Chapter 7: It Felt Like a Kiss

The Rolls Royce Phantom purrs down the street, its massive engine barely audible within the cocoon of luxury that is the cabin. I sink into the buttery leather seat, staring out the window as my brief but new life disappears around the corner.

Caterina sits beside me, not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her body.

In the front, Maddy sits ramrod straight in the passenger seat, her eyes occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror to check on us. The driver, a burly woman with close-cropped gray hair, keeps her gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, her expression professionally blank.

The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy with unspoken words. I stare straight ahead, my mind reeling as I try to process what just happened. One minute I was in bed watching YouTube videos, the next I’m being whisked away by a woman who bought me from my wife.

Cat shifts beside me, the leather creaking softly beneath her. I feel her eyes on me, studying me with that predatory intensity that seems to be her default state. After what feels like an eternity, she reaches out, placing her hand on my thigh.

Her touch is warm through the fabric of my jeans, her fingers long and elegant as they splay across my leg. The weight of her hand, so casually possessive, sends an unwelcome jolt of electricity through my body. I hate myself for it, but I can feel a stirring in my groin, blood rushing to my cock as it begins to harden.

‘She is just so unbelievably hot.’

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the growing tightness in my pants. “So, where are we going?”

Cat doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she slides closer, her thigh pressing against mine. She reaches up, her thumb brushing against my lower lip in a gesture that’s both tender and domineering.

“As badly as I want to treat you as a lover,” she purrs, her voice low and husky, “I must punish you tonight.”

My blood runs cold at her words, the budding arousal instantly replaced by fear. My mind races with horrific possibilities, images of torture chambers and cruel implements flashing behind my eyes.

“I thought you said no torture,” I stammer, my voice cracking slightly.

She shakes her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Adam, I’m never going to torture you,” she says, her tone somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Did Claire threaten to torture you?”

I stare at her. “No.”

Caterina sighs. “Anyways,” she continues, her finger tracing lazy patterns on my thigh, “you do need to be punished.”

“Why?” I ask, genuinely confused.

Her crimson eyes flash dangerously. “You pissed me off today,” she says simply. “I came by your house, invited you into my car, and you made me feel unwelcome.”

“Clearly, I didn’t have a full grasp on the situation,” I protest, my voice rising slightly.

In one swift motion, Cat grabs my face, her fingers digging into my cheeks with surprising strength. She pulls me closer until our noses are almost touching, her crimson eyes boring into mine with hypnotic intensity.

“That doesn’t matter,” she whispers, her voice silky yet unyielding. “What matters is how you made me feel.”

I try to pull away, but her grip is iron. My heart hammers in my chest, a caged bird desperate for escape. I’m acutely aware of Maddy in the front seat, watching our interaction through the rearview mirror with clinical detachment.

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words coming out slightly garbled due to her grip on my face.

Cat’s expression softens marginally. She loosens her hold but doesn’t release me entirely. Instead, her thumb strokes my cheek in a gesture that’s almost tender.

“That’s better,” she purrs. “But apologies aren’t enough, darling. Actions have consequences.”

Her fingers trace along my jawline, really activating my dommy mommy neurons. Despite the fear, despite the bizarre circumstances, my body responds to her touch like a flower turning toward the sun.

“So what’s my punishment going to be?” I ask.

“You’ll see.” As she speaks, her hand drifts lower, sliding down my chest back down to my thigh with agonizing slowness.

The moment her fingers brush against the bulge in my jeans, her eyes widen slightly, a flash of genuine surprise crossing her perfect features. She presses her palm against my erection, feeling its shape and size through the denim.

“My, my,” she breathes, a note of delighted discovery in her voice. “You really are quite excited, aren’t you?”

I swallow hard, not knowing how to play this. I want to deny it purely because the thought of being sold like cattle is so fucking lame, but the evidence is literally in her hand.

‘Who am I hiding this for? Me? Claire? I’m locked in here for four months. I honestly do hope we fuck a lot.’

She begins to rub slowly, her palm moving in firm, circular motions over my clothed cock. The friction is maddening, enough to stoke the fire but not enough to satisfy. My hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of her.

“I really am your type, aren’t I?” she asks, her voice filled with genuine curiosity as if this revelation is somehow surprising to her.

“What?” I manage to gasp, the word coming out breathless and strained.

Cat doesn’t respond to my question. Her expression shifts, becoming more focused, more intent. She continues her methodical rubbing, watching my face closely as pleasure builds within me.

A small whimper escapes my lips, a sound so vulnerable and needy that I would be mortified if I weren’t so far gone in the sensations she’s creating.

