Chapter 3 – Bound by Fire
1335 Words
Alessia didn’t dream.
Or maybe she did—but in this place, dreams were too dangerous to trust.
She lay sprawled across Dante Moretti’s bed, her wrists red and raw from the velvet cuffs he’d used to bind her the night before. They weren’t tight, not enough to cut her circulation, but enough to mark her. Enough to remind her she hadn’t just slept here—she’d been taken.
And part of her… had surrendered willingly.
The air smelled of s*x and smoke and something else. Him.
Her legs still trembled from the last orgasm he’d wrung out of her—without speaking, without warning, just his mouth on her skin and his fingers stroking her until she cried out his name.
She hated that she remembered it so clearly. Hated even more how her body responded to the memory.
She rolled to her side, the silk sheets clinging to her damp skin. The room was quiet, the heavy blackout curtains still drawn. He was gone.
Good, she thought. She could finally breathe.
She sat up slowly, chest rising and falling with a strange kind of relief—and disappointment.
But before her feet touched the ground, the door opened.
She stiffened instantly.
Dante stood in the doorway, bare-chested, sweatpants riding low on his hips. His chest gleamed with a light sheen of sweat, and a thin gold chain hung loosely around his neck.
“Awake?” he asked, as if they were lovers waking from a lazy night, not strangers trapped in a brutal game of power.
Alessia didn’t answer. She simply stared at him, unsure what version of him she’d get today. The one who pinned her to the mattress and made her beg? Or the one who kissed her with a kind of fire that almost felt… reverent?
“You didn’t run,” he said, stepping closer. “I left the cuffs loose enough. I wanted to see if you’d try.”
“I thought about it,” she replied, lifting her chin.
Dante smirked, brushing her hair back from her face. “But you stayed.”
“I’m not a coward.”
“No,” he said, voice lower now. “You’re not.”
He cupped her chin, tilting her face up to his. His thumb traced her bottom lip. “Which is why I’m going to take more from you today.”
Alessia’s breath caught.
“More?”
He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “Your will. Your trust. Your control.”
She flinched.
“You think I’ll ever trust you?” she whispered.
He chuckled darkly, pulling back to meet her eyes. “Not now. But you will. Trust is the sweetest thing to steal—because once I have it, I own not just your body… but everything.”
He reached down and took her hand, placing it on the bulge forming beneath his sweatpants.
“See what you do to me?” he murmured.
She tried to pull away, but his grip held her there.
“I didn’t ask you to touch me,” she snapped.
He grinned.
“No, you didn’t. But you will.”
---
Later that day, Dante took her to the training room.
That’s what he called it, at least.
But to Alessia, it looked more like a dungeon dressed in black marble and soft lighting. Velvet ropes. Leather cuffs. A bench that looked far too familiar from those forbidden clips she used to watch alone when her curiosity outpaced her fear.
She stared at the room, throat dry. Her skin buzzed.
“Why are we here?” she asked.
Dante shut the door behind them with a soft click. “Because your body knows what your mind refuses to admit.”
He approached slowly, like a lion studying his next meal. “Every time I bind you, you get wetter. Every time I take something from you, you give me more in return.”
“That’s not true,” she breathed.
He stopped in front of her, cupping her jaw. “Lie to yourself, if you need to. But your body doesn’t lie.”
He gestured to a padded bench in the center of the room. “Kneel.”
She hesitated.
“If I don’t?”
His smile was cruel. “Then I’ll make you. But you won’t like how.”
Her pride burned. But something in her… thrilled at the threat.
She walked to the bench and slowly knelt, letting the leather cushion press against her bare knees. She felt exposed. Nervous. Alive.
Dante walked behind her. She didn’t see him, but she felt the heat of his gaze. Her robe was thin. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“I’m going to give you a rule,” he said, voice low and direct. “One you’re going to remember with every inch of your skin.”
She waited.
“No matter what I do to you in this room, you don’t come unless I say so.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t control that.”
“I can,” he said simply. “And I will.”
He tied her wrists behind her back. Not tightly—but with precision. Then he moved in front of her, lowering his pants enough to free his c**k.
It was thick, dark, hard.
He stroked it slowly, watching her eyes.
“Open your mouth.”
She did.
He slid into her mouth slowly, groaning as her lips wrapped around him.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
She hated how those two words made her throb between her legs.
He began to thrust, gently at first, then deeper. She gagged, tears pricking her eyes. He didn’t stop. His hand gripped her hair, guiding her.
The leather creaked beneath her knees as he f****d her mouth with steady force. She moaned around him, and he cursed softly.
“You like this,” he whispered. “Look at you, taking me like you were made for it.”
She moaned again.
When he finally pulled out, saliva connected her lips to his tip.
He walked behind her, tugging the robe down and baring her completely. She didn’t protest. Her body was burning now—aching to be touched, used, claimed.
“You’re dripping,” he said, touching her between her thighs.
She gasped. “You told me I couldn’t come.”
“And I haven’t let you.”
He spanked her—sharp, fast. The sting made her cry out.
“That’s for trying to break the rule.”
Again. And again.
Her skin burned, her p***y pulsed, and tears rolled down her cheeks—but she didn’t want him to stop.
“You feel that?” he said, pushing two fingers inside her. “You’re squeezing me already. But I’m not done with you yet.”
He moved her to the bench, bent her over, and entered her from behind in one brutal thrust.
She cried out, the stretch overwhelming. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He f****d her hard, deep, steady.
“You want to come, don’t you?”
She moaned.
“Beg me.”
She bit her lip, refusing.
He spanked her again. “Beg.”
Her pride cracked. Her body trembled.
“Please… Dante…”
“Please what?”
“Let me come,” she whispered, broken and breathless.
He slowed.
“Good girl.”
And then he reached between her thighs and rubbed her c**t in firm circles, never breaking the rhythm of his thrusts.
Alessia screamed as her orgasm hit—sharp, loud, devastating.
He followed a second later, groaning her name, spilling inside her.
They collapsed on the bench, tangled in sweat and limbs and heat.
For a moment, the world went quiet.
Dante brushed her hair back, kissed her shoulder.
“You obeyed,” he said.
“You forced me.”
“No,” he said. “I just showed you who you really are.”
She lay there, shivering.
And hated that she believed him.
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