Content warning: Explicit content, emotional tension, jealousy, D/s dynamics
---
Something changed after that night.
Damien didn't say it. He didn't have to. I felt it in the way he touched me slower. The way his fingers lingered on my skin like he wasn't just claiming anymore—he was feeling.
And it terrified me.
Because I was starting to feel it too.
And then she arrived.
Tall. Model-slim. Ice blonde. Legs for days. She walked into the estate like she owned the floor she stood on. And Damien—he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
"Arielle," he said, "you're early."
I stood behind him, still in silk, still sore from the rope. And she looked at me like I was dirt in diamonds.
"Oh," she purred. "Is that your new toy?"
"Her name is Kira," Damien said evenly.
She smirked. "Cute."
I said nothing. But inside? I burned.
That night, I wasn't summoned.
For the first time in weeks, I slept alone.
And in the morning, the sheets were cold.
---
He didn't speak to me for two days.
But on the third, he appeared in my doorway, leaned against the frame in black-on-black, and said:
"Come."
I followed in silence, jaw tight.
He led me to the private lounge—leather walls, dark floor, deep music. Arielle was already there, lounging in lingerie and sipping wine.
"Kira," she said with a smile. "We were just talking about you."
My heart dropped.
Damien took the seat between us.
"She used to be mine," he said casually, as if discussing a watch, not a woman. "Years ago."
"Used to?" Arielle said, tracing her finger along his thigh. "That's cute."
I clenched my fists.
"She wants to play," Damien told me. "Do you?"
I froze. "With… her?"
He nodded once.
It wasn't a request.
It was a command.
---
I was on my knees, naked, between Arielle's thighs.
Damien sat behind me, his hand on my throat, controlling every move. She moaned, her head tilted back, as my tongue obeyed the way he trained it. Every flick, every lick, every motion… for him.
Not for her.
When Arielle came, it was loud, long, smug.
And I hated every second.
Then Damien stood.
"On the bed. Both of you."
We obeyed.
He fucked me first. Hard. Deep. Possessive.
Arielle watched, biting her lip.
He pulled out, then turned to her.
She giggled, straddled him, took him inside her with practiced ease.
And I watched.
Silent.
Burning.
Jealousy is a cruel thing. It makes you feel weak when you should feel owned.
Afterward, she kissed him on the cheek again and left like it meant nothing.
But I saw the glint in her eye.
She still wanted him. Maybe she never stopped.
---
Later that night, he came to my room.
I was curled on the bed, back turned. Quiet. Distant.
He sat beside me.
"You're mine," he said.
"Then why did you fuck her?" I whispered.
He didn't answer immediately.
"I wanted you to see something," he said finally. "You obey. You kneel. But your heart still fights. I wanted to see how far you'd bend before you break."
I looked at him then. My chest aching.
"And did I break?"
He touched my cheek. His thumb brushed a tear I hadn't realized was there.
"No," he whispered. "You burned."
His lips met mine.
Not like Master.
But like a man.
A flawed, powerful, dangerous man.
And for the first time…
I kissed him back not as his pet—
But as his equal.