Page 28 of Bad Girl Dilemma

He helps me to my feet, guiding me to stand before him. His eyes roam over my body, taking in every curve, every detail. He circles me once, his fingers brushing over the broad jeweled base of the plug. I clench around it and God, it’s… terrifyingly incredible.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

I look up at him, meeting his gaze. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He leans in, his lips brushing against mine in a tender kiss. It’s soft, exploratory, a stark contrast to the intensity of our previous encounters.

As the kiss deepens, I feel a warmth spread through me, a connection forming that’s more than just physical.

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against mine. “Remember, if at any point you want to stop, use your safe word,” he reminds me.

“I remember,” I reply, appreciating his constant emphasis on consent.  He leads me to the bed, positioning me on my back. His hands explore my body, tracing patterns that ignite every nerve ending. The plug adds a new layer of sensation, intensifying every touch.

He teases me, bringing me to the brink of release before pulling back, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

“Please,” I beg in a voice laced with desperation.

“Not yet,” he replies, his tone teasing.

He continues this dance, pushing me to the edge repeatedly, each time leaving me more desperate than before.

Finally, he leans in, his mouth inches from my core. His tongue flicks out, delivering a single, tantalizing lick.

I gasp and arch towards him, seeking more but he pulls back, his breath ragged. His hands grip the edge of the mattress, shoulders tense.

“You’re testing my control.” His voice is ragged and strained.

I reach out, placing a hand on his cheek. “Then let go,” I whisper.

He hesitates, the internal battle evident in his eyes. But after a moment, he leans in, capturing my lips in a passionate kiss.

His tongue flicks once. Just once.

I nearly come undone.

But he pulls away again, breath once again ragged. And in that split second, I see the deeper crack.

He’s unraveling too.

His jaw is tight with restraint, like he’s one more moan away from doing exactly what he swore he wouldn’t: burying himself inside me and losing control.

He doesn’t. He leaves me wrecked and desperate.

Again.

But every night, he stays longer.

And every time he leaves, he looks back like he’s not sure if walking away is strength… or useless denial.

Dante’s controlhas been absolute since the moment I woke up in his world.

His rules, his voice, his collar. Every lesson was a calculated domination. And for a while, I let it happen. Not because I was broken. But because I waslearning.

Mapping him the same way I map firewalls—slowly, carefully, until I find the crack.

Today, I find it.

We’re in the training room, blueprints and security layers projected across the wall, Dante pacing behind me like a dark predator. His instructions are crisp. Authoritative and clinical. But I’m no longer distracted by his voice or the heat of his gaze.

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