Chapter 3: The Master Bedroom

Damien pushed the heavy double doors open.

The master bedroom was massive. One wall was made entirely of glass, overlooking the dark, twisted forest below. In the center of the room sat a gigantic bed with black silk sheets.

It didn't look like a bed. It looked like an altar. And I was the sacrifice.

Damien let go of my wrist. I stumbled back, rubbing the red mark his fingers had left on my skin.

"It’s... too big," I stammered, looking anywhere but at the bed.

"It’s perfect," Damien said. He walked over to a small table and poured himself a glass of amber liquid. He didn't offer me any.

He turned to face me, taking a slow sip. Then, he set the glass down and started unbuttoning his suit jacket.

My heart stopped. "What are you doing?"

"Getting comfortable," he said, his voice dropping an octave. He tossed the expensive jacket onto a chair. Then, his fingers went to his tie. He loosened it and pulled it from his neck in one smooth motion.

He looked wilder now. Less like a CEO, and more like a predator.

I backed up until I hit a dresser. "I can sleep on the couch. Or the floor. I don't mind."

Damien laughed. He crossed the room in three long strides, trapping me against the dresser. He placed his hands on either side of my waist, his thumbs pressing into my skin through my thin dress.

"My wife does not sleep on the floor," he growled. "She sleeps in my arms."

He reached into a drawer behind me and pulled out a slip of red silk. He held it up. It was a nightgown. Short. Lace. Scandalous.

"Put this on," he commanded, shoving the silk into my trembling hands.

"I... I can't wear this," I whispered, my face burning.

His eyes narrowed. The playful look vanished. "Elara. I bought this specifically for you. Do not insult me."

He leaned down, his lips grazing my jawline. "You have five minutes to change in the bathroom. If you aren't out by then... I'm coming in to dress you myself."

I gasped. I knew he wasn't joking.

I grabbed the nightgown and ran into the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door shut. I reached for the lock.

"Don't even think about it," his voice boomed from the other side of the door. "There are no locks in this house, Elara. I removed them all."

I froze, my hand hovering over the empty space where the lock should be.

Tears pricked my eyes. He had thought of everything. There was no privacy. No safety.

I looked at the red silk in my hands. I had five minutes.

I stripped off my clothes and pulled on the nightgown. It fit perfectly. Too perfectly. It clung to every curve. I looked in the mirror and didn't recognize myself. I looked like a doll. His doll.

I took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

Damien was waiting. He was sitting on the edge of the black bed, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his chest.

When he saw me, his eyes went dark. He stood up slowly.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

He held out his hand. "Come here."

I walked toward him, my legs shaking. When I reached him, he pulled me down onto the bed. The silk sheets were cold, but his body was burning hot.

He pulled the covers over us. The lights dimmed automatically.

I lay stiff as a board on the edge of the mattress, facing away from him.

"Closer," he ordered.

"I'm close enough," I whispered into the pillow.

Suddenly, a strong arm wrapped around my waist and yanked me backward. My back slammed against his hard chest. He wrapped his arms around me, trapping me like a steel cage.

"You are never close enough," he whispered into my hair.

He buried his face in my neck, breathing in my scent. I lay there, eyes wide open in the dark, listening to the rain and the steady beat of the Devil's heart against my back.

I was trapped.

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