Chapter Three: The Walk-In

Rayna knew she shouldn’t.

She knew exactly what Roman would say if he caught her wandering into his private wing.

But temptation was a delicious bitch, and she was starving.

The hallway to his room was darker than the rest of the house. Sleek, masculine. Everything smelled like him—leather, dark spice, something sharp and expensive. Just walking through it made her thighs clench.

His bedroom door was slightly ajar.

She hesitated.

“Just one look,” she whispered.

But one look turned into a step. Then two. Then all the way inside.

The room was exactly how she imagined: cold, vast, and obsessively neat. A king-sized bed with black sheets. A leather armchair in the corner. Thick blackout curtains. A glass decanter of scotch on the dresser.

But it was the door across the room that caught her attention.

Half-hidden. Steel handle. No lock.

She opened it.

Her breath caught.

It was a walk-in closet, yes—but this? This was more than a closet. This was a statement.

Tailored suits lined the walls, shoes arranged with military precision, a full-length mirror, and—

A drawer labeled Discipline.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled it open.

Handcuffs.

Leather cuffs.

Silk ropes.

A black riding crop.

A ball gag.

A collar with a silver tag that read Daddy’s Girl.

Rayna’s mouth went dry. Heat bloomed low in her belly, spreading between her legs like wildfire. She lifted the collar, holding it in both hands. Her breath was shallow. Her heart pounded.

“What are you doing in here?”

His voice was a growl.

She spun.

Roman stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked on the collar in her hands. His expression was unreadable—but his jaw? Tight. Controlled rage. Or worse… control mixed with desire.

“I— I was just looking,” she whispered.

“I told you not to come into this wing.”

“I didn’t mean—”

He strode toward her in three hard steps. She backed into the velvet-lined wall, still clutching the collar like an idiot.

“I warned you once,” he said, voice dark. “Do you think I’m playing with you, Rayna?”

Her throat tightened. “No…”

His eyes dropped to her chest. Her breathing made her nipples press through her thin blouse, and she didn’t even try to hide it.

“You want to test me again?”

She didn’t answer.

“You found the drawer.”

Silence.

Roman reached out and took the collar from her trembling hands. He held it up between them.

“Do you even know what this means?” he asked softly.

Rayna swallowed hard. “That I’m yours?”

His eyes flickered with something dark. Dangerous. Hungry.

He stepped closer.

“You think it’s just about sex?” he murmured. “It’s about obedience. Trust. Surrender. You put this on… you give me your mind, your mouth, your body. No half-measures. No games.”

Rayna’s lips parted. She didn’t move.

He leaned in, brushing her ear with his lips. “You want it.”

“I don’t know,” she breathed.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“Yes, you do.”

Her breath caught. His hand slid around her neck, firm but not choking—just a reminder. A warning.

“You walk into my space. You touch my things. You stare at this collar like it’s a fantasy,” he whispered. “Let me show you what it feels like to be owned.”

Rayna couldn’t speak. Her legs were jelly. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Roman dropped the collar onto a nearby shelf.

Then he spun her around.

Her cheek pressed against the velvet wall. His hand slid down her back, over her hips, gripping her ass roughly.

She gasped.

“You want to be bad, little girl?” he said, voice low and menacing. “Then you’ll take what comes with it.”

He smacked her ass hard.

She moaned—louder than she meant to.

His breath hitched. “You liked that?”

She nodded frantically.

Another slap.

Harder.

This time she whimpered, thighs trembling.

Roman leaned over her, pressing his body against hers. “You don’t walk into Daddy’s room without permission. You don’t touch Daddy’s things. You ask for what you want.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered.

The words tasted like sin.

His hands moved fast—pulling her blouse up, exposing her bare back, tracing her skin with fingers like fire.

“This is just a warning,” he said, voice strained with restraint. “Next time, it won’t stop here.”

Rayna turned her face, eyes wild, lips parted.

“Then don’t stop.”

Roman froze.

For a second, the room went silent except for their breathing.

Then he grabbed her chin, turned her around, and kissed her—hard. Dominating. Claiming. His tongue shoved past her lips, taking everything, like he’d been starving for her since the day she arrived.

She melted into him.

Her hands tangled in his shirt. She moaned into his mouth. His thigh pressed between hers, grinding where she needed him most.

He pulled back suddenly, breathing hard.

“Not yet,” he said, voice like thunder. “I want you begging next time.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving her standing there—needy, breathless, and soaked through her panties.