Chapter 3 - Curiosity Is A Knife

Raven stood outside Jaxon Morreau’s private office with her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird.

Victor had led her here without explanation. No smirk. No warning. Just his usual silence and a nod before shutting the door behind her.

The air inside was heavy. Dark wood paneling. Black leather furniture. Shelves lined with books in foreign languages and gold-embossed spines. It wasn’t the office of a club owner, it was a predator’s den.

Jaxon sat behind a desk, crisp in a charcoal vest, sleeves rolled to the elbow. One leg casually crossed over the other. He didn’t look up right away. Just swirled the amber liquid in a crystal tumbler and let her simmer in the silence.

Finally, he spoke.

“You’re late.”

“I wasn’t told I had an appointment.”

“You don’t. This isn’t a meeting, Raven. It’s an audit.”

Her brow lifted. “Of what?”

“You.”

He leaned forward, placing the glass aside.

“Tell me about your father.”

The question hit like a slap. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t talk about him.”

“You’re going to.”

She shifted on her feet. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Liar.”

Raven froze.

His voice hadn’t risen. If anything, it dropped lower, richer, like poison poured over silk.

“I know more than you think,” he said. “And I’ve had men watching you since the moment you walked into Eden.”

Her blood chilled.

“Then why ask?” she shot back.

“Because I wanted to see if you’d lie to me to my face.”

He stood slowly, walking around the desk with predatory grace. “You did.”

“I’m not your submissive, Jaxon.”

“Not yet.”

He circled her now, hands clasped behind his back.

“You had a scholarship to Columbia. Dropped out after your mother’s death. Took a junior investigative gig for the Herald. Then went missing for eight months. Care to explain?”

She clenched her jaw. “I don’t owe you that.”

“You do if you want to stay in my world.”

He stopped behind her. She felt the heat of his body at her back.

“You’ve got secrets, Raven. And I collect secrets the way other men collect art. The difference is, I know how to break them open.”

“Then break me,” she said, voice trembling but defiant.

He chuckled, low and dark. “You’ll beg for that one day.”

Then he stepped in front of her. Close. So close.

“I’m going to give you a command,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “If you obey, I’ll give you something in return.”

“What kind of something?”

“You’ll see.”

He raised a hand and touched her chin with just two fingers.

“Kneel.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Kneel, Raven.”

A war exploded behind her ribs. Every self-protective instinct screamed. But her body… her body betrayed her.

Slowly, knees trembling, she sank to the floor.

Jaxon exhaled. Like something inside him settled.

Then he leaned down. “Good girl.” And kissed her.

Not soft. Not sweet.

This kiss was punishment and promise all at once. His mouth claimed hers, teeth tugging at her lower lip, tongue sliding past the edge of resistance like it belonged there.

When he pulled back, she was breathless. And he was smiling.

“You did well,” he murmured. “Now I know how deep you’ll go for the truth.”

He turned away. Left her kneeling, and she stayed there, because some part of her needed to.

Raven didn’t know how long she knelt. Long enough for her knees to burn. Long enough for her pride to dissolve. Long enough for the ache between her legs to return, not just physical, but emotional. A craving to be understood. Controlled. Owned.

Jaxon watched her from behind his desk, silent. His expression unreadable, but his body language told her everything: calm, calculated, in command.

When he finally moved, it was deliberate. He picked up the collar. Black leather. Silver O-ring. Elegant. Brutal. Final.

“I told you this wasn’t about sex,” he said.

Her throat tightened.

“This,” he continued, stepping toward her, “is a contract. One you don’t sign with ink. You sign it with your body. Your obedience. Your submission.”

He stopped in front of her.

“You walk away now, I’ll let you. No punishment. No shame. But if you stay…”

He dropped the collar into her open palms.

“You’re mine. Mind, body, soul. Do you understand?”

Raven stared down at the collar. It felt heavier than it should. Cold. Real. Her heart thundered.

She should walk. Every part of her should scream and run. But she didn’t. Because in this room, in his presence, she didn’t feel broken. She felt seen.

And that terrified her more than anything.

“I understand,” she whispered.

“Say it clearly.”

“I understand, Jaxon. I’m yours.”

His pupils darkened. A quiet satisfaction passed through him.

“Good girl.”

He took the collar from her hands and moved behind her. The leather slid around her neck. The click of the buckle echoed like a gavel. Ownership declared.

She exhaled shakily. Her skin flushed. Her pulse skidded.

Jaxon came around to face her again, fingers brushing lightly down her jaw.

“Stand up.”

She rose slowly, wobbly, uncertain.

He didn’t give her time to settle. His hand slid into her hair, gripping gently, tilting her head back.

“This isn’t just about control,” he murmured. “It’s about trust. I will never hurt you without reason. Never touch you without permission. But when you give yourself to me…”

His lips brushed hers.

“You give everything.”

He guided her backward, one slow step at a time, until the backs of her legs hit the chaise lounge in the corner of the room. He sat first, pulling her into his lap so her legs draped over his.

Raven’s breath hitched. She was straddling him now, her chest rising and falling fast beneath his steady hands.

He didn’t undress her. He didn’t demand. He just touched. Soft strokes down her arms. Light grazes along her inner thighs. One hand rested possessively at her lower back, the other slowly moved between her legs.

“You’re soaked,” he said, lips against her throat. “Did kneeling for me make you this wet?”

She nodded, humiliated by how easy it was to admit.

“Words.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The moan that left him was pure sin.

“Then you’ll come like this,” he whispered. “With my fingers inside you. My mouth on your neck. My name in your throat.”

He slid two fingers beneath the hem of her skirt, finding her panties. Slick. Useless. He pushed them aside and sank two fingers into her heat.

She gasped. Clutched his shoulders. Rode the pressure as he curled them just right.

His mouth found the pulse at her throat. Bit gently. Sucked hard.

Raven cried out.

“You don’t come until I say,” he growled.

Her body trembled. The tension coiled tighter and tighter. Her walls fluttered around his fingers.

“Please,” she gasped. “I can’t—”

“You will.”

He bit her ear. His thumb stroked her clit. Just once.

“Now.”

And she shattered. Her cry was raw, desperate. She clung to him as her orgasm ripped through her, hips jerking, heart pounding. He didn’t stop. Kept stroking, coaxing every tremor, every gasp.

When she finally collapsed against his chest, boneless and shaking, he kissed her temple.

“That’s how this begins,” he murmured.

She didn’t answer, because she couldn’t imagine ever wanting it to end.