Chapter 11
651 Words
The door slammed open.
I didn’t even hear his footsteps—just the sudden crash of his presence swallowing the room whole.
Dominic stood in the doorway, eyes sharp and dark and dangerous.
I was still on the marble bathroom floor, curled in a silk robe, cheeks blotched from crying.
He saw the collar in my hand.
And something behind his gaze fractured.
“You took it off.”
His voice wasn’t loud.
But it was lethal.
I stood, shaking. “I want my life back.”
He stilled.
“I want my job, my apartment, my old number. I want out of this—whatever this is.”
“No.”
I swallowed. “You don’t get to say no. I’m not yours. I didn’t ask for this!”
“You didn’t have to,” he said coldly. “You screamed for it when you came on my c**k last night.”
I flinched.
“f**k you.”
“No,” he growled, taking a step toward me. “f**k you for pretending this isn’t exactly what you want.”
“I wanted a choice!”
“And now you have one,” he snapped. “Obey me—or burn everything you’ve ever known.”
My lips parted in shock. “Are you threatening me?”
He stepped closer. His hand slammed against the wall beside my head, boxing me in. “No. I’m warning you.”
His breath was hot against my skin.
“I paid your debts. I bought your contract. I own the floor you used to dance on. I bought out your f*****g landlord. You think there’s still a life for you out there without me?”
Tears burned behind my eyes.
“I had nothing, Dominic. And that nothing—that shitty little life—was mine.”
“And now you’re mine,” he hissed.
His hand slid around my throat, slow, controlling. Not choking. Just… claiming.
“You don’t get to crawl into my bed, cry in my arms, and then run like a scared little w***e the second it gets real.”
“You think I’m a w***e?” I choked out.
“I think you’re mine,” he snarled. “And if I have to drag you through every room in this f*****g mansion to make you remember that, I will.”
He gripped the velvet collar from my hand.
Fastened it around my throat again.
“You look better like this,” he whispered. “Honest.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re a liar,” he growled. “You pretend you’re too good to be owned, but you melt the second I touch you. You want me to take control—you need it.”
I slapped him.
Hard.
His jaw twitched. But he didn’t step back.
Instead, he caught my wrist. Spun me around. Bent me over the sink.
His body pinned mine, breath thick with fury and lust.
“You want your old life?” he whispered in my ear. “Go ahead. Walk out that door.”
I held still.
“But don’t think for a second I won’t follow. Ruin every club that touches you. Buy every bed you crawl into just to rip you out of it.”
His hand slid between my legs.
“You’re mine, sweetheart. Even your body knows it.”
I whimpered as his fingers teased where I was already wet. Shame bloomed in my chest.
“You hate yourself for wanting me,” he murmured, voice velvet and violence. “But I love it. I love every broken, dirty, filthy part of you.”
He turned me to face him.
Eyes dark. Possessive.
“You were never a stripper,” he said. “You were a f*****g fantasy. My fantasy. And now? You’re my property.”
He kissed me hard. Brutal.
I should’ve pulled away.
I didn’t.
- Writer
