Chapter 3 The Taste Of Defiance

The leather collar settled against her skin like a whisper of ownership, soft and foreign. Isla sat motionless, the ruby-studded clasp now resting above her collarbone like a threat disguised as beauty. The silence between them crackled like static, thick with anticipation neither of them voiced. Dominic stood over her, gaze steady, hands calm. There was no smug smile, no victory in his expression. Only precision. He didn’t treat her like a woman he had conquered—but like a valuable possession finally in his grasp. “I want you to walk with me,” he said. She didn’t move. “What if I say no?” Dominic bent forward slowly, his mouth inches from her ear. “You wore the collar, Isla. That was your answer.” His voice was a dark lullaby—danger wrapped in silk. With a breathless exhale, she stood. Not out of submission. Out of defiance. She would play his game only until she figured out how to burn the board. He led her through corridors she hadn’t yet seen. The estate was a maze of old-world charm and cold elegance—vaulted ceilings, oil paintings that looked like they belonged in European museums, floors so polished she could see her reflection in them. Every inch of the place whispered wealth and danger. They entered a wing bathed in golden light. Soft piano music drifted from unseen speakers, and the scent of gardenia curled around her senses. A room opened up ahead—long and oval, walls lined with mirrors, a low stage in the center with a grand piano beneath a chandelier of obsidian glass. Dominic gestured for her to sit on a cushioned bench along the wall. “What is this?” she asked. He didn’t answer. He simply moved to the piano and sat. Her breath caught. He played. The melody poured from his fingers like water—slow, mournful, a song filled with ache. She couldn’t look away. His profile was sharp, focused, and under the softness of candlelight, he looked almost human. Almost fragile. Then he stopped mid-note and turned to her. “I studied for fifteen years,” he said. “Before I understood that sometimes... pain is the only muse worth listening to.” Isla blinked, caught off guard. “You’re not the first woman I’ve brought here.” The words hung in the air like poison. Her stomach knotted. “Did they wear the collar too?” she asked. Dominic stood slowly. “Some. Others ran.” She looked away. “What happened to the ones who ran?” He walked toward her. “They stopped being mine.” “And then?” His gaze burned. “Then they became... consequences.” Isla swallowed the lump in her throat. “You think you can break me?” she asked. Dominic crouched in front of her, resting his hands on her thighs—not possessive, but firm. “I don’t want to break you,” he murmured. “I want to strip away the version of you the world forced into silence. I want to meet the woman who hides beneath the good girl act. The one who’s not afraid to taste the dark and like it.” Her heart thundered in her chest. “I don’t like you,” she snapped. He smiled. “Good. I’m not here to be liked.” His hand trailed up the side of her thigh, slow and deliberate. She tensed but didn’t pull away. The collar around her neck felt hotter now, pulsing with each throb of her pulse. “I’ll give you one command tonight,” he said. “Disobey it, and we start over with pain. Obey it, and you’ll earn something you haven’t had in a long time.” She narrowed her eyes. “And what’s that?” “Control.” --- He took her to another room—darker, quieter. No windows. Just shadows and dim lights that flickered like candles. In the center: a single velvet chair. “Sit,” he ordered. She hesitated—but obeyed. Dominic circled her slowly like a wolf assessing prey. She felt the weight of his gaze settle on her skin. “I’m going to touch you,” he said. Isla opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off with a single finger raised. “You wore the collar. Your body is mine to explore. But not to harm. Not unless you ask.” Her breath hitched. “You’ll speak one word if you want me to stop,” he continued. “That word is ‘Scarlet.’ Say it, and I stop. But say anything else, and I continue.” Her pulse roared in her ears. He leaned down. “Understand?” She nodded. “Say it.” “Scarlet,” she whispered. Dominic smiled. Then his fingers touched her ankle. It wasn’t erotic—not yet. But intimate. Possessive. His hands were warm, skilled, traveling up her calves with agonizing slowness. Isla clenched the arms of the chair, chest rising and falling in rhythm with the anticipation building inside her. When he reached her knee, he paused. “You can still say it,” he murmured. She didn’t. His hands moved higher. The first kiss he placed on her skin was just above her knee—a brush of lips that sent lightning up her spine. “I want to learn your reactions,” he said. “Your tells. Your limits. Every inch of your body is a map I intend to master.” Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Another kiss. This time inner thigh. Her hips jerked slightly, involuntary. Dominic looked up at her, eyes gleaming. “There she is,” he murmured. Her fists clenched tighter on the chair’s arms. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “What do you want from me?” He rose slowly, his hands gripping the arms of the chair on either side of her. “I want everything,” he said. “But I’ll settle, tonight, for your first surrender.” Then his lips met hers. It wasn’t gentle. It was possession—pure, raw, and untamed. Isla gasped as his mouth devoured hers, coaxing a sound from her throat she didn’t know she could make. His tongue tasted like whiskey and sin. His hands cupped her jaw with reverence even as his kiss claimed her. She pushed at his chest, but he caught her wrists and pinned them to the arms of the chair. “Don’t fight what you already want,” he growled. “I don’t want you,” she breathed. “You want control. And I am the only one who can give it to you.” She hated that his words made sense. Hated that the fire between her legs answered before her mind did. When he finally pulled away, her lips were swollen, her breath ragged. Dominic reached up and gently brushed his thumb over the ruby at her collar. “This is only the beginning,” he said. Then he turned and left. Leaving her alone. Shaking. Wanting. And more afraid than ever—of herself.