Oliver’s smile turns dark and sensual as he keys in the code. “By morning, you’ll say it without resistance.”

18

I don’t know what I expected. A dungeon like the one buried beneath this tower, all darkness and chains, designed to strike fear into the bones of any man? Or maybe something similar to Vance’s decadent suite, where every piece of furniture teetered between practical and perverse?

Oliver’s sanctum radiates control, terrifying in purpose and opulent in design. A lavish playground for his varied…tastes.

“Surprised?” he asks, the heat of his presence pulling at me like gravity. His hands settle on my shoulders, and I catch myself leaning into him, spine brushing solid muscle.

“Not exactly surprised, but it’s not what I pictured either.”

Golden light spills across the room, each piece of equipment casting a shadowy signature on the floor. Swings, benches, and metal frames sit with purpose. At the center stands a massive four-poster bed draped in black silk, its thick posts notched and reinforced for bondage.

One wall showcases rope in bundles of every hue—deep crimson, obsidian black, earthy brown, ivory white, and all the colors between.

It’s a visual symphony of control.

“No dungeons here,” he says, fingers gliding down my arm. “But plenty of ways to bend you to my will.”

An inner alarm stirs as I take in the suspended cage in the corner. “What’s that for?”

“Bratty behavior.” One hand closes loosely around my throat, guiding my gaze to a wall of whips and canes as his other reaches for something out of sight. “Though I prefer to start with a bare ass.”

Before I can register what’s happening, cool metal grazes my shoulder, and I flinch as scissors shear through one of my lingerie straps.

“Wait!” I try jerking away, but his grip steadies me as the blades skim across my chest. The second strap gives way with a soft snap, and the fabric pools at my feet. Instinctively, I cover my breasts and press my thighs together.

He saunters into my line of sight, expression stern. “You gave up the right to modesty when you said sir. Now show me the fruits of your spa day. Or would you rather find out what I can do with a whip?”

“You said no pain without pleasure.”

A diabolical grin plays at his mouth. “A whip in the hand of a skilled master can be extremely pleasurable.”

My chest rises in protest. “For who? You?”

“Do you need a demonstration?” He lifts his chin, staring me down as if he’s counting the strikes it’ll take to prove him right.

“No.” I lower my arms, vulnerability prickling at my nape. I asked for this, but now that he’s stripped me naked, with no way to undo the choice I made in a weak moment of desire, I’m not sure I’m ready for the consequences.