Chapter 107
Levi
“You seem to forget who your boss is.” I leaned closer. “Perhaps I should remind you. I am your boss. And you… are not. I am, and I will remain, the one in control here.”
She nodded, lips parting. She tried to close her legs, but I held them apart.
I stepped between them. Her knees brushed my hips. I could smell her arousal now—sweet, earthy, undeniable. She was fighting it, fighting me, but her body was giving her away.
“What would you have me do the next time you get disrespectful?” I asked, my mouth near her ear, breath hot.
She blinked, then bit her lip. My jaw clenched.
That mouth. Did she know what she did to me? God, she acted so innocent, but she was driving me crazier than a drug.
“Well?” I prompted.
“I… I have no idea,” she whispered. “You should do what pleases you, ma—”
She stopped. Her lips froze.
Master.
Did she almost say master?
I cocked my head, eyes narrowing. “Did you almost call me ‘Master,’ Isabella?”
She looked down—shy now. Mortified.
“Lift your head,” I said simply.
She obeyed.
The silence between us thickened, pressing in. Her breath caught. Mine didn’t come at all.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I got a bit out of control.”
I studied her. She wasn’t sorry for what she said. She was sorry for what it awoke in her. For what she wanted.
“Well then,” I said, stepping impossibly closer, “if you ever disrespect me again before the marriage… you’ll spend a night with me.”
Her eyes widened.
“And I will be allowed to take you in every way I deem fit.”
She didn’t speak, but I watched her throat bob. Her fingers curled on the desk. Her thighs pressed together. She was affected. She was wet.
And fuck, I wanted to taste her.
“Do your best,” I continued, “to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Learn to control that sharp tongue of yours, or you might start a fire you can’t quench.”
She stared at me, stunned—but there was deviance in her eyes, almost like her true intentions were to start the fire.
Then she whispered, “Do you… do you spend the night with people who offend you and make you angry?”
I let out a dark chuckle. “I spend the night with any woman who appeals to me. Whether or not she offends me.”
I stepped back, just enough to let her see the full scale of what she was doing to me.
“In this case,” I continued, “you’re a woman who offends and appeals to me at the same time. Which means you’ll be with me—”
I paused. Let it land.
“—as punishment.”
She sucked in a breath. I saw the fight in her. The confusion. The curiosity.
“I see,” she said finally. Her voice had an edge.
Then she asked, “Just how many women have been punished this way by you?”
I smiled.
A slow, wicked smile.
“That’s none of your business.”
She didn’t flinch. Just nodded, accepting it like it was her place. Like she was learning.
And maybe she was.
Because Isabella wasn’t just walking into a marriage.
She was walking into my world.
And in my world, I made the rules.
I didn’t just want her submission—I needed it to quiet something in me. Something messy. Something dangerously close to worship.
“How much longer do I have to stay here with you?” she asked, her voice low, just as I came closer—close enough to make me lose my mind.
“Why? Are you running from me?” I asked, stepping closer—so close our lips were barely inches apart.
She inhaled sharply, but didn’t back away.
Good.
She knew the game, even if she pretended not to play it.
Her breath brushed against my mouth, warm and uneven. Her lashes fluttered, and that defiant fire in her gaze warred with something softer, something far more dangerous—want.
I didn’t want to kiss her.
No. Kissing was too simple. Too ordinary. Too human.
I wanted to consume her.
To drink her like the last drop of wine in a bottle I’d been craving all my life. Saving for. Dying for.
To eat her like I was starving and her body was the only thing that could keep me alive.
God, I wanted to devour her.
My hand rose slowly, fingers trailing the slope of her jaw, my thumb brushing her lower lip.
She trembled—just slightly.
Still proud. Still pretending. But her body spoke louder than her mouth ever could.
“You act like you don’t want this,” I murmured, voice dipping into a growl. “But you’re trembling for me. You’re wet for me. Aren’t you, Isabella?”
Her lips parted—maybe to protest, maybe to lie—but the words didn’t come.
Because she knew.
I knew.
Her silence was the loudest confession.
I didn’t lean in to kiss her.
I tilted her head back, tracing the line of her neck with my nose, inhaling her scent—vanilla and resistance—and then, slowly, I grazed my teeth along the delicate skin just beneath her ear.
She gasped.
That sound—that—was what I wanted.
Not a kiss.
A surrender.
I wanted to break past the walls she clung to like armor and taste the hunger she tried so hard to cage.
“Running won’t save you,” I whispered.
I let the words trail off as my hand slid lower, resting just below her gown, my fingers flexing.
“…You like it when I command you, don’t you? Say it. Say you like it.”
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