5

5

Sienna’s POV

I’m untouchable.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I lounge on the chaise in my office, one leg draped lazily over the other, twirling my pen between my fingers. Damian stands near the door, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as always.

I haven’t acknowledged him all day.

Not when he practically carried me out of the car last night, still trembling from the way he ruined me. Not when he stood guard at my bedroom door as I slept, sated and exhausted. And certainly not when I strutted past him this morning in a silk robe, untied just enough to be indecent.

I know he saw.

I wanted him to see but he didn’t react and that pisses me off so I practically spend the day pushing him, testing his patience.

Flirty smiles at my male employees. Lingering touches on my assistant’s arm. A deliberate sway in my hips whenever I pass him.

Nothing.

Not a single damn reaction and I hate it.

By the time the sun sets, I’m simmering with frustration, my body taut with need.

It’s not fair.

He’s supposed to snap first.

I finally look at him, letting my lips curve into a slow, wicked smirk. “I think you’re losing your touch, Cross.”

His jaw tightens, but he says nothing.

Good.

I tilt my head, feigning boredom. “All bark, no bite?”

His eyes darken.

And then he moves.

Before I can react, he’s across the room, gripping my chin, tilting my head up so I’m forced to meet his cold, unreadable gaze.

“You really think you’re in control here, princess?” His voice is low, dangerous.

I smile. “Aren’t I?”

His lips curl in something dangerous.

And then he’s hauling me up, grabbing my wrist, my throat, my waist, manhandling me with zero effort, like I weigh nothing.

A thrill shoots down my spine.

Maybe I pushed too far.

Or maybe this is exactly what I wanted.

***

I struggle. Pointlessly.

The silk around my wrists is too tight, securing me to the headboard. The blindfold over my eyes leaves me vulnerable and exposed.

My breathing is ragged, my skin burning with anticipation.

“Untie me,” I demand, my voice haughty, sharp and desperate.

Damian laughs in a low and cruel way.

“Not happening, princess.”

I hear the rustle of fabric, then the soft creak of the mattress as he moves closer. Then his fingers, trace a slow, torturous path over my stomach, between my thighs.

I gasp, arching instinctively, but he pulls away before I can get what I desperately need.

I whimper, hating myself for it.

He notices.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over my ear. “You started this game, Sienna. You wanted to tease me all day. Now I’m just returning the favor.”

I hate him.

I hate how wet I am, how every nerve in my body is straining for his touch.

“Please,” I whisper.

He hums. “Not good enough.”

His fingers return, sliding between my thighs, rubbing just enough to drive me insane, before pulling away again.

I thrash, frustration boiling over.

“Damian—”

“Try again.”

I bite my lip, my pride warring with my need.

I can’t.

I won’t.

Another stroke, another withdrawal.

I sob, my body shaking.

“Say it,” he demands.

I squeeze my eyes shut beneath the blindfold.

“I—” I can’t. I won’t.

Another tease, another unbearable wave of pleasure that never fully crashes.

My mind breaks before my body does.

“I love it,” I breathe, the admission shattering me.

His satisfied chuckle is my undoing.

The blindfold is ripped away, and before I can even process the change, he’s inside me, filling me completely, taking me without mercy.

I scream.

His hand clamps over my mouth, his other gripping my bound wrists.

“Louder,” he growls. “I want you screaming my name.”

And I do.

I shatter completely, my orgasm ripping through me so violently that I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t be anything but his.

And when it’s over, I hate how badly I want more.

***

I don’t stop.

Even after he wrecked me, even after I screamed his name, I keep pushing him. I want to see how far I can push him. How far he’d let me go.

Dressing in skirts too short, wearing heels that make my legs look sinful, brushing against him just to see if he’ll react.

At first, he doesn’t.

We’re at a private business dinner, surrounded by people. I sip my wine, pretending to listen to the conversation, then glance at Damian, meeting his gaze head-on.

And then I spread my legs beneath the table.

Slowly and deliberately.

His jaw tightens, his hand curling into a fist on the table.

But he says nothing. I smirk, feeling victorious.

****

The moment we step into my penthouse, Damian grabs me, shoving me against the nearest wall.

I gasp, my hands slamming against his chest.

“You think I’m some fucking game?” His voice is pure danger.

I smirk, breathless. “You make it too easy.”

His hand fists in my hair, dragging me toward the mirror.

“You want to act like a spoiled little brat in front of everyone?” His voice is low, taunting. “Then you’ll fucking watch while I teach you a lesson.”

Before I can protest, he spins me, bending me over in front of the mirror.

My reflection stares back at me, flushed, panting, and already soaking wet.

“You look desperate,” he murmurs.

I glare at him through the glass.

“I hate you.”

He smirks, shoving my skirt up.

“No, you don’t.”

And then he slams into me, fucking me hard and forcing me to watch every second of it.

I moan loudly, unable to stop myself.

His grip tightens, his hand sliding to my throat.

“Look at yourself,” he commands.

I try to close my eyes.

His grip tightens.

“Look.”

I do.

And what I see—

A wrecked, desperate, ruined version of myself.

“Say it,” he orders, thrusting deep.

I whimper.

“Say what?”

His smirk is cruel. “Say you love being put in your place.”

I clench around him, humiliated and wrecked.

I shake my head.

He thrusts harder, his grip tightening, his voice pure filth in my ear.

“Say it, Sienna.”

I break.

“I love it,” I whisper.

He growls.

“Louder.”

“I love it,” I sob, my body shattering completely.

And as I come, as I fall apart beneath him, I finally understand.

I’m fucking addicted to this. To him.