Chapter six

​I run my fingers through my hair and wince as the tequila burns my throat.

​My chest heaves in the quiet study. A virgin. I never touch virgins. It is my strict rule, and Jack knows it.

​I should know the moment I slide into her. 

I should recognize the tightness, the way her body clamps shut, and the panic in her tear-filled eyes. But I convince myself she is just nervous.

​Then comes her sharp, agonizing scream.

​I pull back, whispering a hasty apology against her temple while my hand squeezes her breast to distract her.

 But the raw impatience burning in my veins wins. I drive back in, pushing past the tightness of her body.

​She wraps around me so impossibly tight, every inch of her resisting me, but I rationalize it—telling myself she is just fighting my size.

​When she tries to push my chest away, my temper snaps.

 I grab the silver handcuffs from the nightstand, pin her wrists above her head, and lock her to the headboard. I tell myself it is just to keep her still.

​I pour more tequila and toss it back, but I cannot erase the image. Even bound and terrified, her body answers mine. 

She tightens around me in a climax that pulls me over the edge with her.

​

Then I see it. A dark red stain on the white sheets. Proof that I crossed a line I never cross.

​I squeeze my phone until my knuckles turn white. I call Jack. He answers on the second ring.

​"Good evening, Boss," Jack says in a tired voice.

​"I do not do virgins, Jack," I growl. "Why do you bring me a virgin?"

​"Boss, what are you talking about?"

​"It is your job to check every woman that ever crosses my bed!" I slam my glass on the desk. "Are you playing dumb?"

​"Boss, her documents say she is ready," Jack stammers. "She said she was not a virgin. If she lied, she did it for the money."

​I end the call and throw the phone onto the couch.

Is she that desperate? Did she lie about her innocence just to get the cash?

​I hide my face in my hands, my stubble scraping against my palms. I remember how she cowers beneath me after I uncuff her, hiding her face behind her hair to mask her tears.

​Diana is too soft, too pure for a man like me. Keeping her means destroying every drop of innocence she has left. I have to let her go.

​Yet, deep down, a dark voice inside me screams not to let her walk away.

*****************

Diana pov

I pull the duvet off my body and limp toward the bathroom. Every step hurts. My middle is thoroughly sore, and I can swear it is all from what happened last night.

​I lower myself into the warm water. A faint sting makes me wince. 

My knuckles turn white as I grip the tub's edge, waiting for the sharp discomfort to pass. Little by little, the heat soaks into my muscles. I finally let out the breath trapped in my chest.

​I close my eyes, and I see his face right away.

​Blake leaning over me.

​His dark eyes staring into mine.

​His low voice telling me to look at him.

​I dig my fingernails into the tub. I remember how scared I was. I remember grabbing the bedsheets and crying out that I couldn't do it. I remember trying to push his heavy body away.

​Then, I remember the handcuffs.

​My eyes snap open. I start breathing fast.

​I can still feel the cold metal on my wrists. I felt so helpless, locked down and unable to move. At the time, I had been too overwhelmed to think clearly.

​But now, a new thought frightens me even more.

​My body reacted to him

​Just thinking about it makes my face feel hot.

 I slide down into the water, wishing I could hide from my own thoughts.

​How could that happen? I was terrified. I cried. I wanted him to stop.

So why did my pulse race? Why did my nerve endings flare up under his hands? It felt like my flesh belonged to someone else entirely—working against my mind, ignoring my terror.

I always thought I was incapable of feeling desire. Maybe that's why I could never write those intimate scenes properly

​So why Blake?

I barely know this man. Yet, he made me feel something I had spent years believing I couldn't feel. I stare at the quiet water, my mind spinning. For the first time, I understood desire—not from the pages of a book, but from my own body. And the fact that Blake was the man who awakened it scared me more than anything.