Claimed By Desire

Breaking rules.

Amara.

By Monday morning, I had convinced myself I was ready to face him again.

Lucien.

All weekend, his voice had lived in my head, deep and steady, wrapping around my thoughts like smoke. I tried to distract myself with anything that would keep me sane. I cleaned the kitchen, ruined a pot of pasta, watched a show I couldn’t follow. None of it worked.

Every time I blinked, I saw him. The way he had looked at me that day in his office—quiet, assessing, as if he could see through my skin and find the truth hiding underneath.

Gracie didn’t help either. She called me three times on Saturday, insisting I “live a little,” accusing me of being “the poster child for self-control.” The words stuck, digging under my ribs.

So by Monday, I decided to prove her wrong. I wasn’t boring. I could be bold. I could be dangerous.

That’s how I ended up in front of the mirror that morning, slipping into a short red dress that felt like temptation disguised as confidence. It was simple enough for work, but the way it hugged me left no room for doubt. Every movement whispered against my skin, reminding me of exactly what I was doing.

It wasn’t just an outfit. It was a dare.

When I walked through the lobby doors, my reflection flashed across the glass. My hair fell loose, my lipstick darker than usual, and for once I liked what I saw. I looked like someone who could make him pause.

And when the elevator doors opened, that’s exactly what happened.

Lucien stepped out, his black suit sharp enough to cut through air, his expression unreadable. He was mid-conversation with a board member, but when his eyes met mine, the rest of the world seemed to stop breathing.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His gaze trailed down my body, slow and deliberate, before finding my eyes again. For a heartbeat, the room was nothing but silence and the sound of my pulse in my ears.

“Good morning,” I said, softer than I intended.

His voice was smooth but edged. “My office. Now.”

My breath caught. I followed him.

Inside, the room felt too small, the air too still. Light spilled through the glass walls, painting him in gold. He turned to face me, and something in his eyes made my stomach twist.

“You seem different today,” he said.

“Do I?” I kept my voice steady. “It’s just a dress.”

His gaze drifted down again, unhurried, stopping at the hem before climbing back up. “That’s not just a dress.”

I smiled faintly. “You noticed.”

“I notice everything.” His tone was low, quiet, dangerous.

The silence that followed was thick, alive with something I couldn’t name. I wanted to say something to break it, but my tongue felt heavy.

“Maybe I wanted to see if you’d look,” I murmured.

“Be careful, Amara,” he said, eyes steady on mine. “You’re playing with something you don’t understand.”

“Maybe I want to understand.”

He studied me for a long moment, and the longer he didn’t move, the more I wanted him to. My feet shifted before I could stop myself, closing the space between us.

And then, before I could talk myself out of it, I kissed him.

It was quick, impulsive, too bold to take back. His lips were warm and still at first, caught off guard. I started to pull away, but his hand came up fast, gripping the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair.

The air disappeared.

His mouth met mine again, no hesitation this time. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, his control absolute. He kissed like someone who knew exactly what he wanted—and what he wanted was submission.

My knees weakened. I felt the tremor run through me, and he felt it too. His thumb brushed the line of my jaw, tilting my head until he decided it was right.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was quiet but firm.

“Why did you do that, Amara?”

I swallowed hard. my lips still aching and swollen as I tried to make sense of what what he was saying.

“I thought—” I began but was caught off.

“No.” His tone left no room for argument. “You didn’t think. You felt. And now you’re trying to make sense of it.”

His fingers stayed at my neck, tracing the edge of my pulse. It wasn’t rough. It was claiming.

“You shouldn’t kiss me like that,” he said.

“Why not?” My voice trembled.

“Because, I might not be able to stop myself next time.”

The words sank into me, hot and sure.

He stepped closer, close enough that the desk pressed lightly against the back of my legs. His presence filled every inch of space around me. I could barely breathe.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Was that what you wanted? To see if I’d lose control?”

“Maybe I wanted to see if you could,” I whispered.

His eyes darkened. “I don’t lose control, Amara. I take it.”

He leaned in, his breath grazing the edge of my ear. “If you were mine,” he said quietly, “you’d never have to wonder what comes next. You’d already know.”

My heart was loud enough to drown out thought.

“Then show me,” I said, barely audible.

His grip tightened, just enough to make me gasp. “Careful. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Maybe I do.”

He looked at me, really looked, and his voice dropped lower. “You think surrender is about power. It isn’t. It’s about trust.”

The word sank deep into me, heavier than I expected.

“Trust?” I repeated.

He nodded once. “If you belong to me, you’ll follow my command. You won’t touch unless I say. You won’t run when it gets hard. And you won’t pretend you don’t crave what I give you.”

My throat felt dry. “And if I disobey?”

His smile was quiet, almost cruel. “Then you’ll learn why obedience matters.”

The way he said it sent heat straight through me. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

Then, just as suddenly, he let go. The loss of his touch felt like air rushing back into my lungs.

“Now,” he said, voice calm again, “I’ll ask one more time. What are you doing, Amara?”

I didn’t know if he meant why did you kiss me or why are you shaking like that. I only knew that my answer wouldn’t make sense either way.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I just—”

“You wanted to feel something you couldn’t control.” His tone was softer now, almost understanding. “And you did without asking if I was okay with it.”

He paused. “You broke the first rule.”

“What rule?”

“Obedience.”

The word lingered between us, heavy and electric.

He turned away, straightening his cuffs like he hadn’t just set my entire world on fire. “Go back to your desk. We’ll talk later.”

I hesitated. He didn’t look up. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

That tone again—quiet command. I left before my legs could betray how unsteady they were.

The rest of the day passed in fragments. Papers blurred, voices faded. Every time I blinked, I felt his hand in my hair, his voice low against my ear, the way my body had answered his without hesitation.

By six, I convinced myself he wasn’t going to follow through. Maybe I’d imagined it. Maybe it had all been a lesson I didn’t understand yet.

I packed my things and went back home, determined to pretend whatever happened back in the office never happened.

Then came the knock.

A man stood at my door, dressed in black, expression unreadable. Without a word, he handed me a sleek box and left.

Inside was black silk. A dress, delicate lingerie, a mask. Beneath it, a single note in his clean handwriting:

Tonight, you’ll learn the first rule. Be ready by eight.

I read it twice, my heart pounding louder with each word.

Half of me wanted to lock it away, pretend I didn’t understand. The other half—the restless, reckless one—smiled.

For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t afraid of what I wanted.

I was afraid of how much.