Mia never believed in crossing lines.

Best friends were sacred. And Aryan? He was her constant, her storm shelter, the only man she trusted more than herself.

But tonight, something shifted.

She felt it the moment he walked into the rooftop bar—charcoal-black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, veins dancing under tanned skin. His presence had always been sharp, commanding. But now… it felt dangerous.

"You look like trouble," Mia muttered, sipping her wine as he approached.

Aryan’s lips curved into that slow, devastating smile. "You love trouble when it comes wrapped in black."

She rolled her eyes, but heat coiled low in her belly. That voice—deep, rough, laced with something unspoken—it did things to her. Things a best friend shouldn't feel.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked, voice soft.

He leaned down, his breath brushing the shell of her ear. “Because you wore that dress knowing exactly what it does to me.”

Her heart stuttered. The navy silk clung to her like a second skin. It had been a reckless choice.

“Aryan…”

“I’m tired of pretending,” he whispered, his tone suddenly heavy. “Tired of watching you flirt with the world and coming home to me like you don’t know what you're doing.”

Mia blinked up at him, stunned. “What am I doing?”

He exhaled, dark eyes locking onto hers. “Testing me.”

She swallowed, throat dry. “And what if I am?”

His jaw clenched. Then his fingers brushed her wrist—light, possessive.

“Then, sweetheart, we’re not friends anymore.”

The morning sun kissed the skyline as Mia stood in front of the mansion gates, suitcase by her side, nerves twisting in her stomach like vines.

Aryan’s mansion was nothing short of intimidating—sleek, modern, and as coldly beautiful as the man himself. Steel, glass, and sharp edges. It didn’t feel like a home. It felt like power.

The gates opened silently.

He was waiting at the door, sleeves rolled up again, his hair slightly tousled from sleep or maybe stress. Or maybe because he just didn’t care enough to tame it. Mia found herself staring a second too long.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I’m five minutes early,” she shot back, dragging her suitcase through the marble-floored entry.

Aryan’s eyes flicked down to the suitcase. Then up—slowly, deliberately. “Still late. I wanted you here last night.”

She blinked. “You never said that.”

His mouth twitched. “I don’t always say things out loud.”

Mia sighed and looked around. “So… where’s my room?”

He stepped closer, towering over her. “We'll get to that. First, the rules.”

Something in her body tightened. “Rules?”

Aryan led her to the living room—floor-to-ceiling windows, leather furniture, and a low-burning fireplace that hummed against the silence. He poured himself a glass of whiskey. It was 10 AM.

“This place isn’t just a house. You’ll live here, yes—but under my terms. I don’t like chaos. I don’t like disrespect. And I don’t like being questioned.”

Mia arched a brow. “I’m not your employee.”

His gaze darkened. “You’re mine. That’s the difference.”

Heat exploded through her chest.

“You’ll follow my house rules. You’ll dress appropriately, eat on time, no locked doors. If you disobey—” he paused, taking a slow sip, “—there will be consequences.”

Her breath caught. “Consequences?”

His smile was almost cruel. “You'll find out, Mia. You’ve always wanted to test how far I’d go.”

The silence stretched. She didn’t look away.

“What if I break a rule by accident?” she whispered.

Aryan set the glass down and walked to her, so close she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.

“Then I’ll punish you gently. The first time.”

Her heart pounded. “And the second?”

“No mercy.”

ia didn’t ask questions anymore.

Not when he wordlessly took her phone from her at night.

Not when he chose her clothes, decided her meals, or watched her move around the house like she belonged to him.

Because somehow… she did.

It had been three weeks since she’d moved in. Three weeks since Aryan had laid out his rules. He hadn’t touched her—not really. But he didn’t need to.

His presence alone wrapped around her like silk and steel. He didn’t demand obedience; he simply expected it. And she gave it—effortlessly, willingly.

Tonight, he had only said one thing before vanishing into his study:

“Wear the black one.”

She knew what he meant.

The night suit—black, sleeveless crop top and matching shorts. Bare skin. Vulnerable. Soft. His favorite.

She had hesitated for just a second before changing into it.

Now she sat curled on the corner of the leather couch, blanket over her legs, a book open in her lap. The fire crackled low, and the air smelled faintly of his cologne—amber, smoke, control.

He walked in minutes later, barefoot, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a glimpse of his chest. She didn’t move.

