Chapter 5: His Rules, Her Fire

The leather collar still circled her neck like a secret.

Savannah stared at herself in the mirror of Damien’s penthouse bedroom. The mark on her throat wasn’t just physical—it was psychological. Her reflection looked like a stranger. A woman claimed.

She touched it.

Not with shame.

With curiosity.

And something dangerously close to pride.

Damien hadn’t said a word since they returned from the club. He’d pressed a possessive kiss to her temple, led her up the elevator in silence, and poured himself a drink like he wasn’t burning up with control. His restraint was almost painful to watch.

Savannah padded barefoot toward the living room, her red dress clinging to her like a promise. Damien stood with his back to her, staring out at the city like he was considering burning it to the ground.

She stopped a few feet away. “Say something.”

He didn’t move. “You looked like a fucking goddess tonight.”

Her breath hitched.

“But every man in that room wanted what’s mine,” he added darkly. “And I don’t like sharing.”

Savannah tilted her head. “Then maybe you shouldn’t dress me like temptation.”

His knuckles whitened on the edge of the bar. “You want me to keep you hidden?”

“I want you to admit what you’re doing to me.”

Damien turned then, eyes molten. “I’m taking you. Body and mind. And you’re letting me.”

She didn’t deny it.

He walked toward her slowly, tension radiating from every line of his body. “Do you even know what you’ve done, Savannah? You wore my collar. In public. You told the world you belong to me.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t break the rules.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re already breaking them by speaking like that.”

She stepped closer, daring. “Punish me, then.”

Something inside him snapped.

He moved fast.

Savannah barely gasped before he had her pinned against the wall, his thigh between hers, hands braced on either side of her face. His scent enveloped her—dark, warm, dominant.

“You want punishment?” he growled. “Or you want attention?”

She arched into him. “Same thing with you, isn’t it?”

He kissed her hard.

Bruising. Dominating. Demanding.

One hand slid up her thigh, hooking around the silk hem. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.”

“I’m not playing,” she whispered.

He didn’t stop this time.

He took.

---

The night unraveled in silk sheets and whispered demands. Damien’s dominance was absolute—but Savannah’s defiance laced every kiss. She met his hunger with her own, never giving all of herself, always holding something just out of reach.

It drove him mad.

And she loved it.

Later, they lay tangled in the afterglow. His chest was slick against her back, arms tight around her waist.

He kissed the side of her neck.

“You make me dangerous,” he said against her skin.

She turned her head slightly. “You were dangerous long before me.”

He didn’t deny it.

But his silence was full of something else—something almost tender.

That scared her more than his hands ever could.

---

The next morning brought a storm.

Not weather—her.

Valeria.

Savannah was reading in the sunroom, wearing one of Damien’s black button-down shirts, when the front door opened without warning.

The sound of heels on marble echoed.

She looked up.

Valeria stood there, in all her cold elegance. A long beige coat draped over her designer frame, lipstick blood-red, and a small amused smile curving her lips.

“Well,” Valeria said, “don’t you look cozy.”

Savannah stood. “You don’t belong here.”

Valeria tsked. “That’s funny. I was about to say the same about you.”

Before Savannah could reply, Damien’s voice rang from behind them. “Valeria, what the fuck are you doing here?”

He entered the room shirtless, barefoot, towel draped over his shoulder.

Savannah hated how effortlessly beautiful he looked like that.

Valeria turned slowly. “We need to talk. Privately.”

“No.”

“This isn’t about you. It’s about her.”

Savannah’s spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”

Valeria crossed her arms. “You think this is just some kinky game? Being collared, paraded, owned? Damien doesn’t play house. He breaks people. You’re just the latest.”

“That’s enough,” Damien snapped.

But Savannah had already stepped forward.

“Is that what you think I am?” she asked, her voice cold. “Another girl you pity because you couldn’t survive him?”

Valeria smiled sadly. “Oh, I survived him, darling. But I had to lose myself first.”

Savannah didn’t blink. “Maybe I’m stronger than you.”

“Or maybe you’re just next.”

Valeria turned and left without another word.

The silence left behind was thunderous.

Savannah finally looked at Damien. “How many?”

His eyes met hers. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

He stepped closer. “You’re not like them.”

“Why?”

“Because you make me want to stop.”

She shook her head. “Wanting to stop isn’t the same as stopping.”

Then she walked away.

And for the first time… Damien didn’t follow.

---

Days passed.

The tension between them was thicker than ever, coiled and simmering beneath the surface. Damien became colder, more controlled—watching her like a wolf waiting for her to run.

Savannah tested boundaries.

She left the penthouse one afternoon without telling him. No guards. No notes.

She just needed air.

She wandered the city, unnoticed in dark glasses and a hoodie, wondering what she was doing—why she hadn’t just walked away when she still had her heart intact.

But it was too late for that.

She returned hours later.

Damien was in the living room.

Waiting.

His jaw tight. Eyes unreadable.

She didn’t speak.

He walked to her slowly, pulled off her hoodie, then the glasses.

“You disobeyed me.”

“I needed space.”

“There’s no space in this. You’re either mine or you’re not.”

She stared at him. “So that’s it? Love or leash?”

His jaw flexed. “You think this is love?”

She didn’t know what to say.

He closed the distance between them, gripping her chin gently. “Love is soft. I’m not. What I feel for you? It’s need. It’s control. It’s hunger. It’s mine.”

Her voice broke. “Then teach me the rules.”

Damien stared at her for a long moment.

Then he whispered, “Strip.”

She obeyed.

---

That night was different.

It wasn’t just sex.

It was submission.

She let him take control completely—body, breath, boundaries. He blindfolded her, tied her wrists in silk, and taught her the language of his world: trust, tension, obedience.

But it wasn’t just about dominance.

It was about letting go.

For both of them.

When she came, it wasn’t just her body that shattered.

It was everything she thought she knew about herself.

Damien untied her gently afterward, held her close.

“Tell me you’re still with me,” he whispered.

Savannah curled into him, collar still tight on her neck.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

---

But outside the penthouse, someone was watching.

Someone who knew Damien’s past.