I'd been with women before. Plenty of them. Some vanilla, some who thought they wanted what I offered until they realized what it actually meant. But watching Angelina Castellano come apart in my hands? That was something else entirely.
She sat on the edge of my bathtub, still trembling slightly, her hair a mess around her shoulders, marks from the restraints fading on her wrists. She looked thoroughly fucked and absolutely beautiful, and something possessive coiled tight in my chest.
Mine.
The thought was dangerous. This was supposed to be one night. One transaction. I'd paid for her time, not her soul. But watching her surrender so completely, hearing her beg in that voice that went straight to my dick, feeling her clench around me when she finally came?—
I wanted more.
"In you go," I said, lifting her easily and lowering her into the warm water.
She sighed, her eyes closing as the heat surrounded her. "This is perfect."
"Good." I knelt beside the tub, reaching for the soap I'd had delivered this morning along with everything else. "Lean forward."
She obeyed without question, and I felt that same satisfaction I'd felt during lunch. She was learning to trust me, to follow my commands, to let me take care of her. I soaped up my hands and began washing her back with slow, deliberate strokes. Her skin was soft, still flushed from exertion, and I could see the faint red marks on her hips where I'd gripped her.
I'd left marks.
The territorial part of me fucking loved it.
"How do you feel?" I asked, working the soap across her shoulders.
"Floaty," she murmured. "Like I'm not quite in my body."
"That's normal. Endorphins." I rinsed her back, watching the water cascade down her spine. "It'll pass in a bit. You'll probably crash hard afterward."
"You really do know what you're doing."
I heard the surprise in her voice and smiled. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I..." She paused, and I watched color flood her cheeks. "Maybe. A little. You're twenty-eight."
"And you're thirty-eight." I moved the soap to her arms, working it into her skin with firm pressure. "Ten years' difference. I’m beginning to think it bothers you. Cause it for sure as hell doesn’t change a thing for me."
"It should," she admitted quietly. "But it doesn't. You're more... commanding than men twice your age."
"That's because they're playing at power." I guided her to lean back against the tub so I could wash her front. "I actually have it."
"Confidence looks good on you."
"It's not confidence if it's fact." I soaped up her breasts, watching her nipples harden under my touch despite the warm water. "I know what I'm doing, Angelina. I've been studying dominance and submission since I was twenty. Read every book, took courses, spent years learning how to read body language and manage scenes safely. Lived this life, too. Knowledge only takes you so far."
Her eyes opened, focusing on me with curiosity. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why put in that much effort? Most men just... do whatever and call it dominance."
I paused, my hands stilling on her skin. It was a fair question. And she deserved an honest answer.
"Because I need control," I said finally. "In my life, in my work, in my relationships. It's not just a kink for me—it's who I am. And if I'm going to ask someone to surrender to me, to trust me with their safety and their pleasure, then I need to be worthy of that trust."
She studied me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. "That's... surprisingly thoughtful."
"I'm a complicated man, full of layers." I resumed washing her, moving lower. "Ruthless in business. Patient in pleasure. Violent when necessary. Gentle when it matters."
"And which one are you being right now?"
