She’s a storm wearing lip gloss and scraped knees, and the more I try to tame her, the more I realise I want her wild. Want her clawing at me. Want her ruined and biting and begging and still trying to run even when she knows it’s pointless.
I pace the room because if I don’t keep moving, I’ll go back there.
To her.
To that room that still smells like shame and sweat and everything I didn’t let her have.
I could watch the footage again on the monitors.
I could rewind to the moment she moaned so loud it broke something fundamental in me.
Or the part where her hand disobeyed her brain and reached for me anyway.
Or the end—when she collapsed onto the sheets like she wasn’t a person anymore. Just a pulse. Just a body. Just a thing I made and broke and withheld release from.
My cock’s still hard, has been for hours.
Still fucking angry with unmet need.
I wrap my hand around it through the fabric, not to stroke, not to soothe—just to feel the rage of it, the weight of control I haven’t yet unleashed. I squeeze until it hurts and press myforehead to the cool wall, jaw clenched tight enough to ache, because this isn’t about release for myself.
It’s about ownership of her and she doesn’t even know the full truth yet.
Not yet, not all of it.
Not the deal that put her in that room.
Not the reason I picked her specifically from all the others.
Not what I’m going to make her do for me, piece by piece, until she forgets what it felt like to be untouched by me.
She thinks I want sex from her.
She thinks I want obedience and submission.
What I want is deeper than that.
Worse than she can imagine.
I want her mind—splintered and shaped until it no longer remembers what life felt like before I carved myself into it, before I became the centre of her universe.
And if she’s going to be mine completely…
She needs to learn what it cost to get her here, what was paid.
Hook
She’s quiet in that room.
But it’s not the kind of quiet I crave, not the peaceful silence of surrender.
It’s the kind that sticks in your teeth like grit. The kind that slithers beneath floorboards and hums inside your skull until you hear it echoing in your sleep, until it becomes part of the architecture of your thoughts.
And I know she isn’t broken yet, not completely.
Not yet, not in the ways that matter most.
But something inside her cracked tonight.
