Chapter 45: I want this..

Duke opened the door to the playroom, stepping inside without a word. Angel followed, the click of the door behind her like a lock sliding into place. The room was cool, quiet, humming with intention.

He didn’t need to explain anything. This space didn’t allow for doubt. His voice cut through the silence.

“Strip.”

Angel obeyed instantly, fingers moving to the buttons of her shirt with the fluid ease of someone who knew what was expected—and craved it. She peeled each layer off slowly, deliberately, knowing he was watching. Not passively. Not hungrily. But with ownership.

By the time she stood bare before him, he hadn’t taken a single step. He simply stood at the center of the room, his gaze locked on her with calm intensity.

He lifted a hand and pointed to the floor at his feet. “Kneel.”

She crossed the space without hesitation and sank down in front of him, hands resting on her thighs, back straight, head bowed.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice smooth as dark whiskey. “Tonight’s for you, Angel. We go as far as you let me.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, breath steady.

He circled her slowly, like a storm rolling in—contained, but impossible to ignore.

“I know you love pain,” he said, stopping behind her. “You need it. But you’ll never get it from me the way he gave it. You’ll take it on my terms. Controlled. Intentional. Understood?”

She lifted her chin, her eyes shining up at him. “Yes, sir.”

He moved to the wall—impact implements lined up like tools in a temple. He glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Choose.”

She rose silently, crossed the room. Her fingers ghosted over braided leather, wood, and suede before settling on the oiled flogger—black, heavy, worn from use—and the sleek, black riding crop beside it.

“These, sir.”

He nodded once. “Cross or bench?”

“The Cross, sir.”

His smile was small but approving. “Of course you would.”

She returned to the center of the room as he stepped toward the St. Andrew’s Cross, testing the tension in the cuffs, checking every strap.

“We’ll use the traffic light system tonight. Yellow means pause. Red means stop immediately. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Come here, Angel.”

She moved to him, offering her wrists without a word. He secured her in place with smooth precision—first the wrists, then the ankles—until she stood bound, back arched slightly, chest rising and falling with growing anticipation.

And then he stepped back, just far enough to look.

To take her all in.

The stark red that already painted her ass. The leather cuffs were snug around her wrists and ankles, securing her to the St. Andrew’s cross. Her breath came in measured beats, her body already humming with anticipation. She had given herself over completely, and the knowledge of that sent a shiver through her—part fear, part exhilaration.

Duke stood behind her, silent for a moment, the only sound to be heard was his deep, measured breathing. He stood so far away that Kai, letting the tension build. Then, she felt the faintest brush of skin against her wrist—so soft it was almost a whisper. Duke’s fingertips traced a slow, deliberate path down her arm, gliding over her shoulder and skimming the curve of her breast. He followed the line of her body, a feather light touch along her hip, the swell of her backside, and down the back of her leg, lingering at her ankle. Pulling back he waited for a few moments before repeating the same path down the right side of her body. He wanted her to feel the waiting, to sink into it and let go.

“I think you’ve been avoiding submitting to me for weeks,” Duke growled somewhere to her right, she couldn’t see him. Then, a slow drag of leather over her skin from her shoulder to hip. Suddenly he was pressing his chest against the skin of her back. Kai let out ghost of a gasp to finally have contact with him, and the dull ache in her cheeks as he pressed himself against her. His next words were a whisper in her ear but she heard perfectly well, “Why did you finally say yes?”

“I just…” kai had to stopped with a sharp intake of breathe as his hand come up her left side again running up and down the scar that she now bore. She didn’t think she would ever fully get over it being ugly, “You see me not the scar to be pitied and I.. I trust you not to hurt me.”

“Not hurt you,” he murmured out yet there was humor in his voice. Suddenly he reached between her body and the cross, gripping her breasts tightly, pinching her nipples between two of his fingers drawing out a loud gasp from her, “What if I want to hurt you like this?” he pinched just a bit harder making her arch her back and pushing her breasts into his hands more.

“That’s not what i meant,” she whimpered as he pulled his hands away and stepped back from her body, “I want this.” He was back just as fast his hand gripping her throat, enough to make her inhale sharply but not enough to cut off her breathing.

“Want this what?”

“I want this sir,” her voice was barely a whisper and he squeezed his hand just a little tighter before letting go, trailing his hand over her shoulder and down her back before disappearing.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending warmth curling through her belly.