Page 84 of Bad Girl Dilemma

I clutch the silk, breathless. The symbolism wrecks me more than any flogger.

“Safe word?” he prompts.

“Killshot.”

“Color?”

“Emerald.” The strongest green there is.

“Then listen carefully.” He straightens, voice sliding into command. “Tonight you’ll hold my gaze while I have your heart, and you’ll come when I grant it—so hard you’ll forget how fear tastes.”

Heat spirals low and vicious. “Yes, Sir.”

His answering groan is reverent. He leads me out of the living room. Back to our bed. “Up on the bed, wrists to the headboard. I want you open so I can write devotion in sweat.”

The mattress dips under his weight; leather buckles secure me in place, not unkind but unbreakable. He strips, every exposed inch surrendered to the slow roll of muscle and intent. Moonlight paints his torso in silver, the ink on his ribs a map of battles won and wounds endured.

He kneels between my spread thighs, eyes locked on mine. “Breathe,” he reminds, and I realize I haven’t.

Air rushes in—followed by his mouth on my inner knee, the inside of my thigh, higher, higher.

He pauses at my needy pussy, hot breath teasing slick heat.

“I promised complete surrender,” he murmurs. “You’ve earned it.”

His tongue flicks. My spine bows. “Sir?—”

“Eyes on me,” he orders. “Show me forever.”

Every flick, every press, every slow thrust of fingers is a syllable in a love letter only we can read. Pleasure climbs, coils, threatens, and tears sting my eyes.

He holds my gaze, an anchor in a storm.

“Let go,” he says—a decree and an absolution.

I shatter—loud, violent, free. He doesn’t look away, even as my cries break the ceiling open. Only when the tremors ease does he surge up, kissing the tears from my cheeks.

He frees my wrists, but I stay clinging.

We breathe each other in, and he fills me, slow and steady. And when he bottoms out, his cock rooted deep, deeper than he’s ever been, my Dom doesn’t move.

I love you.On a loop. That’s all I need. All we need.

We shatter again, our firewalls decimated, leaving us weak and bare and bliss-drenched.

“Dante?” I whisper, trembling laughter threading the ruin.

“Yes, little thief?”

“Thank you for finding me.”

His smile is soft power, wrapped in steely intent. “You were never lost—just waiting to be stolen correctly.”

We curl into each other, sweat cooling, hearts syncing.

Outside, the war still waits.

But inside this orbit, we’ve already won.

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