Chapter 3: The First Rule

Sierra woke before sunrise.

The house was still. The only sound was her breath, soft and shallow, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The memory of last night his note, his voice, his quiet command hung in the air like smoke, impossible to escape.

No panties tomorrow.

You’ll know if I notice.

He hadn’t touched her.

But he had already started owning her.

Her fingers slipped under the covers, down between her thighs. She was already soaked. Every inch of her skin ached for what came next. And yet, a part of her still trembled not from fear, but from a truth far more dangerous:

She was going to obey.

She rose, walked across the room to her dresser, and hesitated in front of the open drawer where her underwear lay in neat rows cotton, lace, silk.

She reached in.

Then slowly pulled her hand back.

Not today.

Downstairs, the kitchen was bathed in morning sunlight. Her mother sat at the island, barefoot in silk pajamas, scrolling on her tablet. The air smelled of coffee and fresh grapefruit.

“Morning, baby,” Vanessa called, without looking up.

“Morning,” Sierra mumbled, moving toward the fridge. Her heart was pounding. She could feel the breeze from the air conditioning brushing her thighs beneath her loose sundress.

No bra. No panties. Just skin. And fire.

And him.

He entered the room silently. Damien’s presence shifted the air. Even before he spoke, Sierra could feel him.

“Morning, ladies,” he said, voice smooth as smoke.

Sierra didn’t turn to look at him, but her body responded anyway. Her spine straightened. Her nipples hardened. She felt exposed.

His footsteps were slow and deliberate as he walked past her. He poured himself coffee, stirred it once, then leaned against the counter.

His gaze slid over her like silk.

“That dress suits you,” he said casually.

Vanessa smiled, sipping her juice. “She never wore it when I bought it. Can you believe that?”

Damien’s voice dropped half a tone. “I can now.”

Sierra pretended not to hear. But her skin was burning. She didn’t dare move too fast, didn’t dare bend, didn’t dare look at him.

It was a game.

A dangerous one.

And she was playing it willingly.

The morning dragged on in agonizing silence. Vanessa left shortly after breakfast for her weekly spa visit. Sierra wandered the house, pretending to read, to organize, to do anything that would distract her from the ache between her legs.

It didn’t work.

She knew where he was.

And she knew what he wanted.

At precisely 11:43, her bare feet carried her to the door of Damien’s study.

She stood there, hesitating. Her fingers hovered near the handle. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Then she stepped inside.

The scent hit her first masculine, dark, rich with leather and whiskey. His desk was perfectly arranged. His chair was turned toward the window.

She didn’t see him. Not at first.

Then the door shut behind her.

He was there.

“I said no panties,” Damien said quietly. “But I didn’t say you could come in.”

Her breath caught. “I”

“You knew better.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes… Sir.”

That word changed everything.

He walked slowly toward her, every step precise. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

He tilted her chin up. “Wrong answer.”

Sierra’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

His hand slid behind her neck and gently pulled her forward until her lips hovered inches from his shirt.

“Do you want me to punish you?”

Her thighs clenched. “Yes, Sir.”

His hand left her skin. “Lift your dress.”

She obeyed.

No hesitation.

No shame.

Just want.

He circled her slowly, inspecting her. The air against her bare heat made her knees weak.

“You’re wet.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You walked around this house knowing I could see you like this at any moment. Did you want me to watch?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to be good.”

He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. “Being good doesn’t mean being disobedient.”

Her eyes fluttered shut.

He stepped back.

“You’ll learn.”

Sierra’s punishment wasn’t physical. Not yet.

It was mental.

He made her kneel in front of him in silence for twenty minutes back straight, eyes down, palms open. Every second stretched like an eternity. Her thighs quivered. Her skin itched to be touched. Her lips ached to part with a moan.

But she didn’t move.

She obeyed.

Finally, he spoke. “Your first rule is simple. You wear no underwear in this house unless told otherwise. Say it back.”

“I wear no underwear unless told otherwise.”

“Good girl.”

Those two words sent a shockwave through her body.

He let her go after that.

Dismissed her.

And that was the hardest part.

She left the room on trembling legs, her pulse still racing, her heat unbearable.

That evening, dinner felt like theatre.

Vanessa wore a low cut red dress and talked nonstop about her new Botox nurse. Damien sat across from Sierra, calm and unreadable. Sierra could barely swallow.

Her skin still remembered the heat of his breath. Her knees still trembled from kneeling. Her whole body was a live wire waiting for his next command.

And then he did it.

He reached across the table.

With slow, deliberate fingers, he wiped a smudge of whipped cream from the corner of her mouth.

His thumb lingered.

Vanessa didn’t blink, still talking about Miami.

But Sierra froze.

Her pulse thundered.

His touch was featherlight, casual to any outsider.

But to her, it was electricity.

He brought his thumb to his mouth and tasted the cream.

Vanessa laughed. “You two are so dramatic.”

Neither of them answered.

They didn’t have to.

Later that night, Sierra lay in bed, sheets twisted around her legs. Her fingers hovered above her slick folds but didn’t dare move.

Not without permission.

That’s what he was doing now training her.

Not with chains or whips. Not yet.

But with looks.

With words.

With silence.

And it was working.

She was his. Even if he hadn’t truly taken her yet.

The dream that followed was dark and vivid.

She was on her knees again, wrists bound behind her, mouth gagged with silk. He circled her like a predator, eyes glowing with control. Every inch of her burned.

In the dream, she begged him with her eyes.

And he whispered, You’re not ready to be touched.

You’re only ready to be owned.

She woke up gasping.

Waking up didn’t break the dream.

Because the truth was even more intense.

She was awake.

And it was real.