Between Loyalty and You

Chapter 13 (Sofia's POV)

The next night arrived with a quiet that felt deliberate.

Dante dismissed the staff early. The penthouse was locked down, the men kept to the floors below. I ate the dinner he placed in front of me without tasting much of it. He watched me the entire time, expression unreadable, as if giving me every possible chance to change my mind before we crossed the threshold.

I didn’t.

When the plates were cleared he stood and held out his hand.

“Last chance, Sofia. You walk into that room with me, and I will show you exactly what I am. You can still say no.”

I placed my hand in his. “I’m not saying no.”

He led me down the hallway to the locked door. The key turned with a soft, final sound. Inside, the low lighting was already on. The reinforced bed, the St. Andrew’s cross, the cabinet, the bench—everything waited exactly as I remembered. He closed the door behind us and the rest of the world disappeared.

“Clothes off,” he said. Voice calm. Absolute. “Fold them and put them on the chair.”

I obeyed. The simple dress I had worn slipped from my shoulders. Bra. Underwear. I folded each piece with hands that were steadier than I expected and set them aside. Standing naked in the center of his room while he remained fully dressed sent a slow, heavy pulse between my legs.

He walked a slow circle around me, not touching, only looking. Cataloguing. When he stopped in front of me again, his eyes were darker than I had ever seen them.

“Safe word is red,” he said. “You say it, everything stops. No questions. No delayed reaction. Yellow if you need me to slow down or check in. You use them if you need them. Clear?”

“Clear.”

“Hands behind your back.”

I laced my fingers together at the base of my spine. He moved to the cabinet, opened it, and returned with a pair of soft but sturdy leather cuffs connected by a short chain. He buckled them around my wrists with practiced efficiency, checking the fit with two fingers so they wouldn’t bite too hard. The moment the second cuff closed, something inside me settled. The choice was no longer theoretical.

He guided me to the St. Andrew’s cross.

My back met the cool padded surface. He raised one arm and secured the cuff to the ring at the top, then the other. My legs were next—spread wide and fastened at the ankles so I was open, exposed, completely unable to close my thighs. The position stretched the last faint tenderness in my ribs, but it was manageable. He stepped back and looked at me, restrained and waiting for him.

“Still with me?”

“Yes.”

He removed his shirt first, then his belt, setting both aside with deliberate care. The sight of his bare chest and the heavy outline of his c**k against his trousers made my mouth go dry. He opened the cabinet again and selected a flogger—medium weight, soft leather falls. Nothing extreme. He showed it to me before he stepped close.

“This is impact,” he said. “I’m going to start light. You will tell me how it feels. You will not try to be brave for me. Clear?”

“Clear.”

The first stroke landed across the front of my thighs. A warm thud more than pain. I exhaled. The second followed a little higher. Then a third across the soft undersides of my breasts. Heat bloomed under my skin in the path of the falls. He worked slowly, methodically, covering my thighs, my stomach, the sides of my breasts, never striking the same place twice in a row. The warmth built into a low, spreading sting that made my breathing change.

“Color?” he asked after a dozen strokes.

“Green.”

He increased the force slightly. The falls landed harder across my inner thighs, close enough to my p***y that I felt the air shift. A sharper edge of pain bloomed and then melted into something hotter. My head tipped back against the cross. He struck the underside of my breasts again, harder, and a soft sound left my throat—not protest. Need.

He set the flogger aside and stepped in, one hand sliding between my spread legs. His fingers found me soaked.

“You’re dripping from a flogging,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Jesus, Sofia.”

Two fingers pushed inside me without warning. I moaned, the sound echoing off the walls. He f****d me with his hand in slow, deep strokes while his mouth closed over one n****e and bit down hard enough to make me gasp. The dual sensation—stretch and sting—tightened everything low in my belly. I was already close. He felt it. The second my walls started to flutter he pulled his fingers out and stepped back.

I made a broken, frustrated sound.

“Not yet,” he said. “You don’t come until I decide you’ve earned it.”

He released the ankle cuffs first, then the wrists, catching me when my legs threatened to buckle. He guided me to the bed and laid me on my back. This time the restraints were different—leather straps that secured my wrists above my head to the rings on the headboard, and a spreader bar between my ankles that kept my legs wide and locked. I was completely open to him, unable to twist away or close my thighs.

He stood at the foot of the bed and simply looked at me for a long moment.

“This is full restraint,” he said. “You can’t move. You can’t hide. Everything that happens next happens because I choose it.”

He undressed the rest of the way. His c**k was thick and hard, already glistening at the tip. He climbed onto the bed and settled between my spread legs, but he didn’t enter me. Instead he lowered his mouth to my p***y and licked a slow, deliberate stripe from entrance to c**t. I arched as much as the restraints allowed. He sucked my c**t between his lips and worked it with his tongue until my thighs trembled against the spreader bar. The orgasm built fast, sharp, inevitable—

He stopped.

I cried out in raw frustration.

He did it again. And again. Bringing me to the edge with his mouth and fingers, then denying me every single time. My body was shaking. Tears of pure need stung the corners of my eyes. The word yellow hovered at the back of my throat, but I didn’t use it. I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to keep going until he decided I could fall.

“Please,” I finally whispered. “Dante—please.”

He rose over me, eyes almost black, and positioned himself at my entrance. “You take what I give you. Nothing more.”

He pushed into me in one long, relentless thrust. The stretch was intense after the prolonged denial. I moaned, loud and helpless, as he buried himself to the hilt. He f****d me hard—deep, powerful strokes that rocked the bed and forced broken sounds from my throat with every impact. The spreader bar kept me open for him. The cuffs above my head left me unable to do anything but take it.

He reached down and rubbed my c**t in tight, perfect circles.

“Come,” he ordered.

The orgasm tore through me so violently I saw white. I clenched around him, sobbing with the force of it, pulsing in endless waves while he kept thrusting. He f****d me through it without slowing, chasing his own release, and when he came it was with a deep, guttural groan against my neck, c**k buried deep, flooding me in hot pulses.

He stayed inside me for a long time afterward, breathing hard, one hand stroking my hair. When he finally pulled out he released the restraints with careful hands, checking my wrists and ankles for any real damage. There was none—only the faint pink evidence of how thoroughly I had been held.

He gathered me against his chest on the bed, pulling a soft blanket over both of us. The dominant edge in his voice had softened, but the authority remained.

“Talk to me,” he said quietly. “Color. How do you feel. What was too much. What wasn’t enough.”

I pressed my face into his neck, still trembling with aftershocks.

“Green,” I whispered. “All of it. The flogger, the restraint, the denial… I didn’t want any of it to stop. I liked knowing I couldn’t move. I liked that you decided when I got to come. The pain stayed on the right side of everything.”

His arms tightened around me.

“And the free pass?” he asked, voice low. “Do you want to walk away clean?”

I lifted my head and met his eyes.

“No. I don’t want to walk away at all.”

Something possessive and permanent settled in his expression. He kissed me slowly, thoroughly, then rested his forehead against mine.

“Then you’re mine in this room,” he said. “With everything that means. We’ll keep talking. We’ll adjust as we go. But the choice is made.”

I curled closer into his body, the residual sting of the flogger and the deep ache between my legs both vivid and welcome, and closed my eyes.

I had agreed.

And I had no intention of ever taking it back.