The penthouse door opened before she could knock again.
Victor stood in the doorway—barefoot, in a black silk shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. The top buttons were undone, revealing a dusting of chest hair and a glimpse of gold around his neck. His eyes dropped to her coat, lingered.
"Samantha," he said like a toast. "Right on time."
She couldn't move.
He stepped aside and gestured her in.
"Come in before I change my mind."
That snapped her into motion. She stepped over the threshold.
His penthouse was silent, dim, and scented with expensive cologne and aged leather. The floors were dark wood, the walls lined with black-and-gold accents and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a glittering view of the city skyline. It felt like entering a den—not a home.
"You're quiet," he said, closing the door behind her with a heavy click.
"I'm processing," she admitted.
"Processing what?"
"That I'm either incredibly brave…" she turned to face him, voice barely above a whisper, "...or incredibly stupid."
Victor walked slowly toward her. "There's a thin line between the two. Some of the best decisions in life are made standing on it."
She didn't back away, though her heart pounded like a war drum.
"You wore what I asked?"
Samantha's hands trembled slightly as she unbuttoned the belt of her coat.
The fabric slipped off her shoulders.
Victor's breath hitched—barely noticeable, but it was there.
She wore black lace. Thin straps. Bare thighs. No bra. No panties. Her nipples peaked through the sheer mesh, her stomach fluttering with every inch of skin revealed.
She hadn't dressed this way for anyone before. It terrified her. And yet, the look in Victor's eyes filled her with something deeper than fear.
Power.
Control.
He was the rich man in the room—but she had his hunger in her hands.
His jaw tightened. "Turn around."
She obeyed.
Slowly, she turned, giving him a full view of her back, her hips, the swell of her ass barely covered in lace.
"Good girl," he murmured.
She exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for years.
Victor circled her slowly, like a wolf inspecting prey—or a man appreciating a very rare, very expensive piece of art.
"You're shaking."
"I'm cold," she lied.
"You're terrified," he corrected, stepping close behind her. His hands didn't touch her. Just his voice. "That's good. Fear sharpens the senses."
She swallowed. "And what happens if I get too scared?"
"Then you say the word, and this all stops."
Her heart kicked up.
"You'll walk out, untouched. No hard feelings. No strings. No payment."
He stepped in front of her now, inches away. The scent of his skin—clean, masculine, expensive—wrapped around her like smoke.
"But if you stay," he murmured, eyes never leaving hers, "you belong to me tonight."
Her lips parted. "What does that mean… exactly?"
He didn't answer with words.
Instead, he reached into a drawer on a side table and pulled out a black leather folder. He opened it and laid it across the coffee table in front of her.
Inside was a sleek document.
She blinked. "Is that a contract?"
Victor nodded. "An arrangement. I believe in clear expectations."
She stepped forward and glanced at the pages. The first thing that caught her eye was the title:
"Private Agreement of Companionship and Compliance."
Jesus.
"Read it," he said gently. "Ask questions. I don't rush consent."
Her fingers traced the first few lines.
The Provider (Victor Blackwell) agrees to financially support the Companion (Samantha Reyes) in the form of monthly payments, gifts, and benefits.
The Companion agrees to exclusive companionship, availability upon request, and adherence to defined rules.
Emotional attachment is discouraged but acknowledged as possible.
She looked up. "This feels… cold."
"It's structure," Victor replied. "Protection. I don't like blurred lines. Everything is cleaner when it's defined."
She kept reading.
Rules:
Always speak the truth.
No drugs. No secrets.
Obey my instructions unless they endanger you.
You are to remain available on my terms, unless otherwise negotiated.
No sex with anyone else. Period.
Do not fall in love.
She blinked. "Rule six. Is that… serious?"
Victor's expression didn't change. "Very."
"So you get to touch me, own me, control me—but love is off the table?"
"Exactly."
Samantha's chest ached. "Sounds like you've been burned before."
Victor chuckled darkly. "Once. I left the ashes behind."
She stared at him. "So why me? Why now?"
He took a long moment before answering.
"You're not like the others," he said. "They chased me. You didn't. You were just… there. Needing something. Like you wanted to be saved—but didn't dare ask."
She looked away.
He was right.
"What if I sign it, but I don't know how to be what you want?"
Victor stepped closer. "Then I'll teach you."
Samantha stood there for a long time, heart racing, blood rushing in her ears. She knew this was dangerous. She knew it wasn't just sex—this was something deeper, something that pulled her out of the safety of her world into a game where she didn't know the rules.
But it was also a lifeline.
And she was drowning.
Her hand reached for the pen.
She signed.
Victor took the folder, closed it, and for the first time, his hands touched her—gently. He cupped her jaw, tilting her chin up.
"From this moment on," he said softly, "you belong to me."
The words sent a shiver through her chest. It wasn't just lust—it was something darker. Like a thread tying her to something dangerous and divine.
"Say it," he whispered.
"I…" she swallowed. "I belong to you."
Victor kissed her—not rough or forceful, but deliberate. Like a claim. His lips were warm, steady, and commanding. When he pulled away, she was breathless.
"Strip," he said.
She hesitated—then obeyed.
The lace fell to the floor, leaving her bare under his gaze.
He stepped back and sat on the velvet couch like a king admiring his newest prize.
"Kneel."
Her knees hit the cold wood. She didn't know who this girl was—naked, breathless, obeying a man she'd met only days ago. But something about surrendering made her feel… free.
Victor reached for her hair and gently pulled her face closer to his thigh.
"Tonight," he said, voice thick, "you learn how I like to be worshipped."