A small, unsteady sound slipped from her, muffled against my mouth. I retreated only enough to hear the words leaving her lips.
“Please…” she rasped. “Don’t stop.”
That was when I pulled back.
Not because she’d won. Because I had.
Her breathing was uneven when I looked at her again, her lips parted, flushed, her eyes unfocused in a way that told me she hadn’t expected it to feel like that, hadn’t expected her body to react before she could stop it.
I took a moment to look at her properly, letting it settle.
“That kiss,” I said quietly, my voice steady again, “is your punishment for running away.”
Her hand came up to her mouth, fingers brushing over her lips like she could erase the feeling of it, like she could undo what just happened.
“Now,” I continued, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You have to live with yourself, knowing you wanted it just as much as I did.”
“You don’t get to punish me… like that,” she rasped.
“Would you rather I spank you?” I suggested, and she took a step back, shaking her head, body trembling. Her composure cracked slightly, the control she’d been holding onto slipping at the edges.
“I gave you a choice this time,” I continued, watching her closely. “Now that we both know the truth, there won’t be any more running from it.”
Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her voice shaking despite the effort to steady it. “And I don’t get to decide when you touch me?”
“Not anymore.”
The word settled between us, final. I let the silence stretch again, long enough for it to sink in, for her to understand exactly what she was up against.
“You’re going to remember this kiss, and how it made you feel,,” I said. “The next time you think about running.”
She didn’t answer. But I could see it in her eyes. I’d won the first battle.
“There’s something else,” I added, reaching into the pocket of my slacks. “This.”
I presented her with a small red box, and her eyes widened when it opened. An intricate engagement ring with a large ruby set in a teardrop shape, surrounded by diamonds.
Shakily, she extended a hand. That was permission enough for me to slide the ring on her finger. I didn’t get on my knee, nor did I ask for her hand. We both knew the wedding was inevitable.
“Now,” I said softly. “No one will mistake you for anything but my property.”
Her hand snapped back, but it was too late to deny what she’d just given me. The fact that she refused to meet my eyes was the proof I needed.
“Sleep well, Chiara,” I muttered. “Soon, you’ll come to sleep in my bed. Don’t disappoint me again.”
Thenextmorning,Imade arrangements for a doctor to come to the penthouse.
Chiara realized something was wrong the moment I walked into her bedroom. I saw it in the way she slowed, the instinctive hesitation that caught in her step before she could mask it, her gaze moving from me to the unfamiliar man standing a fewfeet behind me. He looked out of place here. Too clean and too clinical, his presence cut through the controlled luxury of the penthouse.
“Who is this?” she asked, suspicion already threading through her voice.
I didn’t answer. I watched her instead, taking in the tension building in her shoulders, the way her body was already bracing for a fight she didn’t fully understand yet.
“A precaution,” I said finally.
Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of precaution?”
The doctor shifted slightly beside me, clearly uncomfortable, but I ignored him. “Medical.”
