Worship or Starve

DAY ONE

ISLA'S POV

I shouldn’t be turned on.

But my thighs are slick with it.

Shame and need wrap around me like a noose.

“I told you,” Damien says coolly, “I don’t fuck unless I’m worshipped.”

He circles me like a predator—slow, measured, and terrifyingly calm.

My wrists tremble in the silk restraints, bound above my head. I’m still fully dressed, but that won’t last.

My voice wavers. “W-what are you going to do?”

He doesn't answer. Instead, he lifts his hand and I flinch. But all he does is brush the pad of his thumb down my cheek.

Soft. Reverent.

His lips barely move. “Lesson one, Isla…Obedience begins with surrender.”

And then, he begins to undress me.

Slow. Torturous.

He starts with the buttons of my blouse, undoing each one like it’s a ritual.

I want to pull away, scream, maybe…but my body betrays me. My breath quickens. My pulse drums in my ears.

The fabric parts.

My bra is sheer. My nipples, already tight and aching, strain against the lace.

Damien hums under his breath. “Look at you… already trembling.”

I squeeze my thighs together. A pathetic attempt to hold onto control.

It fails.

“You know what I think?” he murmurs, walking behind me. His hands slide to my waist, then slip lower, gripping my hips.

“I think you want this. You’re afraid of it… but that little body of yours is begging.”

He unzips my skirt. Lets it fall. I stand there in just my panties and bra, panting like I’ve run a mile.

He steps back, admiring me like a sculpture he’s about to ruin.

And then he blindfolds me.

The world disappears.

I see nothing.

Just heat.

Just him.

The loss of sight heightens everything. The rasp of his breath, the sound of his belt sliding from his waist, the low thrum of anticipation tightening in my belly.

“Say it,” he says behind me. “Tell me who you belong to.”

I grit my teeth.

Silence.

His hand snakes around my throat. Not choking, but there. A reminder.

“Say it,” he whispers again, breath brushing my ear. “Or I walk away.”

“…You,” I breathe. “I belong to you.”

“Good girl.”

And then he touches me.

His fingers stroke the edge of my panties. Light, teasing, maddening.

He doesn’t shove them aside. Not yet.

Instead, he trails a fingertip along the damp line where I’m already wet, letting me feel the restraint of his control.

“You’re soaking,” he says, amused. “Already begging and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

I can’t stop the moan that escapes.

One finger slides beneath the lace. Finds my clit.

I jerk in my bonds.

He works it slowly—circles, pressure, withdrawal. Just enough to build me up. Just enough to undo me.

He doesn't kiss me. Doesn’t say a word.

He just uses his fingers expertly, deliberately. Tasting my desperation.

My legs shake. I arch toward him instinctively. But he steps away.

“No,” he murmurs. “You're not allowed to come. Not until I say.”

He returns to stroking me. I’m burning. Writhing.

“Please,” my breath hitches. “Damien…please.”

“You're close,” his voice aches down my spine. “I can feel it. Every muscle in your body is begging me to finish what I started.”

And then—

He stops.

His fingers disappear.

I whimper. “What are you doing?”

He leans in. I feel his breath on my throat, but he doesn't touch me.

“Obedience test one complete,” he says. “You did well.”

“What the hell?” I whisper. “You’re just going to leave me like this?”

“I said I don’t fuck until I’m worshipped, angel. That wasn’t about your pleasure. That was about control.”

He unbinds me. Unties the blindfold.

I blink through the haze, vision adjusting.

He’s fully dressed. Calm. Collected.

I, on the other hand, am half-naked, flushed, and shaking like an addict denied her fix.

Damien cups my jaw, his eyes drilling into mine. “Next time, if you beg the way I want… maybe I’ll let you come.”

And then he turns and walks out.

Leaving me ruined.

Alone.

Craving.

******

I'm still bent over the edge of the bed when I hear the door close.

Silence follows. Heavy, hot silence.

I don’t move. Not yet. My skin is burning where he touched me—owned me.

My ass stings from his palm. My throat still feels the ghost of his grip. My thighs? Ruined.

I shift slowly and collapse onto the mattress like a puppet with its strings cut.

Shit.

Shit.

I curl my knees up to my chest, trying to breathe, trying to think. But my head is buzzing and my body is soaked with shame… and something worse.

Something darker.

Need.

How the hell do I need more?

He didn’t even finish what he started. He just…left. Like I was a show he got bored of.

I roll to the edge of the bed and reach into the tiny box I shoved under it earlier.

Lip gloss, pepper spray, two condoms I was too optimistic to throw out…and my phone.

I snatch it and unlock the screen, fingers fumbling.

No service.

Of course.

This place is probably built to block out the outside world. Wouldn’t want Daddy’s rich friends getting exposed.

I bite my lip and open my messages anyway. I want to text Lexie.

"Girl."

"He just choked me and walked out like he didn’t leave my soul in a blender."

"My nipples still hurt. My brain is wet. I want to cry or cum. Or both."

I don’t send it. Just stare at it like an idiot.

Then delete.

I drop the phone beside me and shut my eyes.

His voice replays in my mind like a curse.

“I only fuck when I'm worshipped.”

The way he said it—arrogant, dark, amused.

His fingers around my throat. His hand teasing, tormenting, tasting.

The smirk. The silence. The ache he left in my gut.

I should hate him.

I do hate him.

And yet... my thighs clench again, tight and frustrated.

I groan, cover my face with a pillow, and scream into it like a lunatic.

Then—a knock.

Soft. Measured.

Like he knows I’m on the edge of madness.

I freeze. My heart skips.

The door opens before I can answer.

Damien steps in, calm as sin. Black on black suit, watch glinting. Expression unreadable.

But his eyes…those eyes land on me like a brand.

I sit up slowly, still shaken, still bare under the thin robe I managed to throw on.

“I—”

I stop.

A woman follows him in.

Tall. Curvy. Wrapped in sheer fishnet and barely-there leather.

Red lips. Silver hair. Dark eyes. Thick thighs that jiggle with every step.

I stare.

My mouth waters.

I hate that it does.

She doesn’t even look at me. Just goes to stand by the wall like she belongs here. Like she’s done this before.

I look back at Damien, but he doesn’t give me answers. Just walks in, lets the silence throb.

Then finally—he speaks.

His voice is silk soaked in smoke.

“Obedience isn’t something I take. It’s something you learn. And tonight, Isla, you’re going to learn by watching.”