"Good girl," he says, and the praise sends an unwelcome surge of pleasure through me. "Hands behind your back."
I hesitate, then comply, crossing my wrists at the small of my back. Roman moves behind me, and I feel cool silk wrapping around my wrists, binding them together with expert efficiency. Not tight enough to hurt, but secure enough that I can't easily free myself.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice small in the large room.
"Teaching you who you belong to," he says matter-of-factly. He moves to stand in front of me again, holding what I now recognize as a silk blindfold. "Since your eyes wandered to another man last night, I think it's appropriate to remove your sight for this lesson."
Before I can protest, he slips the blindfold over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. The loss of vision immediately heightens my other senses—the sound of his breathing, the scent of his cologne, the feel of the carpet beneath my knees.
"Roman," I begin, uncertain what I even want to say.
"Quiet," he commands softly. "No speaking unless I ask you a direct question. Nod if you understand."
I swallow hard, then nod.
"Good." His hand strokes my hair, a gentle reward that makes me instinctively lean into his touch. "If at any point you need to stop completely, say the word 'red.' If you need to pause but not stop entirely, say 'yellow.' Nod if you understand."
I nod again, surprised by this concession to my consent despite his dominance.
"Excellent. Now..." His voice takes on that dangerous softness that always makes my pulse race. "I'm going to teach you what happens when you test my limits, Delilah. When you allow another man's attention after I've made it clear you belong exclusively to me."
I hear him moving around the room, the soft sounds of preparations I can't see. The anticipation is almost unbearable, my imagination filling in the blanks with possibilities both frightening and thrilling.
His hand suddenly tangles in my hair, pulling my head back with controlled strength. "Who do you belong to, Delilah?" he asks, his mouth close to my ear.
"You," I whisper, the admission torn from me more easily than I'd like.
"I can't hear you," he says, his grip tightening slightly.
"You," I repeat, louder this time. "I belong to you, Roman."
"For how long?"
The question catches me off guard. "For... for the duration of our contract."
His laugh is soft and without humor. "Wrong answer."
Something smooth and cool touches my exposed throat—a piece of ice, I realize as it begins to melt against my heated skin. Roman trails it slowly down my neck, between my breasts, circling each nipple until they harden almost painfully. The contrast of the ice against my warm skin makes me gasp, my body arching involuntarily toward the sensation.
"Let's try again," Roman says, his voice controlled despite the tension I can feel radiating from him. "How long do you belong to me, Delilah?"
The ice continues its torturous path down my stomach, circling my navel before traveling lower. I squirm, anticipation building as it nears the apex of my thighs.
"The contract says thirty days," I manage, clinging to the last shreds of my resistance.
The ice stops its downward journey, retreating. "Still the wrong answer," Roman says, disappointment evident in his tone. "I think you need additional persuasion to accept the truth."
I hear the clink of glass, then feel his hand on my shoulder, guiding me. "Stand up," he instructs. When I comply, he leads me forward until my thighs hit the edge of the bed. "Bend over. Chest on the mattress, ass in the air."
The crude instruction makes me flush with embarrassment, but my body responds with shameful eagerness. With my hands still bound behind my back, I awkwardly position myself as commanded, the soft duvet cool against my heated skin.
"Beautiful," Roman murmurs, his hand stroking down my spine to cup the curve of my ass. "So perfect. So mine." His touch disappears for a moment, then returns with a sharp, stinging slap that makes me cry out in surprise.
"Count," he commands. "And after each one, tell me who you belong to."
Before I can process the instruction, another slap lands, harder than the first. "T-two," I stammer. "I belong to you."
"For how long?" Roman asks, his hand caressing the heated skin he just struck.
