The limo ride home was suffocating, not with words, but with silence. Heavy, thick, charged.
Zara sat with her legs crossed, head turned toward the window, pretending she didn't notice the rage rolling off Aiden like a second suit. Her phone buzzed quietly in her lap — one of the investors from the gala had messaged her already.
She didn't open it.
She didn't have to.
She wanted him to see it.
But Aiden said nothing.
Not a single word.
Not until they walked through the front door of the mansion and it slammed shut behind them.
> "Strip."
The command cut through the air like a blade.
Zara turned to face him slowly, arching a brow. "Why?"
Aiden didn't answer. Instead, he closed the space between them in one stride, hand gripping her jaw as he backed her against the wall. The remote — that remote — clicked in his other hand. She gasped as the vibrator deep inside her came to life, buzzing low and hot against her most sensitive spot.
> "Because you played the whore tonight," he growled, voice rough with restraint.
"Now you'll take what a whore gets."
He pushed her dress down roughly, the expensive silk pooling at her ankles. Her heels followed. The collar stayed.
> "Did you like them watching you?" Aiden whispered into her ear, his fingers trailing down her thighs.
"Did you want them to imagine bending you over their hotel suite couches?"
> "I liked feeling wanted," Zara said, breathless, her spine arching into his touch.
"Maybe I liked it more than being ignored."
His fingers slid into her slick heat, and he hissed at how ready she already was.
> "You're soaked," he muttered. "Fucking dripping."
> "Maybe they should've touched me instead," she challenged.
That did it.
Aiden grabbed her by the hips and dragged her to the full-length mirror in the hallway. He pushed her to her knees in front of it, her reflection flushed and bare, collar gleaming like a mark of sin.
> "Look at you," he ordered.
"So obedient now. So fucking desperate."
She whimpered as he turned the vibrator up a notch. Her thighs trembled, her mouth parted in silent agony.
> "Touch yourself," he said.
"But don't make a sound. Not even a moan. You want to act like a toy? Then follow the rules."
Zara's fingers slid between her legs as her reflection stared back — wild-eyed, undone, dripping with need and shame and power all at once.
The pressure built fast — too fast. But she held back the sound. Bit her lip. Clawed at the floor.
Aiden knelt beside her. Whispered in her ear.
> "You don't get to come until you learn how to beg without making a sound."
Her body shook. Her eyes burned. Her lip bled.
Still — she stayed silent.
And then, just as she was on the edge, Aiden ripped the remote from her hand and shut it off.
She gasped. "Please—"
> "No."
He stood, towering above her, unreadable. Cold. Controlled.
> "You'll get another chance," he murmured, walking away.
"But next time, the consequences will be harder."
He left her there.
Still pulsing. Still aching. Still wearing his collar like a crown and a curse.
She didn't know whether to cry... or crawl after him.
But one thing was certain — Aiden Knight didn't just want her body.
He wanted her soul to kneel too.
---
But he came back.
She hadn't moved. Couldn't. The air felt thick with unsaid things. Her thighs trembled, her skin burning from being teased and abandoned. Her collar felt tighter somehow — like a leash, like a promise.
Aiden stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his jaw tight. Watching her.
> "You didn't crawl after me," he said.
> "You told me not to," she whispered.
He stepped closer, crouching until they were eye level.
> "I gave you a chance to prove you'd do it anyway."
Her breath hitched. He was testing her. Always. Playing games only he knew the rules to.
> "You want to be good so badly, don't you?" His fingers brushed her cheek. "But you want to be ruined even more."
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
Aiden stood, grabbed her by the collar, and pulled her up — not roughly, but firmly. She followed, silent, submissive, her body raw with want.
He led her to the living room, and to her surprise, pushed her down face-first over the armrest of the couch.
> "You want to come?" he asked.
"Then earn it."
Before she could respond, his hand came down hard on her ass — a loud, echoing smack that made her cry out in shock.
> "Count," he growled.
"Every slap. Miss one, and we start over."
> "O-One…" she gasped.
> Smack.
"Two."
Smack.
"Three…"
He went to ten, alternating cheeks, letting each sting melt into heat and each moan melt into submission.
Her legs were shaking by the time he stepped back, only to drop to his knees behind her.
And then… his tongue.
> "You taste like defiance," he murmured, spreading her open with his hands.
"And regret. And something sweeter I'm going to take again and again."
She screamed into the couch cushions as his mouth devoured her — slow, cruel, exact. His tongue circled, licked, thrust, until she was clawing the fabric and begging, brokenly, breathlessly.
> "Please… please let me—"
> "Not yet," he growled.
"Not until you say it."
> "Say what?"
> "Say who you belong to."
She choked on the words, pride and desperation warring inside her. But when he pushed two fingers inside her again, curling just right, she shattered.
> "You—Aiden—I belong to you!"
He didn't stop. Not when she came. Not when her legs went weak. Not when she whimpered that she couldn't take anymore.
And when he finally pulled back, mouth glistening with her pleasure, he kissed her inner thigh like a signature on a painting.
> "That's better," he whispered.
"Now… go clean up. I'm not done with you."
She staggered to her feet, sore and dripping and shaken. But under it all, something had shifted.
This wasn't just punishment.
This was possession.
And she… was starting to crave it.
---