Page 7

CHAPTER 7

VICKI

I wake up in the master bedroom, the memory of last night slamming into me like a freight train. I sit bolt upright, my heart racing, the sheets pooling around my waist. The jalshagar bond, his alien form, the way he commanded me—it all comes rushing back. But now, in the light of day, it feels less overwhelming, almost exhilarating.

"Get a grip, Vicki," I mutter to myself, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The floor is cool under my feet, and I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles from last night’s... activities.

I pad through the mansion, still naked, my skin tingling with every step. The grandeur of this place still boggles me—marble floors, towering windows, chandeliers that probably cost more than my parents’ house. I find the kitchen, and there’s a spread waiting for me. A charcuterie board with cheeses I can’t pronounce, cured meats, and a pitcher of orange mimosa. Beside it, a note in bold, precise handwriting.

"My Sweetness," I read aloud, my voice soft. I laugh at the part about the locked door. "Oh, Rocky—or Rokkon, whatever. You think a padlock’s going to stop me?"

I nibble on a piece of brie, the creamy richness melting on my tongue. The cracker crunches as I bite into it, the flavors mingling perfectly with the bright, bubbly mimosa. I finish my breakfast, the alcohol warming my insides but not enough to cloud my head.

Naked and unashamed, I explore the mansion. Every room feels like a discovery—the home gym with its sleek machines, the entertainment room with its massive TV, the library with walls lined with leather-bound books. But my mind keeps drifting back to that locked door. The one he told me not to trifle with.

I stop in front of it, the padlock gleaming in the soft light, the bars on the window casting shadows on the carpet. I think about my siblings and all the times they broke into places they weren’t supposed to go. Breaking into the piggy bank to get the rent money, sneaking into Dad’s liquor cabinet, raiding Mom’s secret stash of chocolates.

"I’ve earned this," I say under my breath, turning on my heel. I head back to the bedroom, my steps quickening. The key hangs on the hook by the nightstand, right where he said it would.

"You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?" I mutter to myself, grabbing the key. The metal is cool in my hand, the weight of it making my pulse quicken.

I walk back to the door, the key slipping into the padlock with a satisfying click . The lock falls open, and I push the door wide.

Red velvet walls, a carpet so plush it feels like walking on clouds, and… devices. A lot of devices. A saddle-thing mounted to the floor, a swing hanging from the ceiling, a cage that looks like it belongs in a sci-fi movie.

"Well," I say, my voice trembling with a mix of shock and curiosity, "this is… something."

I step inside, the door creaking shut behind me. The room swallows me whole, and I feel like I’m about to get myself into so much trouble.

The cage stands in the corner, its stainless steel bars gleaming under the soft red light of the room. I can’t stop staring at it, my fingers grazing the cold metal. The idea of being locked inside, completely at Rokkon’s mercy, sends electricity shooting through my nerves—but not the bad kind. The kind that makes my breath quicken and my knees feel weak.

I crouch down and open the door, the hinges squeaking softly. My heart pounds as I climb inside, the metal floor cool against my bare skin. I pull my knees to my chest, imagining Rokkon towering over me, locking me in, leaving me utterly helpless.

"What am I doing?" I whisper, shaking my head. I scramble back out, shutting the door with a loud clang. "I shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to me. I might break it or something."

I step back, my eyes wandering to the wall lined with devices. My curiosity gets the better of me. I reach out and touch a fur-lined blindfold, the soft material brushing against my fingertips. I picture Rokkon slipping it over my eyes, taking away my sight, my control. The thought makes my stomach flutter.

"Okay, that’s… intriguing," I admit, my voice trembling just a little. I set the blindfold back on its hook and move to the next item—a velvet-padded spanking paddle. I lift it off the wall, testing its weight in my hand. The handle feels sturdy, the surface smooth against my palm.

I glance over my shoulder at the mirror on the wall. My reflection stares back, wide-eyed and flushed. Slowly, I raise the paddle and bring it down on my ass with a sharp smack . The sound echoes in the room, and I yelp, more from surprise than pain.

"I could get into this," I say, a little breathless. I try it again, harder this time, and a low moan escapes my lips. My ass tingles, and I giggle, the sound nervous and giddy.

Next, I spot the ball gag. I pick it up, turning it over in my hands. At first, I’m confused. It looks like some kind of strap-on, but the leather straps are too long, and the ball is too small.

