I didn't wait for him to process the threat. I lunged.
My hands gripped the lapels of his immaculate jacket. Fuelled by the adrenaline of the mountain and the sweet taste of my own absolute sovereignty, I shoved him backward.
Franco hit the mattress with a heavy thud. A flicker of genuine shock crossed his stoic face. He started to sit up, a dark, amused smirk touching his lips. He fully expected to flip me over and take control, just like every other powerful man in my past.
"Stay exactly where you are," I commanded. My voice cracked like a whip in the silent room.
I climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips. The weight of me settling over him made his breath hitch. I reached for the discarded silk ties from my robe. Before he could process my intent, I caught his left wrist, pinned it above his head, and lashed it to the heavy wrought – iron headboard.
Franco's smirk vanished. It was replaced by a dark, simmering heat. "Lolita... you're playing a very dangerous game."
"It's not a game anymore," I rasped, securing his right wrist with a ruthless, tight knot. "You brought me here to see me bloom. Well, I'm in full fucking flower. And you're going to feel every second of it."
I straddled him again. I took my time, unzipping his jacket and peeling it away. I ripped open his dark shirt, the buttons scattering across the silk sheets like hail. His chest was hard muscle and old scars. I leaned down, my mouth finding the erratic pulse at his throat. I didn't kiss him gently. I bit him, my teeth sinking into his skin just hard enough to draw a sharp, ragged gasp from his lips.
"You like watching us tear each other apart for your amusement," I murmured against his skin, my hands moving to unbuckle his belt. "You like the control. Let's see how you do without it."
I stripped off the remains of my clothes. The cool air of the suite hit my sweat – slicked skin. I was a canvas of bruises and dirt from the ascent, but in Franco's eyes, I saw sheer, worshipping awe. I guided him to me and sank down with a slow, torturous, deliberate grind.
Franco's head fell back. A feral, guttural noise tore from his throat.
"Fuck, Lolita," he choked out. His bound wrists strained against the headboard, the heavy iron rattling against the wall. "Faster. Please."
"Did the Master of the Game just say please?" I taunted. I leaned forward and clamping my pelvic muscles, my damp hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I dragged my nails down his chest, leaving bright red tracks. "Not yet."
I rode him with a relentless, bruising dominance. Every time he thrust upward, desperately chasing his own release, I pulled back, edging him with cruel precision. I brought him right to the blinding edge of a climax, and then stopped entirely. I left him gasping, his muscles trembling with the violent need to finish.
"Lolita, I swear to God – "
"God isn't in this room," I whispered, leaning down to capture his lips in a bruising, oxygen – stealing kiss. "I am."
I started moving again, faster this time. Franco was completely unravelling. The cold, collected billionaire architect was gone, replaced by a desperate, starving animal.
"Say my name," I demanded, my nails digging into his shoulders as my own climax built like a thunderstorm in my blood. "Tell me who owns you."
"Lolita!" he roared, his voice cracking, entirely stripped of his pride. "Lolita, fuck, make me cum. Please!"
I slammed down onto him one final time clenching myself tightly around him. Franco screamed my name, a raw, echoing sound of total surrender, his body bowing off the mattress as he poured into me. As I felt it my own orgasm hit – a blinding, crashing wave of ecstasy that left me crumpled against his chest.
When the world finally stopped spinning, I untied him. Franco lay there, his chest heaving, tracking me with his eyes like I was a goddess who had just descended from Olympus. He had wanted a monster. He had created a queen.
