𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 18+

Chapter VIII

Rafael DeLuca:

We havent even started and shes already found a way to piss me off. She likes playing with my time? 

Ill give her something else to fucking play with.

My goal here wasn't for her to use her safe word, I had to find out just how much she could handle .

Sofie doesn't understand yet—this isn't about her being late, not really. It's about respect. It's about whether she'll learn to listen when I speak, whether she'll realize that every "no" she spits at me only feeds the inevitable "yes" I'll take from her body.

She looked smug when she opened that door, pretending innocence. That little smile she tried to pass off—Christ, she has no idea how close she is to being bent over the nearest surface. Not for pleasure. For lesson.

My goal tonight isn't to make her use her safe word. Not yet. I don't need to push her that far. Not tonight, I need to measure her. I need to find the edges, the points where her bratty defiance blurs into submission. I need to see how much her body betrays her before her mouth catches up.

Because that's the thing with Sofie Malone. Her mouth is reckless, stubborn, built to provoke. But her body? Her body has already signed a contract her mind is still pretending doesn't exist.

She's already trembling under my gaze, already biting back the shiver when I lean too close.

She doesn't know it yet, but she's mine.

And tonight, I'll show her exactly what that means. 

She doesn't even realize how close she is to breaking.

Sofie thinks she's testing me. Making me wait, smiling like a brat at the door, dragging her heels when she should be running to keep up. She thinks she's winning because she gets a reaction from me.

But she doesn't understand — my reactions aren't accidents. They're weapons.

She gives me attitude, I give her silence. She teases me, I starve her of answers. She resists, I tighten the leash she doesn't even know she's wearing.

When she signed her name on that contract, the balance shifted. She thinks the ink was just paper. She has no idea it was the first step into surrender.

And now here we are.

I watch her stand in my playroom, eyes darting over the cabinet of tools, the gleam of polished cuffs, the ropes coiled with precision. She looks overwhelmed. Good. That means she's aware of the scale of what she agreed to.

"Breathe," I murmur, watching her shoulders rise and fall too quickly. "Fear is loud in this room. Don't bring it in unless you plan to use it."

Her gaze snaps to me, a flicker of defiance sparking in her eyes. God, she has no idea how much I crave that look. Not because it wins — but because it's the last spark I get to extinguish.

I circle her slowly, like I'm studying a painting I already bought but haven't hung yet. She tries to follow me with her eyes, but when I move behind her, she stiffens, pretending she doesn't care.

"You thought keeping me waiting was clever," I say evenly. "You thought it gave you the upper hand."

She doesn't answer. Smart.

I lean down, close enough that my breath grazes her ear. "It didn't. It only bought you a punishment."

Her body shivers — not fear, not yet. Anticipation.