Raw Pleasures

Bella’s POV

It was my twenty-fifth birthday, and instead of cake and candles, I wanted sin.

On page twenty-three of that secret, leather notebook under my bed, in messy handwriting I would die before letting anyone else see, the words were underlined twice:

One night. No names. No strings. A stranger. Complete submission.

I had always wondered what it would feel like to let go, to stop controlling everything, stop worrying about what was “appropriate,” stop biting back the filthy little thoughts that lived in the shadows of my mind. I wanted a man to take me, use me, and own me, at least once. Just one night where I didn’t have to think.

And maybe it was the two bourbons I had already swallowed, maybe it was the silk cling of my dress against my thighs, or maybe it was the fact that I was finally twenty-five and tired of waiting for life to happen, whatever the reason, I decided tonight was the night.

The hotel bar smelled of whiskey, leather, and expensive perfume. My legs were crossed, my red dress riding high, my lips painted dark as I nursed the last of my drink. I was pretending to be casual, but inside, every part of me was wired tight, waiting.

And then I felt him.

He walked in like he owned the room—tall, shoulders broad under his black suit, tie loosened like he’d already had enough of being civilized. He didn’t scan the bar, didn’t waste time looking at anyone else. His eyes locked on me immediately, steady and unblinking, like he’d already made a decision.

My pulse jumped. God. This was it.

He came closer, each step deliberate, until he stood so near I could smell him—warm, smoky, faintly like leather and danger.

“You look like trouble,” he said, his voice a low growl that slid under my skin.

I swirled the ice in my glass and forced a smirk I didn’t quite feel. “And you look like the kind of man who enjoys trouble.”

His lips curved slightly. He leaned down, close enough that his mouth brushed my ear when he spoke.

The question punched straight through my carefully held composure. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t possibly guess that this was the exact line on my bucket list, the secret I’d carried around for years. And yet here he was, asking me if I followed orders.

My thighs pressed together under the bar. My mouth went dry. But I held his gaze, forced my voice steady. “Depends. Are you the kind of man worth obeying?”

Something flickered in his eyes, dark and satisfied. And in that moment, I knew.

This was happening.

The elevator doors slid closed behind us, and before I could exhale, he shoved me back against the mirrored wall. His hand wrapped around my throat, firm, controlling, not enough to hurt but enough to make me whimper with shock.

“Fuck,” I gasped, lips parting—right before his mouth crashed against mine.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim. His tongue forced mine into surrender, his teeth biting at my bottom lip until I melted against the mirror. My reflection stared back at me—flushed cheeks, wide eyes, a stranger’s hand at my throat, my dress already sliding up indecently high.

He broke away just long enough to growl against my ear. “You’ll do exactly as I say tonight. Understood?”

My body burned, my blood rushing like fire in my veins. This was it. This was the night. This was the bucket list fantasy I’d been saving.

“Yes,” I breathed. Then, bolder: “Yes… Sir.”

The look in his eyes when I said that word made my knees weak.

His suite was huge, expensive, but I barely noticed. The second the door locked, he turned and pointed.

“Strip.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. I hesitated, just for a heartbeat—then let the straps of my red dress slide off my shoulders. The silk puddled at my feet. My heels stayed on, my panties stayed on, and I stood there trembling in black lace, suddenly more exposed than I’d ever been in my life.

He didn’t rush. He circled me slowly, his fingertips brushing over my spine, down my hip, ghosting over the swell of my ass. The touch made me shiver, made my nipples tighten against the lace.

Then he fisted my hair, yanking my head back until I was forced to look up at him. His eyes were dark fire.

“You’re mine tonight,” he said flatly. “Every part of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I’m yours.”

“On your knees.”

My body dropped instantly, as if it had been waiting for that command all along.

I was shaking as I knelt before him, looking up, and waiting. He unzipped slowly, deliberately, pulling himself free, hard and thick. My mouth watered.

“Open,” he ordered.

I obeyed. His cock slid over my tongue, thick and heavy, and I gagged when he shoved deeper than I expected. Tears blurred my vision as spit dripped down my chin, but I didn’t stop. I let him use me, his fist tight in my hair as he thrust into my mouth again and again.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Messy. Obedient. Just how I like it.”

My eyes watered harder. My throat burned. But inside, I was soaring. This was what I had written on that bucket list in secret handwriting. This was surrender.

When he finally yanked me back, my lips were swollen, spit glistening on my chin. I gasped for air, chest heaving, and he smirked down at me.

“Good girl.”

God. The words made me tremble.

He pulled off his tie, snapping the silk between his hands.

“Wrists. Behind your back.”

My breath caught, but I obeyed, placing my wrists together. The silk tightened around them with a firm knot, and suddenly I was helpless, bound, panting.

He shoved me face-first onto the bed, my ass in the air. His palm caressed my skin once, twice—then came the first slap.

The sting lit up my nerves, sharp and shocking, and I moaned into the sheets.

Again. Harder. Again, again, until my ass was hot and tender, my thighs trembling, my breath ragged.

“You like that?” he demanded, spanking me harder.

“Yes,” I moaned. “Yes, Sir!”

His chuckle was dark, dangerous. “Then you’ll love this.”

His fingers slid between my folds, already soaked, teasing my clit before pulling away again, denying me what I needed. My body bucked helplessly, my wrists straining against the silk, my voice breaking.

“Please,” I begged. “Please, I need it—”

“You need it?” His fist tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. His lips brushed my ear, his voice a growl. “Say it. Say you belong to me tonight.”

“I—I belong to you,” I gasped. “Just for tonight, I’m yours.”

And then he slammed into me, hard, stretching me wide, stealing the scream from my throat.