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“You will obey me tonight,” he murmurs, voice a velvet rasp against my skin. “You’ll listen. You’ll trust me.”

The words slide inside me, wrapping around something fragile and hidden. I lift my chin, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

I trust him.

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice unsteady but sure.

His smile is slow and devastating, a promise and a claim all at once.

“Good.”

He moves around me, a predator circling its prize. His hand trails along my shoulder, down my arm, the lightest brush but leaving a trail of fire behind.

“Take off your tunic,” he commands.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the ties at my throat. I fumble, breath catching, but I force myself to keep going. Knot by knot, I undo the simple fastenings. The fabric slips from my shoulders and pools at my feet, leaving me bare before him.

I want to hide, to cover myself, but more than that, I want to be seen.

Seen by him.

His gaze devours me. Slow. Thorough.

“Pants,” he orders, his voice tighter. I hesitate. Fear gripping me in a sudden, unexpected cold hand. To be so exposed—no male has seen my… “Obey.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. There is no anger, but there is also no hint that he expects anything less than obedience.

My hands move before thought can catch up. I find the tie, fingers trembling as I loosen the waistband and let the fabric fall. Feeling more exposed, more owned. I’ve never felt anything like this in my life.

“Hands,” he says.

I lift them instinctively, and he catches my wrists, guiding them up until they’re held high above my head.

“Keep them there. Do not move unless I tell you.”

The words shudder through me, low, rough and commanding. Heat blooms across my skin, down my belly, and curls between my thighs. I obey, holding my arms aloft, exposing myself fully to him.

The vulnerability burns through me—heady, disorienting, exquisite.

He circles me, slower this time, like he’s memorizing every inch of my body. His gaze lingers on my breasts, on the gentle swell of my hips, on the damp heat gathering between my legs.

“You are beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Every inch of you is mine… to touch.”

He touches me and it’s almost too much. His hands glide over my skin. A feather-light caress along my collarbone, down to the curve of my breast. His thumb flicks over the peak, and I gasp, knees wobbling.

“You are untouched,” he says, voice rough with need.

“Yes,” I whisper, barely able to speak.

A low growl rumbles from his chest, vibrating against my skin.

“I will be gentle,” he promises. “But you will feel me. You willneverforget this. You will be mytreasure.”

My hands tighten above my head, straining, wanting to reach for him. But I obey.

When he cups me between my thighs, I nearly cry out. His touch is slow, deliberate, tracing along the slick heat he finds there. His fingers tease, exploring, coaxing.

“So soft,” he murmurs. “So ready for me.”