Dominic couldn't sleep.
Even after Lyra had vanished into the shadows of her own chambers—leaving him shirtless, marked, and collared—his body still throbbed with the memory of her.
The leather of the collar clung to his neck like an oath. Not just a symbol of submission anymore… but of transformation. He was no longer the ruthless billionaire whose empire bowed beneath his feet. He was hers. Body, breath, and broken will.
And he loved it.
He paced the polished marble floor of his penthouse, each step echoing like the ghost of every command she'd ever whispered against his lips. In the mirror, his reflection wasn't the same. The man who once wore tailored suits like armor now stood trembling in silk pajama pants, eyes dilated with desire, his mouth parted like he was still waiting for her next instruction.
And he was.
A soft chime.
His phone lit up.
Unknown Number: Kneel when you read this. Then beg.
His knees hit the ground before he could think.
Dominic shuddered. The message had no name, no signature. But he knew. It was her. Lyra didn't need to remind him of her power—his body remembered for her.
He reached for the phone again, palms sweating.
Dominic: Please… I need you. I want to be beneath you. I want you to tell me what to do. Make me yours again.
Seconds passed.
Minutes.
His heart raced like a boy waiting to be chosen.
Then, the phone chimed again.
Lyra: You already are. But tonight… you'll prove it to them.
---
The door to his penthouse opened.
She didn't knock. She didn't need to.
Lyra strolled in like a queen entering her palace—hair in loose waves, dressed in black leather pants and a crimson corset laced so tightly it forced his breath to hitch. Behind her trailed three shadows—women. Tall. Silent. All dressed in similar dominatrix fashion.
Dominic rose instinctively, but Lyra raised a hand. "Down."
He sank back to his knees.
The women behind her circled him like panthers. One traced a gloved hand down his chest. Another tugged on the collar with a smirk. The third leaned in and whispered, "He's softer than I imagined."
Lyra smiled lazily. "He used to be a lion. Now look at him—my perfect, obedient lapdog."
Dominic moaned softly, eyes fluttering closed at the sting of humiliation mixed with unbearable arousal. He didn't know these women, and yet he wanted them to see. To witness what she'd made of him.
"Tonight," Lyra said, walking behind him, her stilettos clicking, "we'll push your limits. I want to see how far the mighty CEO can fall. And I want them to watch you fall."
He nodded.
"Words," she snapped.
"Yes, Mistress," he breathed. "Please. I want them to see everything."
Lyra's fingers slipped into his hair, yanked his head back. Her lips hovered over his ear.
"Then beg."
---
The next few hours were a blur of pain, pleasure, and submission deeper than Dominic ever thought possible.
The chains Lyra fastened to his wrists were cold and heavy. His arms were stretched over his head, bound to the bedpost. His legs were spread, tied to the opposite end.
He was completely exposed.
Completely hers.
The three women watched. They teased. They whispered, laughed, moaned as Lyra used him—body, mind, and soul. He was made to repeat her name, to thank her after every command, to plead for every inch of her touch.
Tears wet his cheeks—not of sorrow, but of overwhelming surrender.
He had money. Power. A legacy.
But none of it compared to this.
To the feeling of being claimed. Owned.
Loved… in the most twisted, freeing way imaginable.
---
When the sun rose, only Lyra remained beside him.
The other women were gone. The chains undone. Dominic lay in her lap like a chastened lover, breath shallow, skin flushed.
"You've done well," she murmured, running fingers through his hair.
He nuzzled into her thighs. "Did I please you, Mistress?"
Lyra didn't answer with words.
She leaned down and kissed him.
Softly.
A kiss that didn't command, didn't demand… just lingered.
It was the kind of kiss that made his heart break all over again.
"I don't know what you've done to me," he whispered, voice hoarse. "But I never want it to stop."
Lyra smiled, eyes gleaming with something more dangerous than seduction.
"Good," she said. "Because it won't."