Aryan didn’t speak. He sat beside her, close enough that his thigh brushed hers. Close enough to make her forget the words on the page.

His hand reached out slowly and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

She nodded, eyes meeting his. Trusting. Steady.

He didn’t smile, but something in his gaze softened. Pride. Possession. Maybe even a quiet kind of affection.

Then, slowly—so slowly—his hand slid from her ear, down her jaw, to her bare shoulder. He brushed the skin there with the back of his fingers. Light. Barely there. As if testing how far her trust went.

She didn’t flinch.

His touch moved lower, over the line of her collarbone, to the dip of her waist—just under the hem of the crop top. Her skin prickled beneath his touch, breath stuttering in her throat.

Still, she didn’t speak. Didn’t stop him.

“Mia,” he said, voice low.

“Yes?” Her whisper felt too loud in the still room.

“You’re doing well.”

Her heart clenched at the praise. It wasn’t just words—it was permission. It was reward.

His hand stayed on her waist, unmoving now. Holding her. Not claiming. Not yet.

Just reminding her:

You’re mine. And I’m patient.

Mia didn’t see it coming.

One second, she was curled beside him, warm and wordless in his quiet affection. The next, Aryan leaned in and kissed her.

No warning. No hesitation. Just claiming.

His lips brushed hers—soft at first, testing, tasting. Then deeper. Hungrier. A quiet groan rumbled in his chest as he cupped her jaw, holding her still, and kissed her like it was his right. Like she belonged beneath him, to him, for him.

And she did nothing to stop it.

When he finally pulled back, her chest was rising and falling in uneven waves. His thumb brushed her swollen lower lip, gaze dark and heavy with intent.

“That,” he said, voice like silk over gravel, “wasn’t a gift. It was a right.”

She blinked. “A right?”

He nodded, fingers sliding down to her bare waist—possessive, slow. “To kiss you. To touch you. To take what’s mine.”

Her breath hitched. “I—”

Aryan didn’t let her finish.

His lips moved to her nape, pressing warm kisses there. Soft, reverent, obsessed. Then a lick. Then a bite that made her gasp.

“I’ve been patient,” he murmured against her neck. “But patience has limits.”

His hand moved over her thigh now, just resting there, warm and heavy. Controlling.

“I’m going to start giving you rules,” he said, nipping her skin. “Not just house rules. Mine. Do you understand?”

She nodded slowly.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes. “Use your words, Mia.”

“Yes, Aryan.”

His eyes narrowed. “Wrong.”

She swallowed. “Yes… Master.”

The smirk that played at his lips made her stomach twist.

“Good girl.”

His hand slid slightly higher up her thigh.

“From now on, when we’re alone, I want you dressed the way I prefer—bare skin, soft fabrics. I want to see you. Feel you.”

She nodded again, breathless.

“When I come home…” he leaned in, his voice dark with quiet command, “You greet me with a warm hug and kisses. Not one. Not two. I want them all over—my lips, my face… and especially—” his teeth grazed her neck again “—right here.”

She whimpered.

“And here.” His hand slid over her belly, caressing it slowly with the back of his fingers. His eyes followed his hand like it was his favorite part of her body. “This is mine. This soft little stomach. My obsession.”

He bent down and kissed it through the thin fabric of her night shorts. “I’ll mark it one day. But not yet.”

She was melting now, trembling in his hold.

He whispered against her skin, “Say it. Who do you belong to?”

“You,” she whispered, barely able to breathe.

He kissed up her torso, stopping just under her breasts.

“Say it right.”

She closed her eyes, body pulsing with heat.

“I belong to you, Master.”

And just like that, the game they’d been playing turned into something else. Something deeper. Darker. Real.

The air in Aryan’s room was warmer than the rest of the house.

Dim lights cast a golden hue over the sleek black sheets, and the scent of him—amber, leather, and smoke—hung in the air like a secret.

Mia stood at the doorway, frozen. She’d never been here before. Not this deep inside his world.

Aryan sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, legs parted, forearms resting on his thighs. The kind of position that said everything without saying a word.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice commanding but calm.

Mia stepped forward, heart thudding in her chest.

“Take off your clothes.”

She blinked. “All of them?”

His eyes locked on hers. “I want to feel all of you, Mia. No barriers. Just skin and trust.”

Her breath caught. But she didn’t question him—not anymore.