"Does this go on my head or…?" I mutter, holding it up to my waist. It’s clearly not meant to fit there. Then it hits me. "Oh. Oh no. It goes in my mouth, doesn’t it?"

I stare at the ball gag like it’s a snake about to strike. The idea of Rokkon silencing me, deciding when I can speak, when I can kiss him, when I can… I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.

"I might could get into this, too," I murmur. I run my fingers over the smooth silicone ball, imagining it in my mouth, the leather straps tightening around my head.

My cheeks burn, and I quickly hang the ball gag back on the wall. My heart races, and I lean against the cool velvet padding, trying to catch my breath. This room, these devices, everything about it is overwhelming—but in the best way possible.

"I’m in so much trouble," I say, laughing nervously. But deep down, I know I want this. I want Rokkon to take control, to push me, to make me feel things I’ve only ever dreamed of.

I glance back at the cage, then at the blindfold, the paddle, the ball gag. Every part of me tingles with anticipation.

The sound of the front door clicking shut sends a jolt through me. My heart skips a beat, and I freeze for a second, weighing my options. Close the door, clean up the mess, and pretend none of this happened? Or let him catch me? A wicked grin spreads across my face as I make my choice.

I yank the cage door open, grab the paddle, blindfold, and ball gag, and arrange them neatly on top of the cage like a little exhibit. Then I bolt back to the master bedroom, my bare feet slapping against the cool marble floor. I dive under the covers, pulling them up to my chin, and try to stifle my laughter. My chest heaves as I force my breathing to slow, pretending to be asleep.

Rokkon’s footsteps echo down the hallway, heavy and deliberate. They pause outside the pleasure room, and I hear a low chuckle rumble through the air. My stomach twists with a mix of nerves and excitement. The sound of metal and leather clinking together follows—he’s picking up the toys I so thoughtfully left out.

The bedroom door creaks open, and I squeeze my eyes shut, biting my lip to keep from giggling. The mattress dips as his weight settles beside me. I feel his warmth, the faint scent of something citrusy and sharp—his cologne?—filling the air. Before I can react, he’s on top of me, pinning me to the bed. The sheet between us does nothing to hide the hard press of his cock against my hip.

"Someone’s been a very naughty girl," he growls, his voice low and rough. His breath brushes my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "You could’ve put my toys away, and perhaps I wouldn’t have to punish you."

My lips curve into a smirk, despite myself. "Where’s the fun in that?" I quip, my voice a little breathless.

He laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes my pulse quicken. His lips find my neck, kissing and nibbling in a way that makes me squirm. I groan softly, arching into him as his teeth graze my shoulder. His hands slide down my arms, and I’m so caught up in the sensation that I barely notice him pulling my wrists behind my back.

The leather cuffs click into place, snug but not too tight. He’s using the Vakutan love harness—the Reaper’s lingerie, as he calls it. My arms are locked behind me, leaving me completely at his mercy. I can feel the padded collar around my neck, soft but unyielding.

"Now," he says, his voice a mix of amusement and command, "since you left these things out of their proper place, I think it’s only fair you learn how each of them functions."

The thrill of anticipation shoots through me. "Yes, Sir," I gasp, my voice trembling.

He kisses me hard, his lips claiming mine with a possessiveness that makes my toes curl. When he pulls back, he slips the ball gag into my mouth, the silicone ball pressing against my tongue. The straps tighten around my head, and I feel a strange sense of relief as they secure the gag in place. No more decisions, no more control—just him.

"Do you have any idea how irresistible you are when you’re this helpless?" he murmurs, his eyes glowing with that deep purple hue. His fingers trace the edge of the gag, and I moan around it, the sound muffled but unmistakable.

He scoops me up like I weigh nothing, throwing me over his shoulder. The room spins as he carries me back to the pleasure room, my heart racing with every step. The red velvet walls seem to close in around us, and I feel like I’m floating, suspended in a dream.

"Tomorrow," I think to myself, my mind hazy with desire, "I’ll start regretting this. But not today."

Today is heaven.

He sets me down on my feet, and I feel like a child standing next to him—tiny, fragile, completely dwarfed by his immense size. My heart hammers in my chest as he starts to strip out of his suit, revealing the gleaming red scales and rippling muscles underneath. The transformation is almost palpable; the polished billionaire facade falls away, and what’s left is raw, primal, and terrifyingly beautiful.

Andromeda chained to the rocks , I think, staring up at him. Waiting for the Kraken to claim me.

