“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m not leaving,” she said, not taking her gaze from the mirror.

It was practically an engraved invitation. If she was teasing him, she’d picked the wrong man to do it with.

“Come here.”

She crawled across the carpet to his feet as he unzipped his pants. “I think you know what I want.” Even as he said it, he berated himself for expecting she’d rush to please him with her mouth.

Leo let out a soft hiss and gripped the arms of the chair when her lips wrapped around him, her warm, wet mouth engulfing his stiff member. The way she gave a blow job was the way she did everything else. There was something tentative and sweet and almost innocent in the act as she sucked on his hardened flesh. It was clear she’d done this before and knew her way around a man’s anatomy, but she was still shy. It was the most deeply erotic thing he’d ever experienced. He became more convinced that, with patience, he could remake her. His fingers tangled in her hair as she pleasured him.

When he came, he didn’t allow her to pull away. He wasn’t going to scrub cum out of the carpet. If she was letting him use her mouth as a receptacle, she’d finish the job. His breathing deepened and then stopped for a moment as he came. She swallowed without fighting the degradation, and when he pulled out of her and tucked himself back into his pants, she remained on her knees with her gaze cast down at the ground, waiting, her breath coming out in short flutters.

He lifted her chin. Her eyes held a glazed expression that contained equal parts fear and longing, and a foolish sort of love that danced around the edges. He helped her to her feet and took her to the table he’d been strapped to a few weeks before with Esmeralda.

She panicked like a spooked deer and tried to pull out of his grip. Leo turned and sized her up, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. He’d never comprehend the level of fear she must feel when this wasn’t her kink. Especially after the gore she’d witnessed when he’d been on this same table. But it was time to jump in or run, and she’d refused the chance to run. He wouldn’t keep offering freedom, and he suspected if he did again, she’d begin to see it as a sort of threat that he’d throw her away. If she’d made this choice with such resolute certainty—adding the music on top of everything—then to continue to question her desire to obey him, no matter how great the fear, disrespected her and what she offered in spite of everything. Whether he deserved it or not.

“I understand you’re afraid, but you knew what was down here, and I gave you a chance at your freedom. Not staying in this house and watching while I take other women, but real freedom away from me. And you chose to stay. I won’t be vanilla for you. I can’t. It’s not who I am.”