Chapter 07
Sofia Bliss
Letícia grabbed my arm discreetly.
"Are you sure about this?"
I looked her straight in the eye.
Inside, my stomach was burning with nerves.
But on the outside… I wasn’t the same Sofia anymore.
"Give me the bag," I said.
She hesitated, her eyes silently begging me to change my mind.
But then, she gave in.
She handed me the black bag with the metal zipper.
Inside were the tools I never imagined using outside the pages of my guilty-pleasure novels.
But tonight was different.
I wasn’t just Sofia anymore.
My heels echoed sharply against the wooden floor.
Every step I took, I could feel his eyes on me.
That man.
That damned man who looked more like a wall of ice than a person.
He didn’t look away.
He devoured me with his eyes.
But not in a filthy, lustful way.
It was predatory.
Visceral.
Like a beast sizing up its prey.
Was I really about to make him crawl for me?
I stopped in front of him.
Arms crossed. Chin high.
"Are you just gonna sit there all night like a good little house dog?"
His brow arched—slowly. Like he hadn’t expected that.
His expression shifted from boredom to something between irritation and disbelief.
He opened his mouth to respond—
—but I moved first.
I grabbed his tie, yanking it hard until the knot was snug against his throat.
He leaned forward from the pull, his chest nearly brushing mine.
The cold, calculating mask on his face cracked.
"I asked you a question. Are you deaf?"
He growled. Low. Deep.
I felt it vibrate in the air between us.
But I didn’t flinch.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" he started, voice thick, rough—
My left hand moved up fast, gripping his jaw, fingers pressing over his lips.
"I didn’t give you permission to speak."
His eyes widened.
He froze.
"One more word without my order," I whispered against his skin, "and I’ll make you regret every second you sat in that chair."
My heart thundered in my chest. I was sure he could hear it.
But outside?
I was pure, calculated calm.
Yes.
I was in complete control.
I tugged on his tie again.
He didn’t resist.
Didn’t move.
He just followed.
Like he couldn’t believe what the hell was happening.
Across the room, his friends were howling with laughter.
Watching like they’d just tossed a lion into a cage and were waiting for the fire to start.
But 'him'?
He just kept staring.
He looked pissed… but curious.
Intrigued.
We climbed the stairs. I led him down the hallway to one of the private rooms.
When I pushed the door open, I saw the space divided by thick curtains, dimly lit and drenched in shadows.
I pulled one curtain aside with one hand—
—and shoved him inside with the other. Hard.
"Inside. Now."
He took two steps in and stopped.
The lighting was low, but enough to reveal the room’s atmosphere—
Comfortable.
Dangerous.
A padded chair in the center.
Pillows scattered across the floor.
Sofas against the walls.
Everything in deep wine red and black.
He looked around like he’d just walked into some twisted play.
Absurd. Surreal.
And I stepped in behind him, letting the curtain fall shut with a sharp snap.
The world outside disappeared.
In here, there was only us.
And the tension crackling between us like a live wire.
He exhaled slowly—like a man clinging to the last shred of his patience.
"Look..." he started, voice low and gravelly, like it could scrape skin raw. "This is just a joke, right? A stupid bet. You don’t have to take it so seriously."
I smiled.
A humorless smile. Cold. Precise.
"You’re talking too much again."
I took two steps toward him.
Slow. Deliberate.
I held his gaze like I had all the time in the world.
Then I grabbed a fistful of his hair. Hard.
Yanked his head back until our faces were inches apart.
He was tall—yes.
But I was in heels.
And on my toes, I was almost eye-level.
"I told you, you don’t have permission to speak. Did I not?"
My eyes stayed locked on his.
My expression didn’t waver.
Stern. Sharp. Almost angry.
He stared back at me, jaw clenched.
But he didn’t fight it.
Not really.
Still… he tried.
"You have no idea who you're dealing with—"
That’s all he managed before I shoved his shoulder.
Hard.
Enough to throw him off balance and drop him to his knees on the dark carpet.
The sound was dull.
The impact, immediate.
He stayed there—kneeling, stunned.
Eyes wide.
I stepped closer, arms crossed over my chest like a queen surveying her subject.
"Shut up."
"I don’t give a damn if this started as some idiotic bet or if you think it’s some fucked-up joke."
"I got paid."
"And you agreed."
"So now you’re going to stay exactly where I tell you to. Do exactly what I say."
"Whether you like it or not."
He looked up at me, disbelief painted across his face.
Like no one—ever—had dared speak to him like that.
Like he didn’t know whether to be offended...
Or aroused.
But he didn’t say a word.
He just stayed there.
On his knees.
Silent.
Staring at me.
Broad shoulders tight beneath that expensive, tailored suit.
Fists clenched against his thighs.
And his eyes…
Locked on me.
From below.
That’s when I felt it.
The power.
Not just the control I had over him—
But what that control 'did' to me.
My voice came out low. Steady.
Laced with something unfamiliar, something primal.
Dominance.
"Just like that."
"Exactly like that."
"This is 'how' I like it."
I turned slowly.
Walked to my purse.
Opened it with a deliberate grace.
Every zipper, every move…
like I was unlocking a chest of dark, delicious secrets.
And there it was.
The collar.
Dark leather.
Metal buckle.
Simple. Direct. Undeniable.
I wrapped it slowly around my index finger, spinning it like it was already part of me.
He frowned.
“No.
I’m not wearing that.”
His voice was low but laced with disgust. Defiance.
As if just saying no would be enough to stop me.
But he still didn’t understand.
I was the one in control here.
I walked toward him. Slowly.
Eyes locked.
His gaze… tried to resist.
Tried.
I stopped in front of him.
Lifted my foot.
Placed the heel on his shoulder, pressing lightly.
“If you open that mouth again without my permission…”
“I’ll make you swallow this heel.”
“With or without lube.”
He froze.
The tension spiked—thick, electric.
His eyes trailed from my feet to my exposed thighs.
And for just one second…
I saw it.
He looked away.
Not to avoid me.
But to look closer.
His eyes traced the curve of my leg, sliding up the side of my thigh, stopping right at the space between my legs—where the dress clung like a second skin.
And then it happened.
His cheeks flushed.
Subtle. Quick.
But I caught it.
He blushed. From shame.
From how much he was already giving in to the game he’d pretended to despise.
I smiled—slow, poisonous.
I leaned down, my heel still resting on his shoulder, bringing my face close to his.
“Getting all red, puppy?”
“How adorable.”
“I didn’t know men like you could blush.”
His jaw tightened. He looked away again.
But he didn’t say a word.
I dangled the collar in front of him, the leather swaying lazily between my fingers.
“Put it on.”
“Or I’ll do it for you.”
“But fair warning… it won’t be gentle.”