đź–¤ Chapter 3: The Collar or the Cuffs
From the novel: Owned by the Devil
By C. Amara Vale
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Zara didn't sleep.
She sat on the edge of the bed all night, staring at the collar like it was a loaded weapon. Her body still pulsed from where he'd touched her, like his fingerprints were scorched into her skin.
She hated that.
Hated that her thighs were still clenched, that her breath still caught whenever she replayed his voice in her mind.
"Wear the collar, or wear the cuffs while I make you beg."
The bastard didn't even need to touch her to get under her skin. He owned the room, her thoughts, her body — and that terrified her more than the cuffs ever could.
But fear never stopped her before.
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By morning, she stood facing the floor-length mirror. Her fists clenched. Her chin high.
The red dress clung to her curves like it was painted on. He wanted submission?
He'd get defiance wrapped in seduction.
And around her neck?
The collar.
Not because she obeyed.
Because she wanted to walk into whatever game he was playing on her terms.
She fastened it herself, tugging it snug. She looked in the mirror and smirked.
"Let's see how the devil likes a little fire."
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The door hissed open.
Damien stood there, his black shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the ink peeking over his chest. His eyes drank her in, starting at her thighs, then lingering at her throat.
The collar.
His name.
His claim.
She expected a smirk.
She got silence.
Tension hung between them like a blade.
"You wore it," he said finally.
Zara folded her arms. "Don't get excited. It doesn't mean I'm yours."
He stepped inside, slow, calm, predatory.
His fingers brushed the collar's tag.
"But you are."
She opened her mouth to fire back—
But he kissed her.
Hard.
Like punishment.
Like worship.
Like he'd been starving.
And she…
She kissed him back.
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What happens when fire kisses fire — and neither one wants to burn first?
To be continued...
By C. Amara Vale
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