One piece at a time, she peeled herself out of the nightwear he had chosen for her. The crop top fell to the floor. Then the shorts. She stood before him bare, trembling—but not from fear.

From surrender.

He didn’t move at first. He just stared. Soaking in every inch of her like she was a painting he’d been waiting years to see in full.

“Come to bed,” he said finally, voice thick with restraint. “Lay down beside me. On your back.”

Mia obeyed. The sheets were cool against her skin, but his gaze burned hotter than anything she’d ever known.

He laid beside her, his body only inches away, but he didn’t climb on top. Didn’t rush. Just watched her—naked, exposed, his.

His hand moved first, skimming her belly with reverent fingers. “This,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below her navel, “drives me mad.”

She gasped as his lips brushed across the soft flesh, slow, wet kisses that left trails of fire.

Then he licked her.

A soft drag of his tongue up her stomach, pausing at the dip between her ribs. Her hands curled into the sheets, body arching.

He moved to her neck, kissing the side gently. “And this?” he whispered against her skin. “This is my favorite place to live.”

He kissed again. And again. Licked the column of her throat like she was dessert he planned to savor. His hand slipped under her back, pulling her closer until her chest pressed against his.

He still hadn’t touched her in any sexual way. But she was unraveling anyway.

His lips moved up to her jaw, his voice gravelly and low.

“No one else will ever see you like this.”

A kiss to her collarbone.

“No one else will taste you like this.”

Another kiss, just beneath her breast.

“This body is mine, Mia. All of it. Every breath, every inch.”

She whimpered his name.

“Say it,” he whispered, lips brushing her neck again. “Say whose you are.”

“I’m yours, Master,” she breathed, her body shaking with restraint, need, and trust.

He kissed her softly, deeply, and pulled a blanket over their bare bodies.

“Good girl,” he whispered into her ear, his hand resting over her belly as he pressed her back into his chest. “Tonight, I’ll only kiss. Only taste. But soon… you’ll beg for more.”

And she would.

She already was.

The morning light slipped between the sheer curtains, golden and quiet.

Mia was still asleep—bare beneath the sheets, her soft body curled slightly on her side, facing away from him.

Aryan was already awake. He had been for a while.

But he hadn’t moved. Not because he couldn’t.

Because he was watching her. Admiring her.

The gentle rise and fall of her chest.

The soft curve of her back, her thighs, the exposed line of her neck—his favorite place. His obsession.

He reached out, slow and unhurried, and ran two fingers down the length of her spine.

Mia stirred but didn’t wake.

His hand moved lower, palm sliding to her bare hip, gripping it just enough to make her shift in her sleep. A soft moan escaped her lips, barely audible.

God, she was made for him.

His fingers brushed up over her belly—his sweet, warm little addiction—and he bent over, lips pressing into the softness there. A slow, lingering kiss. Then another. And then a lick—lazy, possessive, just the way he knew would make her squirm.

She moved again, sleep-blurred now, her body stretching.

“Aryan?” she murmured, half-asleep.

He didn’t answer with words.

His mouth trailed up her stomach, over her ribs, finally to her neck where he nuzzled, inhaling her scent. He kissed her skin like it calmed him. Like it drove him mad. And in truth—it did both.

“You’re so warm in the morning,” he murmured against her ear.

She sighed, still not fully conscious.

He pulled her body flush against him, one of his hands sliding between her thighs, grazing gently. Teasing.

“You belong to me,” he whispered, voice husky and low. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

His fingers slid over her folds—gentle, unhurried, exploring.

Mia gasped softly, finally waking—her hips instinctively tilting toward his hand.

“Master…” she breathed, eyes fluttering open.

Aryan’s lips found her shoulder. “Shh. Let me have you like this.”

He rubbed slow circles against her, his chest pressed to her back, his breath warm in her ear.

Her body melted into his touch.

“You don’t have to move,” he whispered, kissing her nape. “Just feel me. Let me use what’s mine.”

And she did.

Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping the sheets as his fingers worked her slowly, deeply, until her body trembled under the weight of his touch. He didn’t rush. He didn’t stop. He devoured her with patience and control.

She came undone in his arms—whimpering his name, clinging to him, her body soft and spent.

And then he wrapped his arms around her again, one hand back on her belly, lips on her neck.

“Next time, Mia,” he murmured, voice dark and dangerous and loving all at once. “Next time I won’t stop with my fingers.”