.
---
Ava didn't sleep.
She tried. God, she tried. But her bed felt too empty, her apartment too still. Her skin was still buzzing, her thighs sore in a way that didn't hurt but hummed with memory. And her mind—traitorous, wild—wouldn't stop looping the same scene: Damien's hands on her hips, his mouth between her thighs, the rasp of his voice when he made her say his name like she was made for it.
Three showers hadn't rinsed him off.
Neither did silence.
At 11:27 p.m., without text or prompt, she stood in front of the silver door again.
Her hand hovered near the entrance—not knocking, not retreating.
And still, the door opened.
As if it had been waiting.
---
He stood at the top of the stairs like something summoned.
Tonight, Damien wasn't masked. Not fully. A dark strip of leather covered only the top half of his face—leaving his jaw, his mouth, the clean-cut lines of his cheekbones visible under the low chandelier light.
He looked like a king descending from shadow. Not rushed. Not curious. Just ready.
"You broke Rule Four," he said, his tone calm. Controlled. But not kind.
Ava swallowed. "I know."
"No one returns without invitation."
"I didn't think I'd be invited again."
He reached the bottom step and tilted his head. The look on his face wasn't anger.
It was… calculation.
"You disobeyed," he said simply. "Which means tonight, you'll pay."
---
The room was colder than before.
No velvet drapes.
No candles.
Just mirrored walls and a single black chair bolted to the floor like it belonged there—like it ruled the space.
"Strip," Damien commanded.
Ava's heart skipped.
Not because she didn't want to.
Because he said it so casually. Like he already knew what she would do.
And God help her—he did.
She peeled off her jacket. Her blouse. Her skirt. Her panties slid down last, soft against her skin.
She was naked before him. Not just in body.
In choice.
In ache.
He stepped behind her.
Spoke near her ear.
"You disobeyed because you wanted to be seen. So now—watch yourself."
He turned her toward the mirror and nudged her closer.
Ava's eyes locked onto her reflection—lips parted, nipples peaked, skin flushed.
"Touch yourself," he said. "That's your punishment."
A breath caught in her throat.
He didn't touch her.
He wouldn't.
Not tonight.
"You want control?" he murmured. "Then control yourself. But you'll do it where I can see every lie you tell your body."
Her fingers trembled as they moved to her breast. Circled. Pinched.
She gasped—soft, unsure.
Damien didn't flinch.
"Lower," he said.
She obeyed.
Slid two fingers between her thighs.
The mirror fogged with her breath.
The shame twisted with arousal in a way that made her dizzy.
"Say my name," he whispered.
She tried to hold it back.
Tried to keep something for herself.
But when her body broke—hips jerking, thighs quivering—his name burst from her lips like a prayer:
"Damien…"
---
Afterward, he didn't touch her.
He just sat. Legs crossed. Eyes watching.
Ava stood, naked and trembling, unsure if she'd pleased him or failed.
Then he rose.
Crossed to her.
Grabbed her chin gently.
"Don't mistake silence for mercy," he said. "I don't forgive. I mark."
He leaned in—kissed her, suddenly.
It wasn't soft.
It was deep. Hot. Claiming.
She melted into it, clinging to his shirt, losing herself in the heat of his mouth, the taste of him.
When he pulled back, she almost collapsed.
But he caught her.
Spun her toward the mirror again.
Bent her forward.
And pressed one hand between her shoulders.
"You wanted to be seen," he whispered. "Let me show you what it looks like when I take what's already mine."
---
He didn't undress.
Just unzipped.
And entered her from behind—slowly, deeply, stretching her in a way that made her eyes slam shut.
"No," he growled. "Open your eyes. Watch."
Ava obeyed.
Watched her own reflection.
Watched herself moan.
Watched the way her mouth opened when he thrust, the flush of her skin, the roll of her hips as her body betrayed every false idea she had about not needing him.
She was his.
And the mirror made sure she knew it.
Every time she gasped, he pushed deeper.
Every time her breath stuttered, he whispered filth in her ear.
"I told you not to come back."
"Now you'll come for me."
And she did.
Hard. Violent. Beautiful.
Then again.
And again.
Until her body was boneless and shaking.
And Damien—still fully dressed—kissed her neck and whispered, "Good girl."
---
He didn't stay the night.
Didn't tuck her in.
Didn't tell her she did well.
He just handed her a silk robe.
A drink.
And a glass envelope.
Inside: a silver key with the number 23 etched into the handle.
She looked up.
"What's this?"
His eyes burned through her.
"Your next lesson."
---
She woke the next morning in her bed.
No memory of the drive home.
Just the key on her pillow.
And her body still thrumming like a storm had passed through it.
When she opened her phone, a message blinked on the screen.
> Tonight. Room 23.
No commands. Only revelations.
—D.W.
Ava stared at the screen.
Then at the mirror across the room.
The same mirror that now felt like something else entirely.
Not reflection.
Invitation.
---
[To Be Continued in Episode 3: Room 23 – The Revelation Begins]
---