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🖤 Part I – After the Crawl
She reached the end of the table, crawling, cheeks flushed, breath shaky.
> "Good girl," Aiden murmured, running a hand through her hair like she was a pet—not a woman who once had pride.
Zara looked up at him, chest heaving.
> "Take it out," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
> "The toy," he whispered. "Take it out. Right here. Right now."
Her face burned with shame… and arousal.
He didn't look away. Didn't blink.
> "You wanted to be treated like mine," he said. "So act like it."
She reached beneath her dress.
Fingers trembling.
Body slick with heat and embarrassment.
Her gasp was soft when she found it — still pulsing faintly, coated in her own arousal.
Slowly, she pulled it out.
Wet.
Sticky.
Aiden's eyes never left hers.
> "Now…"
He held out his hand.
She placed the glistening toy into his palm.
He held it for a beat. Watched her.
Then raised it to her mouth.
> "Lick it clean."
Her eyes widened.
She hesitated.
> "Zara."
Her name was a command.
She leaned forward, lips parting.
Her tongue slid over the length of it. Slowly. Obediently.
He watched, expression unreadable.
> "You taste like sin," he whispered.
---
Then, without warning — he yanked her forward by the collar.
She gasped.
His fingers slid between her legs again — rough, punishing.
No buildup. No gentleness.
> "You like being used?" he growled.
She moaned, hips rocking instinctively.
> "You touched yourself in my room."
"You disobeyed."
"Now you learn what denial feels like."
His fingers curled inside her — hitting just the right spot.
Her moans turned frantic. Her thighs shook.
> "Please—" she gasped.
> "No."
He pulled away.
She whimpered, hips chasing his hand.
He wiped his fingers on her inner thigh like she was nothing more than a napkin.
> "Bed. Now."
She stared, still shaking, still soaked.
> "But—"
> "You don't get pleasure tonight."
He walked away, leaving her on the cold floor.
Her body throbbed with unsatisfied need.
And as she stumbled to her feet and crawled into bed, she realized—
He hadn't even kissed her.
---
◇◇◇
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🖤 Part II – The Next Morning
Zara didn't sleep that night.
Not because of the vibrations — those had stopped hours ago.
But the ghost of them?
The phantom ache?
Still alive in every part of her.
She stared at the ceiling.
She hated how easily he controlled her body.
Hated that he didn't even touch her — and still made her crawl.
She wanted to take something back.
Even if it was small.
Even if it was stupid.
---
By morning, she already had a plan.
She dressed in jeans — no collar, no instructions, no silk.
Just denim, defiance, and a whisper of mascara.
She walked to the garden like it was hers.
Held her chin high when the guards looked at her.
No one stopped her.
Not even the maid who passed with a lowered head.
Zara made her way to the pool.
And sat.
And smiled.
Free.
For ten minutes.
---
> "Did you forget who you belong to?"
The voice behind her was ice wrapped in fire.
Zara turned slowly.
Aiden stood there — black shirt, slacks, watch glinting like the warning it was.
She didn't flinch.
> "You said nothing this morning. I took that as permission."
His eyes narrowed.
> "You thought silence meant freedom?"
She stood.
> "No. I thought silence meant I get to breathe."
> "You get to breathe because I allow it," he snapped.
> "And what if I stop obeying?" she asked.
Aiden stepped closer.
> "Then I teach you how to beg again."
---
She didn't back down.
She stepped into his space, hands shaking, but her voice steady.
> "You don't own me."
He smiled — slowly. Cruelly.
> "You're right."
> "I don't own you."
> "I own your choices."
Before she could move, he spun her around — pressed her against the garden wall.
The roughness made her gasp.
One hand pinned her wrists. The other slid down her front — hard, unforgiving.
> "You think jeans will protect you from me?" he growled.
She whimpered.
> "You want to fight?"
He unbuttoned her jeans with brutal grace.
> "Then fight with your moans."
---
She gasped as his fingers found her — wet, wanting, despite her will.
> "Your body's a traitor," he whispered in her ear.
> "Do you hate how fast it melts for me?"
She bit her lip to stop the sound.
> "You still think you have power?"
He moved faster.
Deeper.
Her knees buckled.
But she refused to give him her voice.
So he stopped.
Just like that.
She whimpered in frustration.
> "Not until you ask."
> "Beg."
> "Say please, Daddy."
She shook her head.
> "No."
> "Then walk away wet and aching," he whispered. "See how far that gets you."
---
She didn't beg.
She walked away.
But her legs trembled with every step.
And in her room that night…
she stared at the mirror.
Collar still on the dresser.
Remote still untouched.
> "He doesn't own me," she whispered.
But her thighs squeezed together.
And she wasn't so sure.
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