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TWENTY-TWO: It Is My Purple Corset

Author: Aria Steele
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-11-18 05:00:52

By the time Nora wakes up the next day, David has already left. He barely got any sleep, tossing and turning over everything that happened in the last fourty-eight hours.

Kissing his secretary, kissing his submissive. The two things that he should never have done, and he did them both in the same fucking day.

Nora, he understands why he’s did it. But at The Red Room… he can’t place the reason. He can’t quite put it into words yet. Something in his body acted before his brain could sto
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Ngumatjiua Kauaria
as expected... but he is being a drama king ...
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  • SIR   Epilogue

    The bedroom door is barely closed before David's hands are on me, sliding up under the thin silk of my robe as he backs me against the wall.I tilt my head back against the cool plaster, letting him kiss down the column of my throat while my fingers work the buttons of his shirt open. His skin is still firm under my palms, though the muscle has softened slightly with the years, the hair on his chest is more silver than dark now. I love every change. Every line around his eyes when he smiles, every grey at his temples, every scar from nights we almost didn't survive. I trace them with my fingertips as I push the shirt off his shoulders."You smell like trouble," he murmurs against my collarbone, voice low and rough the way it gets when he's already half-gone on me."Good trouble?" I ask, sliding my hand down his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jump under my touch."The best kind." He catches my wrist, brings my palm to his mouth and kisses the centre before guiding it lower and th

  • SIR   BOOK 3

    Wow. I can’t believe I’m writing this. Two chapters and one epilogue ago, we were still holding our breath. Now here we are… at the end of SIR. For good this time. I don’t even know where to begin. Thank you. Truly. Thank you for stepping into this world with David and Nora. Thank you for riding every high, surviving every heartbreak, arguing with me in the comments when I stressed you out, and loving these characters as fiercely as I do. What started as an idea became something so much bigger because of you. Writing this book breathed life into my lungs in ways I can’t even explain. There were days when this story carried me just as much as I carried it. David and Nora’s journey wasn’t just ink on a page for me. It was healing, it was cathartic, and most importantly... it was home. And now… BOOK THREE! After so many debates with my editor and so many passionate discussions with you all, I’ve finally made the decision. Book 3 of SIR will follow Lucia. Yes. Our little Luc

  • SIR   #55: You Know I'm Right

    Maya jerks backward from the impact, the bullet tearing through the meat of her shoulder. She staggers two steps with her right hand clamping over the wound and blood already seeping between her fingers. The knife she’d pulled from her boot clatters to the floor. Her eyes are wide and locked on the smoking barrel in David’s hand.I’m still on my knees beside Vincent’s body, his blood soaking through my jeans. My ears are still ringing from the shot. Everything feels slow and too loud at the same time.I turn and see David standing in the doorway, holding the gun steady even though his knuckles are white around the grip. He doesn’t look at me first. His eyes stay on Maya.I push myself up slowly, legs shaky under me. “I thought I told you to stay outside and let me handle this on my own.”He finally glances my way. Just a quick flick of his gaze enough to make sure I’m still breathing, before returning to Maya.“I heard you,” he says. His voice is calm, almost conversational. “And if I

  • SIR   #54: I'm Fucking Sorry

    Maya stands frozen under the bright lights of the Red Room, her chest rising and falling too fast, eyes wide with the kind of shock that only comes when every careful plan collapses in the same heartbeat. Blood is drying on my arms, sticky and warm, but none of it is mine. The bodies of her men lie scattered across the carpet like broken dolls – some still twitching, most already gone. The air smells of copper and gunpowder and fear. I keep the pistol steadily pointed to her chest. My voice comes out calmly. “All I want is an apology, Maya. One honest apology. Say it, and I let you walk out of here.” She stares at me for a long second, then laughs. The sound starts small and builds until it echoes off the crimson walls. “That’s it? That’s why you staged this entire circus? For a fucking apology?” I don’t smile back. “Not everyone is an evil genius.” Her laughter cuts off suddenly and she wipes a smear of blood from her cheek with the back of her hand. “No. You’re right. You’re far

  • SIR   #53: Maya

    Maya settles deeper into the leather armchair in the surveillance van parked three blocks away with her legs crossed and a tablet balanced on her knee. The feed from the six micro-cameras she planted throughout David and Nora's apartment is crisp, the audio clean enough to catch every breath and every word. She has watched David and Nora return from the federal building, watched him hold her too long in the foyer, watched them disappear into the master suite for what was obviously not a conversation. The rage that had simmered since the chapel wedding is now a steady burn in her chest, but she keeps it contained. Rage without control is useless. She has learned that lesson the hard way. On the screen, Nora moves alone through the hallway toward the front door. She kisses David on the cheek just before she steps out, and promises to be back home soon. Wouldn’t be so sure if I were you, Maya thinks to herself. Nora steps out holding a black leather bound

  • SIR   #52: Hands Where I Can See Them

    The sight of Maya on our couch with her legs crossed, looking like she’s waiting for room service, snaps something inside me and I just move. I cross the living room in three strides, my hands already curling into fists, ready to wipe that calm smile off her face with every ounce of rage that’s been building since the day stepped into that warehouse. I almost make it. The cold press of a gun barrel against the back of my skull stops me dead. “Easy now,” a man’s voice says from behind me. “Hands where I can see them.” I raise them slowly, doing my utmost to quell the rage building up within me. Maya sets her glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink. “Well,” she says, standing smoothly, “now that we’ve gotten the initial hostility out of the way, perhaps we can behave like adults.” David puts himself between me and the gunman without hesitation. “Get that thing off her head,” he says in a voice that's danger

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