The air between us went razor-sharp. James' smirk deepened, slow and wicked, as he slid his hand away and stood.
He offered me his hand like a gentleman. But his eyes told the truth: whatever waited behind that door wasn’t going to be gentle.
I hesitated, trembling, then slipped my hand into his.
Andtogether, we followed.
The staff led us through the club, down a dimly lit hallway.. The deeper we went, the more the music and voices dulled, giving way to the hum of anticipation thick in the air. My pulse hammered in my throat. James' hand gripped mine steady, but his jaw was clenched, his eyes locked straight ahead.
I had no idea where we were going.
Until a heavy black door was opened and we were gestured inside.
The room was dark, the mood for seduction set, illuminated only by candles set into sconces along the walls. Shadows danced across the furniture—leather benches, padded crosses, racks lined with floggers, paddles, ropes. Toys gleamed on glass tables, steel cuffs and plugs, a collection of implements that screamed both decadence and danger.
And in the center of it all, with her back to us, stood The Black Dahlia.
Her leather coat hung heavy at her shoulders, the glow of her metal-heeled boots catching the light. She didn’t move when the door shut, didn’t acknowledge us at first. But when her voice came, it was smooth, sharp, final.
“James.”
He inhaled once, slow, like a man coming home.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“You know the routine.”
Without hesitation, he unbuttoned his shirt, stripped it off, and let it fall to the floor. His chains clinked against each other as he toed off his shoes, unfastened his slacks, and stepped out ofthem until he was bare. Then he sank to his knees, head lowered, hands resting open on his powerful thighs, like he’d done this a thousand times before.
My stomach flipped, my breath caught, and my body nearly buckled under the heat that swept through me, because James, the man I’d only ever seen commanding rooms, dominating meetings, running projects with absolute control, was on his knees in complete submission.
The sight nearly pulled an orgasm from my body right there. My pussy clenched, wetness slick between my thighs, the power of it overwhelming.
“Come to me.”
The Black Dahlia’s command sliced through the room, smooth as silk but unyielding as steel.
My knees wobbled. My mind screamed for me to move, to breathe, but my body froze in place, stunned, overstimulated, aroused to the point of pain.
“Amiyah.” Her tone gentled, just slightly. “Now, Gorgeous.”
I forced my legs to obey, every step trembling until I stood before her.
She turned slowly, the leather mask cutting across her cheekbones, crimson mouth curved in control. Then she slid one glove off, finger by finger, until her bare hand was revealed.
Her touch was a shock of warmth as she ran her fingertips down my face, lingering at my jaw before trailing to the soft curve of my neck.
“This,” she said, her voice softer now, lower, “is a safe space to submit, and I need you to know that you will always be safe with me. I will hold you as surely as I’ll put you on the ground,and if the ground is not where you feel safe, you can submit in other ways. Submission is never just about you giving while I take, it’s about trusting that I’ll always care for you mentally, emotionally, and physically.”
Her words struck deep, tearing through the haze of lust with something steadier, something grounding. Safety. Care. Awareness.
Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, not from fear, but from the sheer intimacy of it. She wasn’t just power; she was my sanctuary, and that turned me on more than anything had in my life.
I choked on a breath, my voice breaking. “Please. Please let me kneel for you. Let me show you that I want to give you everything, Mistress, please.”
The Black Dahlia’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile.
“Then kneel, Princess,” she spoke, her voice filled with seduction as she began to strip me of every piece of clothing restricting her view of me.
