Page 30 of Watch Me Burn

CATERINA

I know the address by heart.

Not because Aaron told me, but because I made it my business to know everything about him long before this marriage became our battlefield. Including where he disappears to when avoidance becomes his weapon of choice.

The Jackson & King Holdings building looms like a fortress in the night—glass, steel, and secrets. I step through the revolving doors like I belong here. I do.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

Security doesn’t stop me. Of course they don’t. I disabled the alarms and looped the cameras before I left the penthouse.

I know how this place breathes.

Elevator to the top floor.

Access code.

I override it in five seconds flat.

His office is dark, but the skyline glows through the floor-to-ceiling windows, New York burning cold and watchful behind the glass. His desk is immaculate, just a few scattered documents and a half-finished glass of whiskey.

But it’s not the desk I came for.

There he is.

Passed out on the leather couch, suit jacket draped over the arm. Tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned enough to expose the line of his throat. One arm bent under his head. A king at rest, pretending to be untouchable. Vulnerable for once.

And mine for the taking.

I could have waited until we were home. Hell, I could have let this go entirely but that’s just not who I am.

This is about revenge and I want mine.

I move slowly across the room, slipping off my heels one at a time.

No rush.

Let him sleep. Let him dream.

Aaron taught me patience the hard way?—

Tonight, I return the favor.

His wrists are first.

Leather cuffs from my bag slip easily around them, buckled to the wrought iron detail on the couch’s arm. Ankles next, spread and restrained to opposite corners, just taut enough to keep him immobile.

He doesn’t stir.

Not yet.

But he will.

He wanted to prove he was running the show the other night but I’ve seen the truth. I’ve felt it pulse beneath his skin.

He clings to power like it’s all he’s got.

But deep down, he craves surrender.

He just doesn’t know how to let go.

Maybe he’s never let himself truly explore them. Because deep down, he’s afraid of what it would mean if he liked it.

But I know he wants it.

Because I see him…

Beneath the precision. Cruelty. Every cold command.

Something lurks under all that carefully controlled madness.

And tonight, I’m going to drag it out of him.

Strip him bare and make him come undone.

I lean in, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Wake up, Aaron.”

His body tenses, the moment between sleep and awareness snapping taut.

“Caterina,” he says, blinking against the dark. He pulls—once, twice—but the restraints hold.

“What the fuck?—”

“Oh, sweetheart.” I slide into his lap, my dress lifting up my thighs. “Did you really think I’d let you have the last word?”

His eyes sharpen, jaw flexing. “Untie me.”

I smile slowly, dragging a single nail down his chest, slicing open the remaining buttons. “No.”

“Now, Caterina.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I know. Isn’t it fun?” I giggle, bending closer.

His cock hardens against me, and it’s all the permission I need. I shift once, slow and firm, just enough to feel him strain beneath me. His jaw locks.

“You don’t get to dictate every time,” I whisper, rolling my hips again, enough to draw a sound from deep in his throat. “You don’t get to humiliate me in your bed, then disappear like it meant nothing.”

“You liked it.”

“I did,” I admit, dragging my teeth along his jaw. “That’s not the point.”

He groans as I grind against him harder now, my clit catching the seam of his pants, the friction sending little shocks of pleasure through me. I didn’t bother wearing anything under this dress, I wanted him to feel everything.

“Let me go,” he growls, voice taut with fury and need.

I unbuckle his belt instead.

“You told me I’d never own you. But you forget, Aaron…I don’t need to own you. I just need to make you regret what you did.”

His jaw tightens, muscles ticking as he glares up at me. I can see it in his eyes—he’s trying to outlast me. To wait me out. Poor thing still thinks there’s a line I won’t cross.

Easing his zipper down, I watch his cock spring free—thick, flushed, already leaking.

I run my fingers along his shaft…not to give him relief, but to show him exactly how hard he is for someone he claims to hate.

“Fuck,” he bites out. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I hope I do.”

Before he can chase the high, I pull back.

“You are insane.” His thighs are rigid beneath me, coiled tight with effort.

Sliding off his lap, I sink to my knees, settling between his legs. Lips barely brushing the inside of his thighs as Aaron twitches, his breath stuttering.

He tries to hide it and fails miserably.

Every second I don’t touch him pushes him closer to the edge.

I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, stroking him torturously slow. He groans low in his throat, hips jerking up instinctively. But the leather holds him back.

I lean in and let the heat of my breath ghost over the head. One flick of my tongue. Just enough to make his whole body flinch.

Then I pull away, again.

His growl is primal now, raw frustration scraping through each syllable. “This isn’t going to work on me.”

“That’s okay. I’m enjoying myself either way. Isn’t that your thing? Teasing. Leaving me soaking and unsatisfied.”

“That was different.”

“It always is when you’re the one calling the shots.” I rise, my fingers trail beneath his chin, tilting his face to mine. “But tonight, Aaron, you don’t get to decide a damn thing.”

The fury in his eyes is a wildfire, but it burns alongside something hotter.

I peel my dress over my head and let it fall at his feet without a word.

His eyes fall instantly, drinking in my bare skin. His cock twitches hard between his legs, the veins in his arms strain against the leathers. But he says nothing. Doesn’t protest, beg, or say please. Just watches, breathing heavy with every muscle drawn tight.

I climb onto the desk in front of him, completely naked.

He exhales like he’s been gut-punched.

I sit on the edge, legs spread wide, giving him a front-row seat to everything he’s not allowed to touch.

“You look like you’re in pain,” I whisper, voice thick with mock pity. “Does it hurt, being this hard for me?”

His jaw locks, neck cords straining again like they’re carved from stone.

