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“I don’t give pain without pleasure.”

“That doesn’t reassure me.”

“I’m not here to reassure you. I’m offering to take you to a place where the two are intertwined. If you want to know all the ways I can make you feel, then say the word one more time, so I know you’re certain.”

My attention veers from his face to the door. Sir is already clamoring to spill off my tongue again, but my vocal cords won’t cooperate. Seconds sneak by as I swallow down my instincts, both fight and flight, before giving myself over to the unknown.

With a choked plea, I seal my fate and utter what he wants to hear.

Oliver’s smile turns dark and sensual as he keys in the code. “By morning, you’ll say it without resistance.”

18

I don’t know what I expected. A dungeon like the one buried beneath this tower, all darkness and chains, designed to strike fear into the bones of any man? Or maybe something similar to Vance’s decadent suite, where every piece of furniture teetered between practical and perverse?

Oliver’s sanctum radiates control, terrifying in purpose and opulent in design. A lavish playground for his varied…tastes.

“Surprised?” he asks, the heat of his presence pulling at me like gravity. His hands settle on my shoulders, and I catch myself leaning into him, spine brushing solid muscle.

“Not exactly surprised, but it’s not what I pictured either.”

Golden light spills across the room, each piece of equipment casting a shadowy signature on the floor. Swings, benches, and metal frames sit with purpose. At the center stands a massive four-poster bed draped in black silk, its thick posts notched and reinforced for bondage.

One wall showcases rope in bundles of every hue—deep crimson, obsidian black, earthy brown, ivory white, and all the colors between.

It’s a visual symphony of control.

“No dungeons here,” he says, fingers gliding down my arm. “But plenty of ways to bend you to my will.”

An inner alarm stirs as I take in the suspended cage in the corner. “What’s that for?”

“Bratty behavior.” One hand closes loosely around my throat, guiding my gaze to a wall of whips and canes as his other reaches for something out of sight. “Though I prefer to start with a bare ass.”

Before I can register what’s happening, cool metal grazes my shoulder, and I flinch as scissors shear through one of my lingerie straps.

“Wait!” I try jerking away, but his grip steadies me as the blades skim across my chest. The second strap gives way with a soft snap, and the fabric pools at my feet. Instinctively, I cover my breasts and press my thighs together.

He saunters into my line of sight, expression stern. “You gave up the right to modesty when you said sir. Now show me the fruits of your spa day. Or would you rather find out what I can do with a whip?”

“You said no pain without pleasure.”

A diabolical grin plays at his mouth. “A whip in the hand of a skilled master can be extremely pleasurable.”

My chest rises in protest. “For who? You?”

“Do you need a demonstration?” He lifts his chin, staring me down as if he’s counting the strikes it’ll take to prove him right.

“No.” I lower my arms, vulnerability prickling at my nape. I asked for this, but now that he’s stripped me naked, with no way to undo the choice I made in a weak moment of desire, I’m not sure I’m ready for the consequences.

His gaze travels from my breasts to the bare triangle between my legs. The reaction is immediate—a glint of reverence, a tick in his jaw, a subtle flexing of his fingers as if he’s imagining them buried deep.

For a second, I think he’s going to devour me right here.

Instead, he takes my hand and leads me to the wall of rope. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He selects a teal shade and lets it cascade through his hands.