Page 123 of The Owner's Temptation

“You have a choice,” he says, casually amused, like this is the simplest thing in the world. “The SUV is still parked outside. The front door is unlocked. Open it, and you’ll be taken home. No consequences. No questions.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy with tension. I hear the low, growling hum of a motorcycle engine cutting through the city.

He’s coming.

“Or…” His voice dips, hungry and dark. “You can stay. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

The air thickens as he continues, his voice lowering to a velvet command.

“When I arrive, I want you naked. Blindfold on. Strapped to the cross in my playroom.”

That’s it.

No further instructions. No coaxing. No promises of pleasure or safety.

Just an invitation.

And then silence.

My heart kicks into a sprint.

He’s racing to me.

I walk to the front door with trembling legs, reaching for the handle. It gives under my palm, not locked like it had been a moment ago. I crack it open, just enough to see the car waiting in the long driveway. Its black matte paint absorbing the faint glow of the house lights.

Freedom is right there.

All I have to do is step through.

But my feet won’t move.

Because I asked for this. I chased him down. I begged the Devil to feast on me—and now he’s coming. All I have to do is trust him.

Just like the painting from the gallery. The one with the man gripping the woman’s throat—possessive, protective, dark.

Trust.

I wave the driver off and close the door slowly, staring at the handle. Then I reach down and slide my panties off, the thin scrap of black lace damp from arousal.

With a smile that’s half defiance, half invitation, I hook them around the doorknob like a flag. A message.

I’m still here.

I make my way back through the dark house, down the hallway to the room I was so captivated by only moments ago.

The door closes behind me with a soft snap, and I let the sheer nightgown fall from my shoulders. It flutters to the floor like smoke as I approach the cross.

It looks more imposing now.

Its wide base. The arms stretched just above my head. A monument of submission, carved from wood and metal and dark promise.

“I’ll feast on your greedy cunt until you beg me to stop.”

His voice still echoes in my mind.

Before I can talk myself out of this—before fear can take root—I grab a blindfold. One of many hanging from the wall.

Turning around, I put the cross behind me. I bend down and slip my ankles into the thick leather cuffs, securing each one with care.

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