She stops.

Her hand lifts from my crotch as suddenly as if she’s been burned, leaving me aching and confused. The abrupt absence of her touch is almost painful, my body straining toward a release that’s been yanked away.

“No more,” Cat says, her voice suddenly cool and distant. “You’re being punished, not rewarded.”

She sighs and makes a cold face as if getting into character. The transformation is remarkable and unsettling, one moment she’s a seductive temptress, the next an ice queen, her crimson eyes hardening like gemstones.

*****

The Rolls Royce glides to a stop in front of a towering edifice of glass and steel that pierces the night sky. In front of us is a grand hotel sitting in the heart of Boston. ‘The Luciano’ the building reads.

‘I’ve never heard of this one before? It’s huge, though.’

The driver exits smoothly and circles around to my door with practiced efficiency. When she opens it, the cool night air rushes in.

I step out onto the cobblestone driveway, my legs slightly wobbly from the tension of the car ride. The doorman, a tall woman in an impeccable uniform, stands at attention nearby, her face a careful mask of professional neutrality.

Caterina emerges from the other side of the car, her movements fluid and graceful despite her imposing height. She strides toward me with purpose.

When she reaches me, she takes my hand in hers, her grip firm and possessive. Her skin is warm against mine, her fingers interlacing with my own in a gesture that feels oddly intimate given the circumstances.

“This is where we’re going?” I ask, gazing up at the gleaming tower of luxury.

Caterina’s expression remains cold and distant, her crimson eyes flashing with warning. “Stop talking,” she commands, each word clipped and precise, like the snap of a whip.

I oblige immediately, swallowing the rest of my questions. The doorman hurries to open the massive glass doors for us, bowing slightly as we pass.

The lobby is a symphony of marble and gold, soaring ceilings, and plush carpets that swallow our footsteps. Crystal chandeliers hang like frozen waterfalls, casting prismatic light across the vast space.

As we cross the lobby, I notice the effect Caterina has on the staff. The concierge straightens her spine and the bellhops freeze mid-motion. It’s like watching prey animals sense a predator in their midst, every movement becomes calculated, every expression carefully controlled.

The concierge hurries from behind her marble desk. Her heels click urgently against the polished floor as she approaches.

“Ah! Hello, Miss De Luca!” she exclaims, her voice pitched perfectly between professional and fawning. Her eyes dart nervously to me, then quickly back to Caterina, as if afraid to look at me for too long.

Caterina acknowledges her with the barest incline of her head, her grip on my hand tightening slightly. “Is the room prepared?” she asks, her tone making it clear she expects nothing less than perfection.

“Yes, of course,” the concierge responds, producing a key card from her jacket pocket with a flourish. “The Presidential Suite has been prepared exactly to your specifications.”

Caterina takes the card. “Good,” she says simply.

We make our way to a private elevator tucked discreetly at the back of the lobby. Maddy follows a few paces behind, her presence a silent reminder that there is no escape.

“Stay down here, Maddy,” Caterina says casually.

Maddy nods her head in acknowledgment as she takes guard by the elevator.

The elevator doors slide open silently, revealing an interior of polished mahogany and gleaming brass. Once inside, Caterina swipes the key card, and the elevator begins its ascent without any buttons being pressed.

The ride is swift and smooth, the only sound the soft hum of the machinery and my own slightly ragged breathing. Caterina still hasn’t released my hand.

The doors open directly into the Presidential Suite, and my jaw nearly drops at the sight. The space is vast and opulent, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Boston’s glittering skyline. The décor is a tasteful blend of modern and classic, all rich woods and sumptuous fabrics in deep jewel tones.

Caterina strides into the suite with the confidence of someone who owns the place, which, for all I know, she might. She releases my hand and walks to the center of the room, surveying her domain with those hypnotic crimson eyes.

I stand awkwardly by the elevator, unsure what to do with myself in this palace of luxury. My clothes, a simple t-shirt and jeans, feel suddenly shabby and out of place among such opulence.

Caterina turns to me, her expression still cold and distant. For a moment, she simply stares, those crimson eyes assessing me like I’m a piece of merchandise she’s considering purchasing.

Then, without warning, she strides toward me. Before I can react, she grabs my arm with surprising strength and drags me across the living area toward another door.

She throws it open to reveal an enormous bedroom dominated by a massive four-poster bed draped in rich silk. The mattress looks plush and inviting, covered in what must be the highest thread count sheets money can buy.

