Chapter 8 - His Rules, Her Fire

The rules weren't written anywhere, but they were everywhere. Raven felt them in the silence when Jaxon looked at her. In the tension when she stepped too close without permission. In the burn between her thighs when he said nothing at all and still made her beg in her head.

No lying. No touching without command. No coming without consent. No forgetting who she belonged to.

They weren’t printed in any contract, but Raven was beginning to understand them like scripture. Jaxon Morreau didn’t teach obedience with threats. He seduced it into you, until disobedience felt like pain and surrender felt like home.

She was spiraling, and she knew it, yet she still, she craved the fall.

That night, Raven waited until the club was winding down, past 3 a.m., when the guests began to thin, the music softened, and the hallways emptied into darkness.

Jaxon had left hours earlier. Victor had said nothing except, “He’s in his office. Don’t disturb him.”

So of course, she did exactly that. She wasn’t thinking like a submissive tonight. She was thinking like a journalist.

Raven moved like smoke, silent, purposeful, her heels in her hand as she walked barefoot past the glass staircase and up toward the heart of Jaxon’s empire. She had memorized the security rhythms. Watched which doors were alarmed and which weren’t. Observed every time he opened the drawer on the left side of his desk.

She was ready. Until she wasn’t. Because the moment her hand touched the door to his private office, it opened on its own and Jaxon was standing on the other side with his tie undone. His sleeves rolled. His eyes like cold fire.

“I said,” he murmured, “don’t ever come in here without me.”

Raven froze, but it was too late to run, so she didn’t. She squared her shoulders, stepped inside past him, and said, “Then stop leaving it unlocked.”

The door clicked shut behind her and at first the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Slowly he walked toward her. The sound of his shoes on the floor was louder than her breath. When he spoke, it was soft. Too soft.

“What were you looking for?”

“Answers.”

“To what?”

“The girls.”

A beat.

“The names,” she said. “The ones who vanished. Isabelle. Dani. Mariel.”

Jaxon didn’t move.

“I found Isabelle in your employment records,” she added. “Two weeks before she disappeared.”

He said nothing.

“You’re not surprised.”

“No.”

Raven took a step forward. “Are they dead?”

Jaxon’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He moved suddenly, pinning her against the door with his body, one arm braced above her head.

“No, Raven,” he growled, breath hot against her face. “That’s a warning.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“Why the secrets?” she hissed. “Why the lies?”

“Because this club is more than champagne and silk. It’s a fortress. And you’re inside now.”

“You let me in.”

“And I can still throw you out.”

His hand curled around her throat, not choking, just there. A reminder. But she didn’t flinch, she arched into the pressure.

“You’re angry,” he said quietly.

“I’m furious.”

“Good.”

And then his mouth was on hers, punishing, brutal, devouring.

She gasped as his tongue claimed her, teeth nipping her bottom lip until she whimpered. His hand slid into her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her throat.

“You want truth?” he snarled. “Then kneel for it.”

She dropped like gravity had ripped her down. Not because she was afraid, because she wanted to.

Because fire needed fuel, and he was the match.

He didn’t speak again. Just unbuckled his belt with slow, measured control, pulled himself free.

Thick. Heavy. Already hard.

“Open.”

She obeyed.

He slid into her mouth, slowly, one hand cradling the back of her head, guiding her pace.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Look at me.”

She stared up at him, tears pricking her eyes as he pushed deeper, testing her limits.

“You sneak into my office,” he murmured, voice dark with pleasure, “you get punished with my cock.”

She moaned, the sound vibrating around him.

He pulled back, let her breathe, then thrust again.

“Such a fucking good girl,” he whispered. “Filthy little liar. This is what you really came for, isn’t it?”

She didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. Because her panties were soaked. Because her thighs were shaking. Because the more he took, the more she gave.

When he pulled out, he grabbed her by the hair and hauled her to her feet.

“You’re not coming tonight,” he growled.

“Please.”

“No.”

He shoved her over his desk, pressing her chest to the cold glass, flipping her skirt up, tearing her panties down. And then, silk rope.

Where had it come from? She didn’t know, but he tied her wrists behind her back with practiced ease, his body grinding against hers.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “You don’t get to sneak. You ask. You beg.”

“I was scared.”

“No, you were arrogant. And that’s what I love about you.”

He slid two fingers between her thighs. “So wet,” he hissed. “You disobey me, and your cunt still begs to be filled.”

He teased her entrance, circling it, never giving in.

She bucked. He slapped her ass, once. Then again. Then filled her in one savage thrust. She cried out, the sound muffled by her own breathless moan.

Jaxon pounded into her with punishing precision, each thrust a command. His hands gripped her hips so hard she’d bruise.

“You think you control this?” he growled.

She shook her head.

“Say it.”

“I don’t...I don’t control anything.”

He leaned down, teeth at her ear. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” she gasped. “I belong to you.”

“Fucking right you do.”

He slid his fingers between her legs and rubbed her clit with ruthless circles. “Come for me, Raven. Now.”

She shattered around him, screaming, trembling, her body pulsing and clenching until he groaned and spilled inside her, collapsing over her back.

A beat of silence, just thr sound of their breathing.

Her skin was on fire. Her wrists ached from the rope. Her legs shook, but her chest was steady, because in that moment, there was no confusion, there was only truth and it had come wrapped in rope and bruises.

Jaxon untied her wrists slowly, held her when she slumped into him. He didn’t speak. He didn’t comfort. He simply cradled her against his chest until she could breathe again.

“You broke into my world,” he said finally.

“I needed to know.”

“I know.”

He tilted her chin.

“And now you do.”

Later, in her room, Raven stood under the hot shower for a long time. The bruises on her thighs were blooming. The rope marks on her wrists were red. And her heart was terrifyingly still.

She didn’t feel like she’d crossed a line. She felt like she’d finally arrived.

She wrote in the journal that night: I disobeyed him. He punished me and I came harder than I ever have. Maybe that’s the truth I’ve been chasing, not who Jaxon Morreau is, but who I am when I’m with him.

I thought he’d take power from me, but he’s just showing me where it’s buried.