He drove through towering gates, and my breath caught in my throat. The mansion that appeared looked like it had been pulled straight out of a billionaire lifestyle magazine. A wide, modern structure with glass walls, golden lights, and manicured hedges that screamed power and wealth. It felt like stepping into another world—a world I had no place in.
He parked in front of the garage and stepped out without a word. I followed, heels echoing against the marble driveway. The night air was thick, and I felt the weight of this decision with every step I took behind him.
"Is this your house?" I asked, unable to hide my awe.
He didn't even look at me. "Is that unclear?"
God, his arrogance could fill a stadium.
Inside, the house was even more extravagant. Everything sparkled—from the floors to the expensive lighting fixtures and the untouched bar nestled in a corner like some private sanctuary. He moved behind it, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
"What would you like?"
I lifted my chin. "A red wine will do."
He chuckled, swirling his drink. "You don't seem like the red wine type."
"Are we here to drink or judge each other?" I shot back, tired of being dissected.
He stared at me for a long moment. "I want you to be perfect for me, Star. That night… you were drunk. You didn't even care to ask my name. So, understand this: I don't know if that was a one-off, or if that's who you are. But if we're doing this… there will be rules."
I crossed my arms. "Rules? What do you think this is?"
He walked around the bar slowly, deliberately. "You'll meet my standards—if you want to keep this arrangement. No random men. No showing up dressed cheap. No public outbursts. And absolutely no falling in love. This is strictly physical."
My heart thudded.
"And if I break one of your precious rules?" I asked, voice dry.
He stepped in close. "Then it ends. And I won't be gentle about it."
I swallowed hard, the tension between us growing thicker.
"I think I'll take that red wine now," I said, softer than before.
He handed me the glass. I gulped it down too fast, feeling the burn slide down my throat. I stood to grab the bottle myself, but he was there before I could.
"Hey." He turned me around, cupping my chin. "I don't want us fighting. Not tonight. I just need you to understand what this is."
"And what is this, exactly?"
He leaned down, voice low and rich. "This is me. Owning your body. Your time. Your pleasure. That's all."
A shiver ran through me. My brain screamed to push him away, but my body leaned in closer. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was him.
"You chose me knowing what kind of girl I was," I whispered.
"I chose you because I want you. But I will shape you into what I need."
And then he kissed me—slow, commanding, and intense. His hands moved with purpose, sliding up my thighs as he pressed me against the sleek marble counter. His fingers pushed the hem of my dress up, his body already positioned between my legs.
I gasped when he lifted me onto the counter effortlessly. The cold stone bit into my skin, but the heat from his mouth on my neck made me forget everything. He pulled the straps of my dress down, eyes burning into mine.
"One rule," he murmured, brushing his lips across my collarbone. "You don't fake anything. If I touch you, and it doesn't feel good—you tell me."
I nodded, breathless.
"Two," he said, unclasping my bra slowly, "you don't see other men while this is ongoing. Your body belongs to me until I say otherwise."
A flush spread over my chest. I hated how much that excited me.
"Three," he continued, voice rough, "I expect obedience. In public and in private. If I ask you to wear something, you wear it. If I ask you to come, you come. Understood?"
My pulse thundered. I didn't speak—I couldn't. He tilted my chin up again.
"Am I clear?"
"Yes," I breathed.
"Good girl."
He kissed me again, deeper this time, pulling my panties down and tossing them aside like they were never meant to be worn. I reached for his belt, fumbling. He growled against my skin and helped me, his shirt hitting the floor. His chest was sculpted like art, and the way he looked at me—like I was already his—made my knees weak.
He lifted me again, carried me to a velvet couch, and laid me down carefully before covering my body with his own. His hand brushed over my stomach, moving slowly downward.
"Let me show you how it feels when you follow the rules," he whispered.
And that night, I let him.