Page 3

I swallowed hard, reminding myself that there was no turning back. Legend didn’t move back to let me in. Instead, he reached for my suitcase to roll inside and then his large hands gripped my waist, pulling me close until I was pressed against the heat of his bare chest.

I barely had time to react before he dipped his head, inhaling slowly against the crook of my neck. “You smell amazing,”

he murmured, his voice a rough, velvet scrape against my skin.

I shivered, pulse kicking up, because how the hell was this man already disarming me with a single sentence? “Thank you,”

I breathed, trying to sound composed, but my voice wavered just enough to make him smirk.

His grip tightened briefly—like he was testing how I felt against him—before he finally pulled back, those dark eyes still pinning me in place.

“Drink?” he asked.

“Definitely,”

I exhaled, needing a distraction before my body betrayed me completely.

He nodded and turned, giving me a full, unrestricted view of his place as I slipped off my heels. It was dope.

Everything was modern and luxurious without trying too hard. A massive sectional in deep charcoal sat in the middle of the open living space, facing a wall-to-wall window that framed the ocean like a goddamn painting. The moonlight reflected off the glassy surface of an infinity pool just outside, the faint sound of waves mingling with the low bass of some R&B track playing in the background.

But what really caught my attention was the faint scent lingering in the air. Weed. Subtle, but there. Before I could even form the question, Legend spoke—like he had read my mind.

“You smoke, sweetheart?”

I glanced at him as he strode toward the mini-bar, muscles flexing as he reached for a bottle of Tequila. “Sometimes,”

I admitted, slipping my clutch onto the counter. “I can smell you do.”

His smirk was slow, knowing. “Sometimes.”

Which probably meant all the damn time. He grabbed a glass, poured the Tequila over ice, and then gestured for me to follow him.

I hesitated, but only for a second before trailing behind him down a hallway, the whole time acutely aware of how powerful, effortless, and dominant this man moved. It was low key unsettling… and fucking sexy.

His bedroom was just as impressive as the rest of the house, but less about the design and more about the energy. Dark, masculine. Soft lighting, massive bed, another floor-to-ceiling window with an uninterrupted view of the ocean. Legend handed me my drink, eyes flicking down the length of me as I took the glass.

“Make yourself comfortable,”

he murmured, moving to the dresser.

I exhaled slowly, turning to look around before sitting down at the edge of the bed, my dress riding up just a little as I crossed my legs.

Legend caught the movement, but instead of reacting, he grabbed a wooden box, flipped it open, and pulled out a small jar of what I knew was probably the finest weed. He didn’t rush, didn’t even seem to notice the silence stretching between us. He just set up deliberately, effortlessly breaking the bud apart between his tattooed fingers.

The slow precision of it had me watching, mesmerized until I finally realized what I was doing and looked away, focusing on my drink instead.

“So, you live on the island?”

I asked, trying to break the tension.

He glanced up briefly, smirking as he reached for a rolling paper and leaf. “When I want to. This is one of my vacation properties.”

I took a slow sip of my drink as I nodded, the Tequila smooth as it burned down my throat. “So,”

I said, licking my lips. “Is this the part where I ask you what I should expect this weekend?”

Legend’s hands never paused as he rolled the blunt, but I saw the way the corner of his mouth ticked up. “You don’t strike me as the type to need instructions,”

he murmured.

I tilted my head. “Maybe I like to be prepared.”

He lifted the blunt to his lips, running the tip of his tongue along the edge to seal it. And fuck. It was the most casual, unbothered thing, but the way he did it? Focused. Slow. Unapologetically deliberate. My thighs clenched instinctively. His eyes flicked to mine, amusement flashing in them like he had caught it. He leaned back against the dresser, lighting the blunt, taking a deep inhale before exhaling slowly... all smooth and shit... watching me through the smoke.

“Expect,”

he finally said, “that I’m gonna give you exactly what you came for.”

“And what do you think that is?”

I asked, my voice way too breathy for my liking.

He smirked again, pushing off the dresser, and walked toward me with that lethal, unhurried confidence. He stopped right in front of me, the scent of his cologne and fresh weed flooding my senses as he tilted my chin up with one finger.

“Freedom,”

he murmured.

I stared at him, heart pounding. “Freedom?”

I repeated, barely able to get the word out.

His thumb brushed over my bottom lip lightly, just enough to make me inhale sharply. “You spent all night trying to impress muthafuckas who wouldn’t know real ambition if it slapped them in the face,”

he murmured. “You’re so tense from working and fighting for every inch of success, you don’t even know what it feels like to just let go.”

I swallowed, my breath sticking in my throat.

“That’s what this weekend is,”

he said, voice low and unrushed. “You don’t make decisions. You don’t stress about outcomes. You don’t plan shit. You let me take care of everything.”