With a sudden, violent shove, Caterina pushes me into the bedroom. I stumble forward, nearly losing my balance, as I catch myself against one of the bedposts.

“Strip,” she commands, her voice cold and imperious.

I turn to face her, my heart hammering in my chest. Despite the circumstances, despite knowing I should be outraged or terrified, I feel a thrill of exhilaration coursing through my veins.

“Wait, really?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the excitement from my voice.

Her response is immediate and shocking. Her hand flashes out, connecting with my cheek in a sharp, stinging slap that echoes through the room. My head snaps to the side from the force of it, and I taste the metallic tang of blood where my teeth have cut into the inside of my cheek.

“Strip,” she repeats, her voice even colder now, brooking no argument.

I raise my hand to my stinging cheek, genuinely surprised by both the pain and her strength. The slap hurt way more than I expected, like she’s somehow stronger than me despite her slender frame.

“That hurt,” I say, more out of surprise.

Caterina’s eyes narrow dangerously, her perfectly sculpted features contorting into a mask of cold fury.

“It was supposed to hurt, Adam,” she hisses, each word dripping with venom. Her crimson eyes flash like warning signals, promising more pain if I continue to test her patience. “That’s what a punishment is. Now take your fucking clothes off before I decide to make this worse for you.”

I feel a little confused by the sudden shift in her demeanor, but something in her tone makes me oblige without further protest. My fingers tremble slightly as I grab the hem of my t-shirt and pull it over my head, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor. I kick off my shoes next, then my socks.

As I unbutton my jeans and slide them down my legs, I can feel Caterina’s eyes on me, burning into my skin like twin lasers. The intensity of her gaze makes my heart race, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through my veins.

While I strip, Caterina moves toward a massive walk-in closet. She steps inside and begins to remove her own clothing, but there’s a stark difference in how she treats her garments. Where I’ve left mine in a careless heap on the floor, she meticulously hangs each piece of her tailored suit with practiced grace.

She emerges from the closet, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. The goddess standing before me is even more magnificent than in my dreams. Her body is a masterpiece of curves and planes, her skin glowing like polished ivory in the soft bedroom light.

I am instantly, painfully hard. My cock stands at attention, throbbing with need as I drink in the sight of her. I couldn’t hide my reaction even if I wanted to.

Caterina’s eyes travel down my body, lingering on my obvious arousal. A smirk plays at the corners of her perfect lips, equal parts mocking and satisfied.

She takes a step closer, her crimson eyes raking over my nakedness with predatory intensity. The smirk on her perfect lips widens, transforming into something crueler, more mocking.

“Look at you,” she purrs, her voice dripping with contempt. “A punished dog about to cheat on his wife, and you’re hard as a rock. You are shameless. Don’t you even feel bad for your wife?”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. In the brief time I’ve known Claire, I’ve felt many things, confusion, attraction, pity, disgust, but right now, standing naked and aroused before this statuesque blonde goddess, it’s hard to summon much guilt.

“Between the memory issues and being sold, it’s hard to feel bad for Claire right now,” I reply, my voice steadier than I expected.

The words have barely left my mouth when Caterina’s hand flashes out again, connecting with my other cheek in a slap even harder than the first. My head snaps to the side, stars dancing at the edges of my vision. The sound echoes through the luxurious bedroom like a gunshot.

“Don’t say her name,” she growls, her eyes burning with hatred so intense it’s almost tangible.

My head feels a little rattled, my eyes widening in shock. The pain radiates across my face, hot and throbbing. My erection deflates a little as I struggle to compose myself.

‘If I fight back, I don’t know what she’ll do to Claire.’ I try to resist fighting back.

Caterina’s gaze drifts downward, and I watch as her expression shifts. Her crimson eyes widen slightly as she notices my flagging erection, a flash of panic crossing her perfect features. For a brief, startling moment, the cold mask slips, revealing something raw beneath, something that looks almost like fear.

Her eyes dart back up to mine, and in that fleeting instant, I swear I see pity swimming in those crimson depths. It’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it. The icy demeanor returns, her features hardening once more into that beautiful, terrible mask of control.

She grabs my wrist with bruising force. Without a word, she yanks me toward the bed, her strength surprising me yet again. I stumble forward, unresisting, feeling oddly detached from the situation, as if I’m watching it happen to someone else.

The sheets are cool against my bare skin as she pushes me down onto the mattress. The bed is ridiculously comfortable, the kind of luxury I’ve never experienced before.

Caterina looms over me, her golden hair falling around her face in a curtain. She reaches for something on the nightstand, a length of what looks like black silk rope.

