Alina woke slowly, wrapped in warmth that wasn't her own.
For a moment, she drifted in that soft, hazy place between dreams and waking — surrounded by the scent of sandalwood, the faint rasp of breath against her hair, the solid weight of a strong arm curved protectively around her waist.
When she shifted, a deep voice rumbled behind her.
"Don't even think about moving."
A startled laugh bubbled up before she could stop it. Damian's grip tightened, pulling her closer until her back was flush to his chest.
"I thought billionaires were supposed to be up at dawn, conquering the world or whatever it is you do," she teased, voice still raspy with sleep.
Damian nuzzled her neck, stubble scratching deliciously. "I own the world. I'd rather conquer you."
Heat swept through her. Even half-asleep, he made her body hum.
---
They lay there in lazy silence, the kind that felt impossibly intimate — as if the night before hadn't already bound them together in a hundred ways.
Eventually, Damian's hand slid up to cup her breast, thumb brushing lazily over her nipple until it hardened beneath his touch. Alina squirmed, biting back a soft moan.
"Sensitive this morning," he murmured approvingly. "Are you sore?"
"A little."
"Good. I like knowing you'll think of me every time you move today."
Her breath caught. It should have sounded possessive. It was possessive. But it didn't feel wrong. Instead, it sent a sharp thrill racing down her spine.
---
After a while, he coaxed her out of bed, guiding her to the massive glass-walled shower. Damian washed her slowly, hands gentle as they smoothed soap over her skin. The tenderness there almost undid her more than his rougher touches ever could.
When she tried to return the favor, reaching for the soap, he caught her wrists lightly.
"No. Let me take care of you."
So she let him. Let him rinse her hair, kiss her eyelids, tilt her chin up to meet his gaze as warm water coursed over them.
It wasn't until he was drying her off with a thick towel — lingering over every curve, every dip — that the heat between them sparked again.
---
Damian led her back into the bedroom. The sheets were rumpled, the scent of their bodies still heavy in the air. But instead of pulling her down into the bed, he stopped by a small wooden chest at the foot.
When he opened it, her breath stuttered. Inside lay an array of items — coils of silk rope in deep jewel tones, slim leather paddles, polished wooden implements whose purpose she could only guess at.
Her heart began to race.
Damian lifted a soft burgundy rope, running it through his fingers.
"I want to try something with you today," he said. His voice was calm, measured — but his eyes burned. "Something that requires a little more trust."
She swallowed hard. "More than last night?"
His mouth curved, almost tender. "A different kind of trust."
---
He guided her to stand by the edge of the bed. Slowly, patiently, he began to bind her again — but this time it wasn't just her wrists. Damian worked in slow, deliberate loops around her chest, above and below her breasts, pulling them up so each pass of the rope made her nipples tighten painfully. The intricate knots crisscrossed her torso like delicate crimson vines.
He paused often to check her face, smoothing hair from her cheek, brushing a thumb over her parted lips.
"You're beautiful like this," he murmured. "Every breath you take is for me. Bound, held… completely mine."
Her pulse thundered. "I like it," she whispered. "More than I thought I would."
A flash of heat darkened his eyes. "Good. Because I intend to keep tying you up for a very long time."
---
When he finished, he stepped back to admire his work — the way the rope framed her curves, cinched her so each small movement made her hyper-aware of the pressure, the friction.
Then he gestured to the mirror.
"Go look."
Heat flooded her face. She turned slowly. What she saw made her breath catch: her own body, flushed and trembling, wrapped in intricate knots that turned her into something decadent and forbidden.
A strangled sound escaped her throat.
Damian came up behind her, hands resting lightly on her hips. His lips brushed her ear.
"Do you see what I see, Alina? How stunning you are when you surrender? You wear submission like a jewel."
Her eyes fluttered shut on a shuddering exhale.
---
He didn't take her roughly this time. Instead, he guided her to kneel on the bed, positioning her carefully among the pillows. Damian's hands roamed her bound body slowly, savoring every small shiver, every gasp. When he finally slid inside her, it was with excruciating tenderness.
The rope made each thrust sharper somehow, every inch of her alive to the sensation. Tears pricked her eyes — not from pain, but from the overwhelming fullness of it, the way it felt too big to contain.
"That's it," Damian murmured against her temple. "Let it all go. I've got you."
She clung to him, sobbing softly as pleasure built and broke over her in slow, rolling waves.
When it was over, he held her for a long time, carefully undoing the knots, massaging away any hint of strain. His hands were gentle, his kisses softer still.
---
Later, as they lay tangled together in the wrecked bed, Damian's thumb stroked lazy circles on her hip.
"You give yourself so beautifully," he said quietly. "It's… more than I ever expected."
She blinked at the edge in his voice. It almost sounded like vulnerability.
"Is that… hard for you?" she asked.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. For a moment he didn't answer. Then he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.
"You don't need to worry about my demons, little one. I'd rather keep you focused on how easily I can make you fall apart."
But Alina held onto that tiny crack he'd shown her — a reminder that beneath the commanding power, something fragile still lived.
And she realized with a soft, dangerous certainty:
She didn't just want his dominance.
She wanted all of him.