Chapter 3 3

• Sienna’s POV.
• The second we step into my penthouse, I rip my arm from Damian’s grip and whirl on him, furious.
• “You don’t own me,” I snap, voice sharp with rage.
• Damian doesn’t even flinch. He just shuts the door behind him, his massive frame blocking the exit like a human barricade.
• “I never said I did,” he says, his voice infuriatingly calm. “But I’m responsible for you.”
• I let out a sharp laugh, tossing my clutch onto the couch. “Responsible for me?” I stalk toward him, heels clicking against the marble floor. “That’s cute. You think just because you got hired to protect me, you suddenly get a say in my life?”
• His gaze flickers—dark amusement, something dangerous lurking beneath.
• “You think I need your permission to do my job?” he counters.
• I scoff, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “You’re my employee. Not my keeper.”
• His smirk is infuriating. “Then why are you acting like a spoiled little brat throwing a tantrum?”
• I freeze, breath hitching.
• And that’s when I realize this is what he wants.
• He likes this.
• My anger, my resistance, the way I bite back at him.
• It feeds him.
• “Fuck you,” I sneer.
• He just tilts his head, studying me, like he’s already planning how to break me down.
• “Last warning, Sienna.” His voice is smooth and even, but laced with sharpness. “You’re testing my patience.”
• “Good.” I step closer, deliberately invading his space. “I want to see what happens when you lose it.”
• A slow, amused chuckle rumbles from his chest.
• “Careful what you wish for, princess.”
• And then his hand shoots out, gripping my chin, tilting my face up to meet his.
• I barely get a chance to react before he shoves me down to my knees.
• A shocked gasp leaves my lips as I land on the floor, my dress pooling around me.
• “Wha—”
• “I warned you,” he murmurs, looking down at me, his eyes dark with intent. “But you don’t listen. Do you, Sienna?”
• I try to jerk away, but his grip tightens, fingers digging into my jaw.
• “You want to act like a brat?” he says, tilting his head. “Then you can kneel like one.”
• Heat floods my body, humiliation coiling in my stomach.
• I should fight but my body stays frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs.
• “Crawl.” His voice is low and commanding.
• My breath catches. “Excuse me?”
• His smirk is pure arrogance. “I said, crawl.”
• I clenched my jaw, trying to be stubborn.
• Another mistake.
• He tightens his grip, dragging his thumb across my bottom lip.
• “You wanted to push me, princess.” His voice drops to a dark, silken threat. “Now crawl to me like the spoiled little thing you are.”
• I shouldn’t.
• I won’t.
• But then he lets go, stepping back, his arms folding across his chest as he watches me with amused patience.
• Waiting.
• Taunting.
• Heat crawls up my spine, shame and arousal twisting together into something sickly sweet.
• I should slap him or tell him to fuck off.
• But my body betrays me.
• Slowly, deliberately, I shift forward onto my hands, my nails scraping against the floor.
• I crawl.
• My face burns.
• His gaze is heavy on me, drinking in every humiliating movement.
• When I finally reach him, I glare up at him, breathless, seething.
• His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing over my bottom lip.
• “Good girl.” My stomach clenches at his words.
• I hate how much that affects me.
• I shouldn’t be wet from this.
• Shouldn’t be shaking with need just from the way he’s looking at me.
• But I am.
• And he sees it. His fingers slide into my hair, gripping the strands, forcing my head back.
• “You look good on your knees, Sienna.”
• I swallow hard. “You—”
• His other hand unbuckles his belt and my pulse spikes.
• I really should pull away or fight him.
• Instead, I stay perfectly still, my breathing shaky as he unzips his pants, freeing his cock.
• He’s already hard, thick and heavy in his grip.
• A smug smirk tugs at his lips. “I should make you beg for it.”
• I scowl, refusing.
• Another sharp tug on my hair.
• I whimper.
• He chuckles, running the tip of his cock across my already parted lips.
• “You’re shaking,” he murmurs. “You want it so bad, don’t you?”
• I meet his gaze, my pride hanging by a thread.
• “Fuck you,” I whisper.
• His smirk deepens.
• “Not yet.”
• And then he pushes into my mouth, forcing me to take him.
• I gasp, my hands flying to his thighs, trying to steady myself.
• He doesn’t give me time to adjust.
• Just grips my hair, controlling every movement, using my mouth the way he wants.
• “Look at you,” he breathes, watching me with predatory satisfaction. “So fucking obedient when I take control.”
• I should be angry at his words but all I feel is heat, the heady rush of submission curling in my belly and intoxicating me.
• He fucks my mouth, slow at first, dragging his cock along my tongue, making me feel every inch.
• I moan around him, my thighs clenching.
• “Such a messy little thing,” he taunts, tilting my face up. “You like being on your knees for me?”
• I hate that he’s right.
• His grip tightens, forcing me deeper, my throat stretching around him.
• Tears prick my eyes, my nails digging into his thighs as he holds me there, my body trembling.
• “Breathe through it,” he murmurs.
• I whimper, my body shaking and pleasure coiling low in my stomach.
• Damian’s grip tightens in my hair, holding me still as he thrusts deep, his cock pulsing on my tongue.
• “Take it,” he growls.
• I don’t get a choice.
• His body shudders, and then he’s spilling into my mouth, thick and hot, forcing me to swallow every drop.
• I gag, my nails digging into his thighs as he holds me there, making sure I don’t waste a single drop.
• When he finally pulls out, my lips are swollen, my breath ragged, my body trembling from need.
• I wait.
• Wait for him to touch me, to give me relief.
• Instead, he smirks, tucking himself back into his pants, completely unaffected, while I remain on my knees, wrecked, aching, and soaked.
• “You look good like this,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers through my hair.
• I glare up at him, my pride hanging by a shredded thread.
• “I—”
• Before I can snap, he grips my jaw, forcing my mouth open.
• His thumb drags across my bottom lip, checking, making sure I swallowed everything.
• “Good girl,” he murmurs, his smirk dark and mocking.
• Heat flares in my chest, my rage and humiliation intertwining because I’m still aching, still throbbing with desperate need, and he knows it.
• And yet he does nothing about it.
• He just straightens his cuffs, completely composed, like he didn’t just use my mouth and leave me here, trembling and unsatisfied.
• “Get yourself cleaned up,” he says, like I’m nothing more than a mess to be discarded. “I’ve had my fun for the night.”
• I gasp, my body jerking as if he just slapped me.
• And then he turns and walks away leaving me there, needy, humiliated and burning.
• I hate him.
• I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone.
• And yet, as I kneel there, wrecked and trembling, I already know I’ll let him do it again if he wanted to.