She froze for a second. She tensed because the kiss wasn’t just cruel; it was intentional. My mind raced—each word she’d spoken before felt like a challenge, a threat to the fragile order I fought to maintain. I kissed her as if I could erase every trace of defiance, as if proving she belonged here, in my world. She needed to understand that her time in the biker world was over. Now, she was in my world, and I was the one who decided her fate. Her choices had consequences, and so did mine. I needed her to see that—needed to believe it myself, if only for a moment.
My hand shot out, gripping her wrist. Before she had time to react, I hurled her toward the bed, the force of my action sending a clear, unmistakable message.
She stood there, motionless—frightened, breathless, her wide eyes locked onto mine as she tried to process what had just happened.
“Rule number one,” I growled, tearing off my shirt as I advanced on her. “I’m in charge. Always. You do as I say—no questions, no complaints. You ignore me, and there will be consequences.”
She swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she echoed, “Consequences?” Her eyes were impossibly wide, a mix of fear and curiosity flickering behind them.
Grabbing her by the throat, I pulled her close, my breath mingling with hers as I replied, “As you are about to learn.”
Refusing to give an inch, I claimed her mouth once more, demanding she yield, and when she still stood rigidly, I growled, tightening my grip a fraction. Then, before she could even blink, I quickly sat on the bed and pulled her over my lap face down. Holding her firmly with my left arm, I didn’t say anything more as I raised my right hand and then deftly smacked her ass, hard.
Her gasp was sharp, a strangled sound that did little to quell the fire in my veins. My eyes, I knew, were hard, reflecting the same brutal intent that had driven me to this point. This was not about passion, not in the way she might understand it. This was about power, about etching a new, indelible truth into her very being. The sting of my hand against her flesh was a declaration, a raw, physical testament to my dominion, designed to shock her out of any lingering notions of defiance. Her body, initially rigid with fear, trembled under my firm hold.
I held her there, the rhythm of my breathing a harsh counterpoint to her shallow, ragged gasps. Her scent, the subtle perfume of her skin, was intoxicating, a reminder of the intimacy we shared—an intimacy I was now twisting into something else entirely. My gaze never left her face, searching for any flicker of understanding, any crack in the wall of her resistance. I wanted her to feel the undeniable reality of my control, to understand that her choices had led her to this moment, and that my response, while severe, was a direct consequence.
With a low growl, I shifted my grip, turning her to face me. Her eyes, wide and brimming with unshed tears, met mine, and in them, I saw a dawning comprehension, a fear mixed with a potent curiosity.
This was the precipice where obedience blossomed from terror.
I lowered my head, my lips brushing against her ear, my voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. “Rule number two,” I whispered, my words laced with menace. “You obey. Without hesitation.”
For a moment, the air between us seemed to vibrate with tension, each heartbeat thundering in my ears. I watched her carefully, looking for the smallest sign of surrender or rebellion, knowing that whatever happened next would determine the course of our fragile connection. Slowly, her shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and I recognized the first stirrings of submission.
My grip on her throat softened, my thumb gently tracing the curve of her cheek. I watched her, captivated by the way she unconsciously leaned into my touch, her breath momentarily caught in her throat. In that instant, she was stunning—every fierce line of her spirit subdued, her vulnerability laid bare. She was breathtaking. And more than that, she was completely, undeniably, mine.
Closing the distance between us, I brought my lips just a hair’s breadth from her throat. My command was clear, leaving no room for interpretation. “Stand up, bend over the bed, and spread your legs.”
A visible shiver coursed through her as she tensed, her gaze flying to meet mine. I read the turmoil in her eyes—a war between compliance and defiance. She was stubborn, willful, opinionated, and fiercely independent. Those traits had been forged and encouraged in the hard-edged biker world she came from. But in my world, those same qualities couldn’t survive.Here, there were rules, decorum, and a strict civility bordering on obsession. Actions mattered more than words, and her actions reflected on me.
I understood that what I asked of her went against everything she had been taught. The time for games was over. I needed her to be compliant, agreeable, and docile—no more running, no more resistance. She wanted to rebel, but I wouldn’t allow it. I was done letting her slip away, and the sooner she accepted that and surrendered, the sooner I could truly bring her into my life. One way or another, she would be by my side—even if it meant dragging her, kicking and screaming, every step of the way.
The life she had known, the life she wanted, was gone.
In this new world, she belonged to me.
She was mine.
My wife—and I had no intention of letting her go.
Her breath hitched, a silent plea lost in the charged atmosphere. Her eyes—those deep pools of defiance—flickered with a raw vulnerability I hadn’t seen before. The fight was still there, a spark in their depths, but it was being slowly, inexorably, eroded by a fear that ran deeper than any biker club code. She hesitated, a trembling tension in her limbs, her gaze darting from my face to the beckoning expanse of the bed. I saw the internal struggle; the gears grinding as her ingrained independence warred with a primal instinct for survival, for submission. The air thrummed, heavy with the unspoken question: Would she obey?
My thumb brushed against her lips, a silent promise of further discipline, further lessons. The anticipation crackled between us, a dangerous current. I waited, letting the weight of my ultimatum settle upon her. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the ragged rhythm of her breathing and the frantic pounding of my own heart. This was the critical juncture, the moment that would define her future, and mine. Then, witha barely perceptible nod, a surrender so small it was almost missed, she moved.
She slowly got off my lap and deliberately positioned herself over the bed, her legs parting slightly as she obeyed. A wave of possessive satisfaction washed over me, a dark triumph that settled deep in my gut. The resistance was broken, the first crack in her armor widening into a chasm. She was still mine, still under my control, and in this moment, that was all that mattered. My path ahead was clear, paved with the understanding that her freedom, her will, had been irrevocably surrendered to my dominion.
I stood, my gaze lingering on her trembling form, as a fierce possessiveness coiled tight within me. Her surrender—so quiet, so profound—resonated deep within my bones. This was not a fragile peace; it was a declaration. She was no longer the woman who dared to challenge me, but a creature of my design, sculpted by my will. The air thrummed with a potent silence, the unspoken acknowledgment of my absolute power over her. I reveled in it, this hard-won authority, knowing that the world she knew, the one that had shaped her defiance, had no hold here.
In this space, in my world, her only truth was me.
I moved then, closing the distance between us with predatory grace. My hand reached out, not to grasp, but to caress, tracing the delicate line of her spine, feeling the tremor that ran through her at my touch. It was a gesture of ownership, a silent promise of what was to come. Her breath hitched, a soft sound swallowed by the charged air, and I saw it in the way she averted her gaze, the subtle tremor of her lips—she understood.
The fight was over.
She belonged to me, body and soul, a prize claimed and secured.
I moved closer, the predatory gleam in my eyes a silent promise of what was to come. My voice when I spoke was a low, guttural rumble that echoed the dark satisfaction churning within me. “Rule number three,” I stated, my hand reaching out to cup her chin, tilting her face toward mine. Her eyes, still wide with a mixture of apprehension and a strange, compelling allure, met mine. “You will endure. Every touch, every command, every consequence. And you will do so with silent gratitude for the order I impose. For in this order, there is safety. There is belonging. And there is me.”
