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He approaches with darkness claiming his eyes, one hand tilting my chin up to meet them. "And now the final claiming."

His mouth claims mine in a kiss that tastes of iron and wine and destiny. His hands map my body with possessive intensity, relearning curves and hollows he's already memorized a dozen times before.

When he pushes me onto the bed, I go willingly, watching through half-lidded eyes as he sheds his ceremonial clothing. His body is a masterpiece of controlled violence… muscled, scarred, inked with symbols of power and pain.

A temple built for both worship and war.

From the cabinet beside the bed, he withdraws items I've come to recognize in recent weeks. Black silk restraints. A leather flogger with multiple tails. A blindfold that will rob me of sight while heightening every other sense.

"Tonight," he says, restraints dangling from one hand. "You surrender completely."

I extend my wrists toward him in silent consent.

The silk wraps cool around my skin, binding me to the bedposts.

Next comes the blindfold, darkness descending as soft leather covers my eyes. Without sight, my other senses sharpen immediately. The scent of Dante's cologne. The rustle of his movement around the bed. The slight sting of my palm where the cut of the dagger begins to heal.

"Perfect," he murmurs, voice coming from somewhere to my right. "Do you have any idea how long I've dreamed of you like this? Bound to my bed? Wearing nothing but my blood and my name?"

I smile into the darkness. "Since the night you claimed me?"

"Since before that," he admits, his weight settling on the mattress beside me. "Since I first saw your photograph in the Volkov file. You were meant for this, Francesca. You were meant for me."

His hand trails up my inner thigh, finding the Ravelli crest permanently inked into my flesh. His first mark of ownership, made when I was still merchandise rather than queen.

"This was just the beginning," he says, fingers tracing the tattoo. "Now I own all of you. Your body. Your loyalty. Your fierce fucking heart."

I arch into his touch, chains rattling softly from somewhere as I test my restraints. "And what do I own in return?"

His laugh is dark velvet against my skin as he presses his lips to the hollow of my throat. "Everything I am. Everything I have. Everything I will build."

The flogger's tails whisper against my skin, a gentle warning before the first strike lands across my thighs. The sting is exquisite, pain blooming into pleasure as my body responds to his skilled attention.

The flogger's tails dance across my skin, and I remember how untouched I was before him. My body had been preserved, protected, groomed for some mythical perfect alliance my father dreamed of.

No man had ever laid a hand on me until Dante.

That first punishment, bent over his knee while he spanked me for defying him... I'd been terrified, humiliated, angry.

But underneath all that, something awakened.

Each strike of his palm ignited sensations I'd never experienced, never even imagined possible.

The flogger strikes again, and I arch into it, welcoming the sting. Each lash feeds the fire he planted inside me that very first day.

Another strike lands across my breasts, careful to avoid the vial of blood that rests between them. More follow in quick succession, turning my skin to fire, sending heat pooling between my thighs where I'm already wet for him.

"Oh! Fuck!"

"Mine," he growls between strikes, the word becoming a mantra. "Mine. Mine. Mine."

By the time the flogger is set aside, my skin glows with pleasant fire, sensitive to even the lightest touch. Dante's fingers slide between my thighs, finding me slick and ready.

"Always so responsive," he murmurs approvingly. "My perfect, dangerous queen."

I feel the heat of his body as he moves between my bound legs. The blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance, teasing without penetrating.

"Say it," he demands, voice rough with restraint. "Say who you belong to now."