The Rules of Heat

Chapter 2: The Rules of Heat

The bedroom was quiet.

Too quiet.

I closed the door behind me and stood in front of the full-length mirror, holding the box like it might bite me. My reflection stared back eyes wild, chest rising and falling like I’d run a mile. The red lace inside the box looked like sin wrapped in confidence. It whispered: You know you want this.

And maybe I did.

I slipped out of my dress slowly. Each movement felt more forbidden than the last. My zipper echoed in the stillness like the sound of rules being broken. I peeled the silk from my skin and slid the lingerie on each strap, each clasp, each lace panel pressing against my curves like a promise.

The bra was a perfect fit. Too perfect. The panties sat low on my hips, the scalloped edge teasing the dip of my thighs. I’d never felt so naked while being technically dressed.

I walked back into the suite barefoot, heart pounding in places I didn’t know had a pulse.

Dominic stood by the window, back turned, a glass of something dark in his hand. He turned when he heard my steps and the look in his eyes made my stomach tighten.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak. He just watched.

Then he set the glass down and walked toward me.

“You wore it,” he said quietly.

“I was curious.”

He circled me slowly, like a predator inspecting a rare find. “Curiosity,” he murmured, “can be dangerous.”

I tipped my head up. “And you’re safe?”

“No,” he said. “But I have rules. Follow them, and no one gets hurt.”

I swallowed. “What kind of rules?”

He moved behind me, his breath grazing my neck.

“One. You don’t lie to me.”

My breath hitched as his fingers brushed the back strap of the bra.

“Two. You say stop, I stop. No questions.”

He slid one finger down my spine.

“Three. You don’t fall in love with me.”

I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“And four?” I asked, barely breathing.

He stepped closer, lips brushing my ear. “Four… you never stay the night.”

It was cold. Clear. Cruel, even. But the way he said it made heat pool low in my belly.

I nodded. “Understood.”

His hand slid around my waist. “Good girl.”

He turned me to face him and kissed me without warning.

No hesitation.

Just heat and hunger and dominance.

His lips claimed mine, mouth moving with practiced precision. His tongue traced mine in a rhythm that made me weak. He kissed like he did everything with intention and power.

I clutched his shirt, fingers digging into the open fabric, feeling the muscle beneath. He walked me backward until my thighs hit the edge of the velvet couch. He pressed me down gently, never breaking the kiss.

Then he pulled away.

“Lie back,” he ordered softly.

I obeyed, trembling, heart thudding like it was trying to escape my chest.

He knelt between my legs, palms sliding up my thighs, eyes never leaving mine. “Tell me to stop, Lana.”

I didn’t.

His mouth was on me before I could form a word. Soft lips, skilled tongue, slow torment. I gasped, arching under the sensation as he drew pleasure from me like it was a sacred act. I moaned his name without meaning to half-prayer, half-curse.

When I came, it was with a cry I couldn’t hold in.

He watched. He listened. He memorized it.

And then he kissed his way back up, eyes dark, mouth glistening.

“Still curious?” he asked, voice hoarse.

I nodded, breathless. “Always.”

He stood, unbuckled his belt with one hand, and undressed with the other like it was second nature. He was carved perfection every inch of him powerful and restrained.

He slid a condom on with quiet control. Then leaned down, lips brushing mine.

“One night,” he whispered. “No love. No goodbyes.”

And then he thrust into me.

Hard. Deep. Like he owned me.

I gasped, wrapping my legs around him as he began to move slow at first, then harder, faster, until the room disappeared. There was only the slick sound of skin on skin, the soft creak of the couch, and the sound of my own ragged breathing beneath him.

He held my wrists above my head with one hand, controlling the rhythm with the other.

“You feel like trouble,” he growled.

“You are trouble,” I whispered back.

And he kissed me again, harder this time, like he wanted to erase every rule he’d ever made.

We moved together until the edge found us both and when it broke, it took everything with it.

We lay in silence afterward. The only sound was our breathing.

He pulled away first. Wordlessly. Efficiently.

Then he stood and walked to the window again, his back to me. The moment was over.

Just like that.

I sat up, trembling, unsure what to say.

“Your dress is on the chair,” he said, voice calm. “The car downstairs will take you home.”

Right. Rule number four.

Never stay the night.

I dressed in silence. My legs wobbled, my chest still fluttering with aftershocks. I didn’t know if I felt used… or electrified.

Maybe both.

As I reached the door, I turned. “Do you always treat sex like a business deal?”

He looked over his shoulder, expression unreadable.

“No,” he said. “Just with women who might make me forget the rules.”

The door clicked behind me before I could answer.

And I walked into the night with my heart racing and my lips still tasting like him already wondering what breaking his rules might cost me.