Celeste stormed out of the alpha’s study after his cruel punishment of her body—and all the more, the mortification that he had still found pleasure in his cruel touch.
She raced to her room, got under the shower, and let the evidence of her last night’s orgasm wash down the drain.
Her body felt heavy with each passing minute. She stood under the hot water as her legs bristled, weak from the assault of Syzar’s unforgiving pace.
She reached the sink and wiped the mist from the mirror. Her reflection stared back—her lips wrecked from biting down too hard, the hard patterns of his hands stamped deep red against her hips, a claim of his possession.
She was his. The unremovable bracelets bound to her wrists were proof of her slave status.
“This is nothing, Celeste. Remember that,” she told