His finger traced down the side of my throat, sending a ripple of heat down my spine. A slow shudder ran through me, and he felt it. He exhaled another stream of smoke, his thumb brushing my jaw one last time before he pulled away, handing me the blunt.

“Hit that,”

he ordered, his voice a little rougher this time.

I took it from his fingers, my heart still racing, my stomach still tight. The first hit slid down my throat warm and smooth, the slow burn unraveling my nerves as I let the smoke settle in my lungs before exhaling. This man watched me the entire time.

His eyes were dark, unwavering, his mouth curled in that lazy, knowing smirk like he already had me figured out. I handed the blunt back to him, licking the remnants of smoke off my lips. “You always roll them this good?”

“I do everything… good.”

The energy between us shifted—thicker now, heavier, and my heart thumped. I didn’t know if it was the Tequila, the weed, or the way Legend looked at me like he was calculating all the ways he was going to have me.

Clearing my throat, I leaned back against the bed, propping myself up on my elbows. “So this is how you start things off? Get me high, get me nice, then see if I change my mind?”

He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his eyes still locked on mine. “Honey,”

he said, voice smooth as silk, “you wouldn’t be here if you had any intention of changing your mind. I told you what’s up already. There’s no turning back.”

I swallowed, my stomach tightening. Legend put the blunt in the ashtray and popped a mint into his mouth from the small tray on the dresser. As he moved closer, his presence all-consuming, effortless as the very air in the room shifted around him. “Stand up,” he said.

I arched a brow but didn’t move. “Why?”

His smirk deepened. “You came here on the terms of you surrendering yourself to me,”

he murmured, reaching down and gripping my jaw lightly, tilting my head up to face him. The touch was possessive like he already owned me. “That starts now,”

he said, his voice low, edged with something darker. “Stand up.”

Slowly, deliberately, my bare feet sank into the plush rug as I straightened, my eyes never leaving his. Legend studied me, the faintest glint of satisfaction flickering across his face. Then he reached out, his fingers tracing the thin straps of my dress, dragging them slowly down my shoulders. In an instant, my dress was a pool beneath me leaving me bare. Naked.

He let out a low grunt and licked his lips. “You’re gonna let me teach you exactly what surrendering truly feels like.”

I watched him reach into the top drawer of his nightstand and pull out something dark. Silky. Long, smooth lengths of black fabric coiled in his palm. My pulse skipped, my thighs pressing together on instinct. He smirked like he saw it. Like he felt it.

“Will you trust me?”

he asked, voice low, gravelly, sending a shiver straight through me.

I swallowed hard, the weight of the moment settling over me like a heavy, unseen hand. I didn’t know this man but I knew the way he made me feel. The way my body responded to him before my mind could catch up. The way his presence alone felt like something undeniable, unshakable—something I had no desire to fight. So I nodded.

His smirk deepened. “Lay back.”

Before I could process it, he was moving. His hands—strong, warm, practiced—gripped my wrists and guided them to the wooden bedposts, looping the soft silk around them in precise, controlled motions. The silk was cool against my skin, snug but not uncomfortable, the perfect amount of restraint that made my breath quicken.

Once my wrists were bound, Legend stepped back, admiring his work, his gaze dragging over me like he was memorizing the way I looked, laid out for him, helpless beneath his control. I bit my lip, shifting slightly, testing the ties. They held firm and I was officially at his mercy.

His voice was quiet, unreadable as he trailed a fingertip down the inside of my arm. “Too tight?”

I shook my head. “No.”

His eyes flickered, dark and pleased. He moved down to wrap the silk around my ankles. When he was finished, I was completely spread for him, my body tense, burning with anticipation, my breathing uneven as I fought the urge to squirm beneath his gaze. Legend took a step back, dragging a hand over his salt and pepper bearded jaw, admiring me like I was some kind of masterpiece he had just finished painting.

Legend smirked. “You look good like this.”

Heat flashed through me at the roughness in his voice. “I can’t move,”

I whispered.

He arched a brow, amused. “That’s the point, baby.”

I swallowed, my pulse pounding in my ears. “So what now?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, Legend reached back into the drawer and pulled out something small and purple. I gasped the moment I recognized it. A fucking rose and I could tell it was brand new. Cleaned and ready to go.

My breath stalled, heat flooding my skin, my fingers instinctively tugging against the silk restraints. He saw my reaction and grinned. Slow. Dangerous. Wicked. “I’m guessing you’ve used one of these?”

he asked, turning the rose over in his hand, his thick fingers tracing the edges.

I licked my lips, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure you know the answer to that.”

