I grinned at the windshield. “You have no idea.”
“Well,” she said, still giggling, “I hope whatever’s waiting for you at her house teaches you some act right.”
“I’m definitely about to learn something,” I said, trying to sound casual but smiling too hard.
“Mm-hmm. That tone says it all. Take your punishment like a big girl, and call me when you survive.”
“Goodbye, Lena.”
Her laugh filled the car as I ended the call, still smiling. The closer I got to Calla’s street, the faster my heart beat, not from fear, but from whatever this wild, new mix of love and adrenaline was.
The city looked softer from Calla’s penthouse, even through the floor-to-ceiling glass.
It was one of those late evenings where the city vibrated quietly below, lights flickering like a pulse. The doorman greeted me like he’d been expecting me, which, honestly, he had been. Calla ran a tight ship; everyone around her seemed to move at her command.
Neither James nor she had beaten me here because they were still sitting with Caleb and Calil when I scurried out the door.
So I enjoyed the silence inside, though it felt enormous as I slipped off my shoes, padded through the apartment, and let the quiet settle into my bones. My thoughts wouldn’t stop replaying the restaurant scene, Jason’s face, Calla’s voice, the stunned look from everyone watching. I wasn’t ashamed of standing up for myself, but I was embarrassed for not telling her sooner. She’d earned better than that, they both had.
I took a long shower to shake the day off me, the hot water loosening everything that had been locked tight since Comic Con. When I stepped out, the steam clung to my skin, curling around me like a fog. Rubbing my plush body down in whipped body butter that smelled of pear, vanilla, and subtle hints of lavender, courtesy of my woman.
In the mirror, I didn’t look afraid; I looked steady.
Ready.
I was completely nude, my body shimmering as I headed to the living room, where the lights were low and the air smelled faintly of sandalwood. My heart was beating fast, not from fear but from the weight of what I owed: the conversation, the apology, the truth.
When I reached the front door, I eased to my knees, folding my hands loosely in my lap, and bowing my head. It wasn’t about submission in the physical sense. It was about trust. It was about showing that I understood the gravity of what I’d done, and that I was open, no excuses, no hiding.
The sound of the elevator arriving broke the stillness.
Keys jingled. Footsteps.
I stayed exactly where I was, breathing in a slow, even rhythm.
The door opened, and the hush of the apartment filled with quiet surprise.
Neither of them spoke right away.
Then Calla’s voice came, low and careful. “Amiyah?”
I lifted my gaze just enough to meet hers. “I’m here,” I said softly. “And I’m sorry.”
Her eyes softened, filled with curiosity, warmth, maybe even a little awe. James was behind her, silent but steady, his expression unreadable.
Whatever came next, I knew one thing for sure: I was done running from the people who loved me enough to hold me accountable.
There I knelt, naked and vulnerable, my knees pressing into the cool hardwood floor of Calla’s penthouse. The anticipation of what was to come sent a shiver down my spine, my body already aching with need. I had followed her instructions to the letter, her hums of approval a sensual reminder of the pleasure that awaited me.
I could feel their presence as their eyes roamed over my bare body. The air was thick with tension, a mix of excitement and expectation that made my heart race.
“Look at you,” Calla’s voice purred, a note of approval in her tone. “So beautiful, so obedient. Such a good girl, Princess.”
Her words sent a wave of heat coursing through my body, settling in the depths of my core. I felt a flush spread across my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and pride.
“Stand up,” she commanded, her voice firm yet gentle. “And bend over the couch. It’s time for your punishment.”
I rose to my feet, my legs trembling slightly with anticipation. I walked to the couch, my hips swaying with a deliberate slowness, aware of their gazes on my body. I bent over the arm of the couch, my hands gripping the cushion, my ass exposed and vulnerable.
