Owned by his dark commands.

The first thing I felt was the silk. It was too soft and too expensive to be mine. The second thing I felt was the ache. It was a deep, heavy throb centered right between my thighs, a constant reminder of exactly how many times I had been pushed into this mattress last night. My head felt like someone was using a jackhammer on my temples. The tequila from the night before was staging a violent protest in my stomach. I kept my eyes squeezed shut. I didn't want to wake up. If I stayed asleep, I could pretend I was still in my tiny apartment and that the last twelve hours had been a fever dream. But the smell of the room gave me away. It smelled like sandalwood, cold steel, and the musky, intoxicating scent of a man who had spent the night claiming every inch of my skin. God, Sienna. You really did it this time. I slowly opened one eye. The room was massive. It was a glass box in the sky, overlooking the Chicago skyline. The furniture was minimalist and dark. It screamed power. It screamed "I have more money than God." I shifted my legs and hissed at the friction of the sheets against my sensitized skin. I was completely naked. Not a stitch of lace. Not even my favorite necklace. I felt exposed, even with the heavy duvet pulled up to my chin. The memories started to hit me in waves. The bar. The neon lights of The Obsidian Room. The sight of Simon, my fiancé of three years, laughing as he pressed a blonde girl against the brick wall of the alleyway. The way my heart hadn't just broken, it had turned into shards of ice. I remembered walking to the bar and ordering three shots of the most expensive tequila they had. I remembered the way the liquid burned a path down my throat, numbing the pain. And then, I remembered the shadow. He had been standing in the corner, a dark silhouette against the flashing lights. He didn't look like he belonged in a club. He looked like he belonged in a boardroom or a throne room. He was wearing a suit that fit him like a second skin, his broad shoulders blocking out the light. He hadn't even said hello. He had just walked up to me, took the glass out of my hand, and looked me dead in the eye. "You're trying too hard to drown," he had rumbled. His voice was so deep I felt it in my toes. "Why don't you let me teach you how to swim instead?" I hadn't been thinking. I had been hurting. I wanted to feel something other than the hollow, cold emptiness Simon had left behind. I wanted to be used. I wanted to be broken. And he was more than happy to oblige. My face heated up as I remembered the ride in the back of his limousine. He hadn't waited until we got to the penthouse. His hands had been everywhere. He was rough and demanding. He had pulled my hair back and forced me to look at him while he told me exactly what he was going to do to me. "You think you're a good girl, Sienna?" he had whispered against my lips. "By the time I'm done with you, you won't even remember your own name. You'll only know mine." He was right. I didn't remember much after the elevator doors opened. Just the feeling of being lifted, my legs wrapped around his waist, and the sheer, unadulterated power of him. He wasn't like Simon. Simon was careful. Simon was polite. This man was a beast. He had pinned my wrists above my head and looked at me like I was a prize he had just won. He had made me say it. He had pushed me until I was sobbing, until the pleasure was so intense it was almost pain. "Say it," he had commanded, his voice a dark, jagged edge. "Yes, Daddy," I had whimpered. The memory made my core clinch with a sudden, unwanted spark of heat. I hated myself for it. I was a professional. I was an architect. I was supposed to be the one in control. I looked over my shoulder. He was still asleep. He was lying on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow. I could see the ink on his back, a dark, intricate tattoo that looked like wings. He was beautiful in a terrifying way. I had to get out. Now. I slid out of the bed, moving like a shadow. I found my dress in a heap near the door. It was ruined. The zipper was broken and the silk was stained. My underwear was nowhere to be found. Great. Just great. I wrapped myself in a discarded white dress shirt I found on the floor. It was huge on me, reaching down to my mid-thighs. It smelled like him. It made my head spin. I scanned the room for my purse. It was sitting on the mahogany desk near the window. I grabbed it and fumbled through my things. I found a red lipstick and a pen. I saw a stack of coasters on the bar cart. My pride was screaming at me. I couldn't just leave. I had to leave a mark. I had to prove that he hadn't broken me. I grabbed a coaster and flipped it over. The service was adequate. But the ego was a bit much. Try not to get too attached. I’ve already forgotten what you look like. I reached into my bag and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. It was the last of my cash. I laid the coaster on the nightstand next to his watch, a platinum piece that probably cost more than my apartment. I tucked the twenty under it. There. A tip for the night shift. I felt a surge of triumph. I was the one walking away. I was the one in charge. I grabbed my heels and headed for the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. I reached for the handle, my hand shaking. I just had to get to the elevator. I just had to get to the lobby. I would go home, change, and pretend this never happened. I turned the knob. It was locked. "Going somewhere, little architect?" The voice hit me like a physical weight. It was low, gravelly, and completely awake. I froze. I didn't turn around. I couldn't. I was wearing nothing but his shirt and a look of pure terror. "I have a meeting," I managed to say. My voice was a thin, pathetic squeak. I heard the bedsheets rustle. I heard the sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor. They were slow. Deliberate. He was hunting me. "A meeting?" he asked. I could hear the smirk in his voice. "Without your underwear? That seems unprofessional, even for you." He was right behind me now. I could feel the heat radiating off his chest. He didn't touch me, but the air between us was electric. "I left a tip," I said, trying to regain some shred of dignity. "We’re even. Just open the door." He reached over my shoulder and pressed his hand against the door, holding it shut. His arm was corded with muscle. I could see the dark hair on his forearm. "I saw the tip," he whispered. He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear. "And I saw the note. You have a very sharp tongue, Sienna. It’s a shame I didn't spend more time exploring it last night." I finally turned around, my back against the wood. He was standing there, completely naked, looking like a god of war. He didn't seem embarrassed. He seemed amused. "You know who I am?" I asked, my eyes wide. "I know everything about you," he said. He reached out and traced the line of my jaw with his thumb. His touch was electric. "I know you're struggling to save your father's firm. I know you catch the train at eight every morning. And I know that you like it when I pull your hair." I gasped, my face turning crimson. "You're a stalker." "I'm a business man," he corrected. He leaned in closer, pinning me between the door and his body. "And I just bought your debt. Which means, technically, I own you." "Nobody owns me," I snapped. He chuckled, a dark, rich sound that made my stomach flip. He reached into the pocket of the shirt I was wearing and pulled out the twenty dollar bill. He tucked it into the front of the shirt, the paper cold against my skin. "Keep your money, Sienna. You're going to need it. You have exactly one hour to get to the office. Don't be late for your first day working for me." "Working for you?" "I'm the new CEO of Vance Architecture. Your new boss. And I think we're going to have a very productive year." He leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth. It wasn't a sweet kiss. It was a promise. "Now get out of my sight before I decide to keep you in this bed for another six hours." He turned the lock and pulled the door open. I didn't wait. I ran. I didn't care that I was wearing his shirt. I didn't care that I looked like a mess. I just ran for the elevator, my heart screaming. He’s my boss. He’s my boss. He’s my boss. The elevator doors closed, and for the first time in my life, I burst into tears. Not because I was sad, but because I knew my life was over. Julian Blackwood didn't just want my company. He wanted me. And the worst part was, a part of me wanted to give it to him.