Chapter 6

Seraphina's POV

Do you know how to be an obedient girl?

The words echoed in my skull.

What did that mean? What was I agreeing to?

I thought of the rumors. The whispers that followed Lorenzo Vitale like shadows. The things Wren had said with that wicked gleam in her eye—ties them up, edges them for hours, makes them scream...

Was that what waited for me? Would I become just another girl he'd broken and discarded?

A violent shiver ran through my body.

But the alternative—

The cameras. The headlines. The Ashfords' faces when they saw their charity case splashed across every tabloid in the city. Adopted daughter caught in BDSM club scandal.

They would throw me away. I knew it with bone-deep certainty. Whatever thin thread of obligation kept them tolerating me would snap, and I would be alone.

Truly alone.

I was still frozen in indecision when a voice cut through the noise.

"Excuse me, Mr. Vitale?"

A reporter had broken through the perimeter. He approached with the false politeness of a predator circling wounded prey.

"We received a tip about a young woman—daughter of a prominent family—"

Lorenzo's expression didn't change. Didn't even flicker.

"—seen entering this establishment. Have you noticed anyone matching that description?"

The reporter's eyes slid toward me. Toward my ruined dress, my wild hair, my tear-streaked face half-hidden against Lorenzo's chest.

Recognition sparked.

His hand moved toward his camera.

No. No, no, no—

I grabbed Lorenzo's sleeve. Fisted the expensive fabric like it was the only thing keeping me from drowning.

"I will," I gasped. "I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want. Please—please—"

Lorenzo glanced down at me. Then at the reporter.

Without a word, he swept me into his arms.

I yelped—couldn't help it. One moment I was standing, the next I was cradled against his chest like I weighed nothing, my face pressed to the hollow of his throat.

He turned and walked away. Not toward the exit. Toward the shadows at the back of the club.

Behind us, I heard Nico's voice, flat and dangerous: "Mr. Vitale has no comment. And if that camera isn't put away in three seconds, you'll be swallowing it."

The corridor was dark. Red-lit. Silent except for the click of Lorenzo's shoes against marble.

He didn't speak. Didn't look at me. Just carried me deeper into the belly of Crimson Thorn like I was cargo. Property.

We stopped before a door. Black wood, no markings.

The room beyond made my heart stop.

It wasn't a bedroom. Not really. Not in any way I understood.

The walls were deep crimson, padded in places, lined with... things. Implements I couldn't name. Leather straps and metal rings and lengths of silk rope coiled like sleeping serpents. A wooden frame stood in one corner—an X shape, with cuffs at each point. Hooks descended from the ceiling.

And the bed.

Massive. Four-poster. Black iron frame with restraints already attached at each corner.

Oh God.

Lorenzo set me down. My legs nearly buckled, but I forced myself to stay upright.

His jacket—the one he'd draped over my shoulders at some point I couldn't remember—slid off. He caught it. Tossed it aside.

Without its protection, I was exposed again. The ruined dress. The torn fabric barely containing my breasts. The skirt bunched so high it hid nothing.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to cover what I could.

He circled me. Slow. Predatory. His eyes traveled over every inch of exposed skin, every rip in the fabric, every bruise and scrape I'd collected during this nightmare of a night.

"You said you'd be obedient. Prove it."

He spun me around and pushed.

I fell backward onto the bed, breasts bouncing with the impact. Before I could react, he was on me—one knee between my thighs, hands pinning my wrists above my head.

"Don't move."

He released my wrists. I didn't dare disobey.

With terrifying efficiency, he secured my right wrist to the bedpost. Cold metal closed around my skin. Then my left. The click of the restraints echoed.

I pulled instinctively. They held fast.

"Wait—" My voice came out strangled. "I don't—"

"You don't what?" He moved to my ankles, spreading my legs apart with firm hands. "You don't want this?"

He fastened my right ankle to the corner post. Then my left.

I was spread-eagled on the bed. Completely vulnerable. My ruined skirt bunched around my waist, leaving only my soaked panties covering my pussy.

What am I doing?

An hour ago, I'd been at my birthday party. An hour ago, I'd had a boyfriend, a future, a carefully constructed life. Now I was tied to a stranger's bed, in a room full of things designed to cause pain, and my body was responding like this was exactly where it wanted to be.

There's something wrong with me.

Lorenzo straightened and looked down at me.

"Your cunt is already wet." His voice was matter-of-fact.

Shame flooded my face. I wanted to deny it, but the evidence was undeniable—the damp fabric clinging to my folds, the throbbing heat between my legs.

He retrieved something from a cabinet. A leather riding crop.

He ran the tip along my ankle. Up my calf. Over my knee.

"You came to my club. Threw yourself at me and begged for my protection."

The leather traced my inner thigh. Higher. Higher.

"You don't even know what you've agreed to."

The crop reached the edge of my panties. Pressed against the wet fabric covering my pussy.

"But you will."

He drew back and struck.

The slap landed directly on my clit.

I screamed. Not from pain—the strike was precise, controlled—but from the bolt of white-hot pleasure that shot through my core. My hips bucked off the bed, straining against the restraints.

"More?" His voice was velvet darkness.

Before I could answer, he struck again. Harder.

My pussy clenched around nothing. I could feel my arousal leaking through my panties, dripping down my ass onto the sheets.

"Please—" I didn't know if I was begging him to stop or continue.

"Please what?" He pressed the crop flat against my soaked underwear, grinding it against my swollen clit. "Use your words, little one."

"I don't—I can't—"

"You can." Another strike. "You will."

Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. My body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release.

Lorenzo set down the crop. Leaned over me, one hand braced beside my head, the other trailing down my trembling stomach.

His fingers stopped at the waistband of my panties.His thumb hooked under the elastic.

"You wanted my protection. Now you have it."

He tugged the fabric aside, exposing my bare, glistening pussy to his gaze.

His finger traced along my slit, gathering my wetness. "The question is... What are you going to give me in return?"