He hummed, pleased, then clicked it on. The low, powerful vibration filled the air, and I tensed, my thighs clenching as the sound alone sent a sharp pulse of need through me.

Legend’s gaze darkened, watching every subtle movement, every reaction. “Damn. You’re already squirming?”

he teased. Then, with no warning, he pressed the rose against the inside of my thigh on the lower setting but still enough to make me jolt. He chuckled. “You’re sensitive as fuck,”

he observed, dragging the rose higher, tracing achingly close to where I wanted it. “I like that.”

I clenched my fists, writhing slightly, but the silk held me still. I was completely at his mercy. He dragged the rose up again, letting it hover just close enough to drive me insane, his free hand gripping my thigh, holding me in place.

“Tell me how bad you want it,”

he murmured, his lips just inches from mine, his breath warm and minty.

I gasped, my head falling back against the pillows, my body tense with need. “Legend,”

I breathed.

He grinned against my jaw. “That’s not an answer.”

The second the rose pressed against my aching, swollen clit, a sharp gasp tore from my throat. The vibration was intense, a low, rhythmic pulse that sent a white-hot ripple of sensation through me, spreading from the point of contact to every nerve in my body.

My fingers tightened in the silk restraints, instinctively trying to close my thighs, but I couldn’t. This man had me open, exposed, bound to his will and he knew exactly what he was doing. He watched me, his eyes dark with amusement and raw hunger, the rose gliding in slow, taunting circles, never giving me exactly what I needed.

“Shiiiit,”

I whispered, my back arching, my legs trembling from the relentless teasing.

Legend chuckled, low and deep, the sound vibrating through me just as much as the rose in his hand. “Too much?”

he murmured, dragging it away slightly, letting the buzz of it thrum against my inner thigh instead.

The sudden loss of pressure made me whimper, my body searching for the friction he had just stolen from me. “Oh, my God,”

I exhaled, half pleading, half demanding.

He smirked, obviously pleased with himself, his tattooed fingers adjusting the setting on the rose, upping the intensity just a notch. The moment he pressed it back against my clit, a sharp jolt shot through my entire body. I gasped, my thighs instinctively trying to close but the way he had me tied left me powerless to stop it. “Look at you,”

he murmured, his voice a low rasp, thick with approval.

I barely heard him. My mind was drowning in sensation, the steady pulse of the vibration sending me spiraling, every inch of me hypersensitive. I tugged against the restraints, my body straining toward him, but he didn’t let me move. “I… can’t…”

Legend didn’t let me take control and for the first time, I let go of the need to. I let him hold me down, keep me open, keep me spread, keep me desperate. I surrendered to him. I let him have me. A slow smirk curved his lips as he shifted, lowering his mouth to my ear, his breath warm, teasing, cruel in the best way. “You like this shit, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer. Shit, I couldn’t. The way he was applying pressure and alternating the settings on the rose had me gone. Moaning. Shaking. My stomach tightening.

“You like being tied down,”

he mused, his free hand skimming up my stomach, tracing the curve of my ribcage, never quite giving me the full touch I wanted. “You like a nigga having control.”

I swallowed hard, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. “Legend,”

I whispered, my voice wrecked, trembling.

His fingers wrapped around my jaw, tilting my face toward his. “Say it,”

he ordered, his voice calm but demanding.

I licked my lips, eyes half-lidded. “I like it,”

I admitted, my voice barely above a breath.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear, his smirk undeniable. “I know.”

And then he turned the setting higher.

“Fuuuckkk!”

A sharp, ragged moan broke from my throat as a wave of pleasure slammed through me. My fingers curled in the restraints, my body straining as the vibrations hit the perfect spot, over and over again. “Shiiiit!”

My head fell back and my body tightened. I could tell I was about to cum something crazy. Something uncontrollable. Something explosive. This man watched me, his expression hungry, fascinated like he was memorizing every inch of my unraveling. The rose kept pulsing, the pressure building, building and building. I whimpered, barely able to think, my body completely at his mercy. And then…he pulled the rose away and turned it off.

“What the fuck?”

I gasped, my wrists yanking against the ties. I snapped my head toward him, pissed the hell off.

Legend’s smirk was pure sin, control, and dominance. His eyes burned with amusement, watching me struggle, watching me fall apart. “Nah, not yet,”

he murmured, trailing the rose back up my thigh, teasing me again.

I groaned, frustrated, aching, desperate. “Legend,”

I whispered, my voice pleading now, my body shaking.

His fingers brushed over my jaw again, his touch gentle, but his voice was firm. “You cum when I say you cum.”

The words sent a sharp thrill straight to my core, my entire body tuned to him now, bound to his control. “Again,”

he murmured, clicking the rose back on, starting the torture all over again.