Page 17 of Blackwell Manor: A Lesson in Submission

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Lillian’s Game

On the fourth night, Lillian came to her first.

Isabella had been in her room, trying—and failing—to sleep when the door opened without a knock, and Lillian stepped inside like she owned the air Isabella breathed.

She wore nothing but a silk robe, parted just enough to reveal the soft, tempting curves of her body.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

She simply crossed the room, slid onto the bed beside Isabella, and ran her fingers along the bare skin of her arm.

“Why do you keep fighting it?” Lillian whispered, lips brushing against Isabella’s ear.

Isabella’s body shuddered, burned, betrayed her.

She tried to move away, to resist, but Lillian was too close, too warm, too intoxicating.

“Tell me,” Lillian purred, trailing her fingers lower, across Isabella’s hip, teasing.

“Do you think about him when you’re alone?”

Isabella’s stomach clenched.

Because the answer was yes.

She thought about Elias.

His voice. His hands. His unshakable dominance.

She thought about the way he had taken control of her body and mind without ever raising his voice.

She thought about how he had claimed her like she already belonged to him.

And Lillian knew it.

She smirked, her lips curling against Isabella’s throat.

“You do,” she whispered, laughing softly. “You want to be his. Don’t you?”

Isabella’s breath hitched.

Lillian was relentless.

“You want him to tell you what to do.”

Lillian’s hand slid lower.

“You want him to take you apart.”

Lower.

“You want to be owned.”

The words shattered something inside her.

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