"I did it," I sob. "I actually told him."
"I'm so proud of you," he murmurs. "Tell me what happened."
I recount the entire conversation, from Victorio's shock to his emotional reaction to our plans for the future. Santiago listens without judgment, occasionally asking questions but mostly just holding me, and more importantly, listening to me.
"How do you feel?" he asks when I finish.
"Empty. Full. Terrified. Relieved. Like everything has changed and nothing has changed all at once."
"That sounds about right," he says, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes. "You were incredibly brave today."
"I couldn't have done it without you. Without knowing I had someone to come home to who sees me as strong instead of broken."
"You are strong. The strongest woman I know."
He kisses me then, soft and sweet and reassuring. But when I deepen it, pressing closer to him, the kiss changes. Becomes hungrier, more desperate.
"I need you," I whisper against his lips. "I need to feel grounded. Need to feel yours."
His eyes darken at my words. "Strip," he commands, his voice taking on that dominant edge that makes me shiver.
I pull back and begin undressing slowly, my hands shaking slightly from the weight of the day. Santiago watches every movement, his gaze burning over my skin as it's revealed.
When I'm completely naked, he stands and walks around me slowly, like a predator circling his prey.
"Beautiful," he says, stopping behind me. His hands settle on my waist, pulling me back against his clothed body. "Especially like this. Vulnerable. Open. Trusting me with everything you are."
"Yes, Sir," I breathe.
"Today you faced your past. Tonight, I'm going to remind you of your future. Of who you belong to."
He walks me to the bedroom, his hands guiding me but not hurrying. When we reach the bed, he turns me to face him.
"On your knees," he orders.
I sink down gracefully, my hands automatically going behind my back. The position feels natural now, right.
"Such a good girl, knowing exactly how I want you." He begins undressing slowly, and I watch hungrily as inch after inch of his tattooed skin is revealed. "Do you know how proud I am of you? How watching you stand up for yourself makes me want to claim you all over again?"
"Show me," I say boldly.
His smile is predatory. "I intend to."
When he's fully naked, he moves to the dresser and retrieves a few items. Rope, which I expected, but also something I haven't seen before—a black leather collar with silver hardware.
My breath catches. "Santiago..."
"This," he says, holding up the collar, "is for when you're ready to make our arrangement permanent. To let everyone know exactly who you belong to."
My pulse races. A collar is serious in the BDSM world. It's symbolic of complete trust, of permanent submission.
"I want it," I whisper.
"You want what?"
"I want to wear your collar, Sir. I want everyone to know I'm yours."
His eyes flame with possessiveness and pride. "Then you'll earn it tonight. You'll show me how completely you can surrender to me."