A whimper escapes my gagged mouth before I can stop it. The sound is small, almost pathetic, and it makes his purple eyes flicker with something dark and hungry. But then his hand is on my cheek, the scales surprisingly smooth against my skin. His touch is gentle, almost tender, and I press my face into his palm, breathing in the scent of him—citrus and something metallic, like the air after a lightning strike.

But the moment of tenderness doesn’t last. His hand slides back, tangling in my hair near the scalp, and then he’s pulling my neck back, exposing my throat. I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life, so utterly helpless. My knees shake, but I don’t fight him. Something deeper than fear, deeper than reason, tells me I’m safe with him. Maybe it’s the jalshagar bond, that strange, inexplicable connection between us. Maybe it’s just the way his eyes burn into mine, possessive and protective all at once.

His teeth sink into my neck, hard enough to leave marks but not enough to break the skin. I groan into the gag, the sound muffled but raw. One of his hands kneads my breast roughly, the other still gripping my hair, holding me in place. The mix of pleasure and pain is intoxicating, pulling me out of my head and into my body, where there’s no room for thought, only feeling. Only him.

"On the floor, Honeypot," he growls, his voice low and commanding.

He shoves me down, and I land face-first on the plush carpet. His massive body pins me instantly, his weight pressing me into the floor. His cock throbs against my ass, and I can love the heat of him, the readiness. His hand covers most of my head, holding me down as he positions himself. The first thrust is brutal, driving the air from my lungs. I can’t move, can’t even twitch. I’m completely at his mercy, and the realization sends a shudder through me.

His hips snap forward again, and again, each thrust deeper, harder, more animalistic. The sounds he makes—growls, snarls, grunts—are almost feral, and they send sparks of electricity racing through me. My body responds in kind, tightening around him, pulling him deeper. The pleasure builds, a coiled spring ready to snap.

When he’s close, he sinks his teeth into my shoulder, a claiming bite that makes me cry out around the gag. His cock pulses inside me, filling me with his warmth, his essence. I feel it everywhere, a flood of sensation that drags me under, until I’m floating, untethered, lost in the waves of pleasure.

I’m not Vicki Sloane, the responsible older sister, the caretaker, the dreamer. I’m just his , and it’s the most freeing feeling in the world.

The ball gag slips out of my mouth with a soft pop , and before I can catch my breath, Rokkon’s lips crash into mine. His kiss is a storm, all heat and hunger, but there’s something tender in it too, like he’s trying to tell me something without words. I kiss him back, my fingers tangling in the soft, red scales on the back of his neck, pulling him closer until there’s no space between us. His growl vibrates against my lips, and I smile.

He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged, and pulls me into his lap. My legs straddle him, and I feel the warmth of his body seeping into mine. His hands, so rough and commanding moments ago, are gentle now, smoothing my hair back from my face. His touch is almost reverent, like he’s handling something fragile, something precious.

“Now you’ve seen the other side of me,” he says, rough, but there’s a vulnerability in it that I didn’t expect. His purple eyes search mine, waiting for something—judgment, maybe. Fear.

I laugh. The sound bursts out of me, incredulous and loud, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Afraid? Afraid ?” I say, leaning back in his lap so I can look him full in the face. “Rokkon, I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to make your ‘other side’ come back on a regular basis.”

His expression shifts, something like wonder flickering across his features. For a moment, he just stares at me, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m serious. And then his lips curve into a slow, wicked smile.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” he says, his hands sliding down to rest on my lower back, pulling me closer.

“So are you,” I shoot back, grinning. I reach up and trace the edge of one of his scales with my fingertip, marveling at the texture—smooth but so alive, like touching warm metal. “I’m happy, Rokkon.”

His gaze softens, and he brushes a strand of blond hair from my face. “Even with a bite mark on your shoulder?” he asks, his thumb grazing the tender skin he’d claimed just minutes ago.

I shiver at the touch, then nestle into him, resting my head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady and strong beneath my ear, a rhythm I could get used to. “Especially with a bite mark on my shoulder,” I murmur, closing my eyes.

His arms tighten around me, and I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. His breath warms my scalp, and I sigh.

"Good," he says simply, his voice rumbling through me. "Because I’m not letting you go."

I smile against his chest, my fingers playing with the edge of one of his scales. "Good," I echo. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

I don’t have to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. I can just be . And with Rokkon, that’s enough. More than enough.