened at the question.
He turned then—his eyes dark, voice low. "What are the fantasies you keep locked up because you're afraid you'll lose control?"
Sienna sat up, letting the sheet fall. She liked her control. It was armor. Weapon. Survival. But right now, something deeper stirred—a hunger, not just for pleasure, but to be taken somewhere she couldn't get to alone.
So instead of speaking, she reached for the notepad on the nightstand, picked up the fountain pen resting there like it had been waiting for her, and began to write.
A list.
Short. Blunt. Honest.
Be tied up.
Be blindfolded.
Be taken without words.
Be used until I break.
Be worshipped afterward.
She tore the page, folded it once, and walked—naked—to him.
He took the note.
Read it.
Looked up at her with a slow, primal smile.
"Tonight," he said. "No talking. No questions. Just yes or no."
Her breath caught. "Yes."
⸻
That night, the room was different.
The bed was gone. In its place—deep red lighting, thick rugs, ropes coiled with care, soft jazz playing low, slow.
"Come in," Luca said. He wore black slacks, barefoot, shirtless, commanding. "Strip. Now."
Sienna trembled as she undressed, her nipples already hard. She stood before him—exposed, waiting.
"Hands behind your back."
She obeyed. The silk rope coiled around her wrists like heat made tangible. He knotted it tight—not painful, just firm. Her body buzzed with helplessness.
He circled her like a predator.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"Good."
A soft black blindfold covered her eyes. Darkness fell. She heard his footsteps, the sound of him undressing.
Then silence.
And then—touch.
Hot breath on her neck. A hand between her thighs. Fingers spreading her open. Lips on her breast, sucking until she moaned.
But still no words.
She felt him walk away. Her body ached. He left her standing—naked, blind, bound, waiting.
Her pulse thundered.
Then she felt him behind her again. Something cool pressed to her nipple—a metal clamp. Then the other. A sharp, teasing bite of pain that made her whimper.
"I want to see you fall apart," he whispered finally. "And then I want to hold every shattered piece."
She gasped as he pressed her forward, bending her at the waist, her ass in the air, legs spread. He stroked her folds slowly, dragging her arousal up over her clit.
"Already dripping," he murmured. "And I haven't even fucked you yet."
Then the first slap.
A sharp crack on her ass.
She cried out—but not from pain. From the rush. The wildness.
Another slap. Then a slow, wet finger thrust inside her.
"Good girl."
The praise broke her. Her moans came freely now. She rocked back against his hand, desperate.
"More."
"Oh, you'll get more."
He entered her from behind, thick and deep. Her bound hands flexed as he fucked her hard—slapping skin, gasps echoing, her body rocking forward with every thrust.
She couldn't see. She couldn't hold him. But he held her—hands tight on her hips, cock deep, lips grazing her back.
And when he reached under her, fingers circling her clit, her orgasm exploded through her like fire in her veins. She screamed, raw and full, her body trembling.
He kept going.
Another orgasm. Then another.
She lost count. Lost time. Lost herself.
And when he came—shouting her name, spilling inside her—he finally untied her, caught her before she fell, and laid her down on the thick rug, cradling her, pressing kisses to her face.
"You didn't break," he whispered. "You opened."
She let the tears come. Not from pain. From release.
And in his arms, she let go of the last piece of control she didn't know she'd been holding.