Still not begging.

I prop one heel up on the edge of the desk and spread my thighs open. His eyes snap to the slick heat between them.

“Don’t,” he warns, voice ragged.

“Watch.”

I drag two fingers through my pussy, already soaked from the thrill of watching him restrained—helpless, furious, hard.

He twitches, every muscle flexing as if he could snap the restraints with sheer will. Veins rope along his arms, his temples, his jaw. His cock pulses with need, flushed and angry, leaking for me while he’s forced to just sit and watch.

I circle my clit, slow and taunting. Just enough pressure to make myself gasp loudly. His eyes are locked on me, watching ravenously.

“You want it, don’t you? You want to feel how wet I am for you.”

“Fuck. Caterina?—”

“But you can’t.” My fingers plunge inside me, knuckles deep, and I moan low, tipping my head back, baring my throat like I’m offering myself to him—only to remind him he can’t have any of it. “You don’t get to touch me. Not tonight.”

“Untie me now.” His groan is pure anguish. But there’s something else behind the order, something frayed. “Let me…I need?—”

“You need nothing,” I cut in, breathless, trembling from the rhythm building under my own hand. “This is mine.”

He growls like an animal caged, the sound vibrating with something intrinsic, dark, cracked open. I hold his gaze, fucking myself harder, deeper, chasing the edge of release. His chest heaves. Sweat beads at his temples. Every breath is a battle between control and complete fucking collapse.

And I’ve never looked more beautiful to him.

“I was making a point.”

“And now I’m making mine.”

I moan louder, bringing myself closer to the edge, hips rolling in tight, needy circles. Aaron curses as I sit back, sliding my fingers out and bring them to my mouth. His pupils blow wide as I suck them clean, still watching him.

“You’re going to come undone without ever touching me,” I whisper. “And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

“You overestimate yourself.”

Then I climb into his lap—naked, slick, pulsing with aftershocks of victory—and sink down onto his cock.

His gasp tears from his chest like it’s been punched out of him. A raw, unguarded sound. His whole body jolts, thighs flexing beneath me, breath shattering on impact.

But I don’t move.

One hand slides to the base of his throat firmly. My other braces on the armrest beside his bound wrist, where leather bites into reddened skin stretched with tension.

“Don’t move. Don’t even breathe unless I say so.”

He stills instantly. Every muscle locked, every denial trembling just beneath the surface. His cock throbs inside me—hot, swollen, twitching with need—but I stay completely still, squeezing around him.

“I’m going to ride you. But you’re not going to come. Do you understand me?” Leaning in until our mouths nearly meet, heat passing between us like a loaded gun.

“I don’t answer to you.”

My smile sharpens into something feral.

I lift my hips until only the head of him remains inside me. His body jerks instinctively, chasing the contact.

“Wrong answer,” I murmur sweetly—and begin to rise off him completely.

“Fuck.” His breath punches out, ragged. “Fine.”

I hover just above him. One inch of denial.

“Fine what?”

Sweat slicks the edges of his hairline. “Do your worst.”

I drop onto him again with a slow, shattering thrust that makes both of us moan.

Then I ride him. Letting him feel every ripple, every squeeze, every inch of me as I grind down, roll my hips, drag his cock along every nerve-ending I own.

His breathing becomes a violent thing. His muscles lock against the restraints, veins standing out across his chest, his arms. He’s unraveling.

I press my palms to his chest, pushing down as I move harder, deeper, but never fast enough to give him what he needs. I use him like a toy. Like something to get myself off.

Not a man. Not a husband. Not a threat.

Just a body to break beneath me.

And I do break. Splintering around him with a cry that tears straight from my lungs, thighs shaking, fingers digging crescent moons into his shoulders as I ride the wave down, milking his cock for the orgasm I won’t let him have.

He’s vibrating beneath me now, jaw locked, abs twitching with the effort of holding back. His cock pulses violently, his whole body screaming for release.

But he doesn’t come.

He doesn’t even beg.

And that makes it so much better.

I lean down, still panting, sweat-drenched with his cock still buried deep inside me.

“Caterina. Let me come.”

“No. That’s not how this works.”

His head drops back with a sharp thud, a ragged sound tearing from his throat—somewhere between a curse and a plea. Muscles strain, wrists jerking against the restraints, hips bucking upward in a desperate, useless attempt to thrust.

I stay perfectly still.

Let him throb inside me, squeezing once—twice—just to make him suffer.

“You get to want it. You get to live with it. Just like I did.”

He curses, but he still doesn’t break. His pride holds, even as his body burns.

I sit there, owning every inch of him from the inside out, pulse still racing from my own orgasm, watching him fall apart without a single touch more.

And God, it’s beautiful.

Sliding off him, I stand on shaky legs. My thighs trembling from release, skin slick with sweat and everything he wasn’t allowed to have. I make no effort to hide the mess I’ve made.

He watches it all. Silent. Seething.

I bend slowly to collect my clothes. Every movement a quiet declaration: I own this room. This moment. Him.

“You think this means you’ve won?”

I glance over my shoulder, catching the fire in his eyes. “No, I think it means we’re just getting started.”

Walking back over, barefoot and bare-skinned, I lean close to his ear, my breath skating over his temple like a secret.

“I’ll untie you in twenty minutes. Just enough time for you to consider what happens next.”

I press a kiss to his cheek. Then I turn and walk away, naked, spent, unapologetically satisfied.

Behind me, Aaron lets out a sound—low, guttural. It isn’t surrender. And it sure as hell isn’t triumph.

It’s something raw.

The sound of a man who’s just realized the game between us has changed course.