She grabs both my wrists and pulls them above my head, stretching my arms until my shoulders strain slightly. She wraps the silk rope around them, binding them together with quick, expert movements. The knots are intricate and tight, securing my hands to the ornate headboard.

I test the bonds reflexively, but there’s no give. I’m completely at her mercy now, my arms rendered useless, stretched taut above me.

My face remains calm, oddly serene, despite the storm of emotions churning inside me. I don’t want to speak, don’t want to risk another slap or worse. So I remain silent, watching her with wary eyes as she steps back to admire her handiwork.

The bindings have set me over the edge, my dick hardening right back up. The silk rope against my wrists, the absolute surrender of control, it’s triggering something primal in me that I can’t deny. My erection stands proudly between my legs, a betrayal of my conflicted feelings.

Caterina notices immediately. Her eyes lock onto my hardness, her perfect eyebrow arching in surprise. For a moment, she simply stares at it, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she leans down.

Her lips, soft and warm, press against the very tip of my cock in the briefest of kisses. The contact is so light, so fleeting, yet it sends electricity shooting through my entire body.

“Just because you’re being punished doesn’t mean your mistress hates you,” she purrs, her breath hot against my sensitive flesh. The word ‘mistress’ does something to me, igniting a fire in my belly that spreads outward in waves of heat.

She straightens up, towering over me like a goddess from some ancient myth.

“But you embarrassed me today when you said it wouldn’t be appropriate to go for a ride with me,” she continues, her voice taking on that cold edge again. “Do you know how that made me feel?”

I say nothing, looking at her blankly as arousal courses through me. Staring at her naked body is driving me to the edge of sanity.

“Answer me,” she demands, her hand suddenly gripping my jaw, forcing me to look into her eyes rather than at her body.

“I don’t know,” I stammer.

“Rejected,” she says, the word sharp and precise. “You made me feel rejected. Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for you? How long I’ve wanted you?”

I look at her and speak honestly, “I really don’t, Cat.”

Her crimson eyes flash with irritation, her perfect features hardening into a mask of annoyance.

“Years,” she hisses, the single word dripping with intensity. “I’ve wanted you for years, Adam. But every time we talked after the first, you were always so cold, so distant. Not anymore, huh?”

There’s something unhinged in her expression now. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath, her perfect breasts heaving with emotion.

“I don’t remember,” I say.

Without warning, she clasps my ankles in her hands. She pushes them back toward my chest, folding me nearly in half. The position is vulnerable, almost humiliating, but my cock doesn’t seem to mind, throbbing eagerly as she positions herself above me.

In one swift, fluid motion, she mounts me. Her wet pussy engulfs me completely as she sinks down, taking me all the way inside her in a single, determined thrust. The sensation is overwhelming, tight, hot, perfect. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

I groan loudly, the sound tearing from my throat as pleasure crashes through me like a tidal wave. My hips buck involuntarily, my body writhing against the restraints as I immediately start cumming inside her. The orgasm hits me with no warning, no build-up, just an explosive release that seems to go on forever.

“Fuck!” I whimper out, my voice breaking as pulse after pulse of pleasure tears through me. My vision blurs at the edges, my entire world narrowing to the point where our bodies connect.

To my surprise, Caterina looks absolutely thrilled. Her crimson eyes widen with delight, her perfect lips parting in a smile of pure, primal satisfaction. There’s something almost triumphant in her expression like she’s just won a long-fought battle. She looks overjoyed. Proud of herself, even.

“How dare you cum before your mistress,” she scolds, her voice attempting sternness even as her face betrays her. “I didn’t give you permission to cum.”

Her words completely contradict the expression of pure joy illuminating her features. She looks almost giddy, like a child who’s just received exactly what they wanted for Christmas.

I moan as the final waves of my climax wash over me, my body trembling with aftershocks. The intensity of the orgasm has left me dazed, my thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. Through the haze of pleasure, I notice that Caterina hasn’t moved off me. She remains firmly seated on my cock.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m apologizing for.

Caterina leans forward. She reaches toward the nightstand, her movements causing her to shift slightly on my oversensitive cock, drawing another whimper from me.

When she turns back, she’s holding a small blue pill between her thumb and forefinger. She holds it up before my eyes, the tiny tablet catching the light.

“Open up,” she commands, her voice soft yet authoritative.

I eye the pill suspiciously, my post-orgasmic haze clearing enough for caution to reassert itself. “What is that?” I ask, my voice still shaky from the intensity of my climax.

“It’ll make it easier to get you hard again,” she explains, her tone almost gentle, nurturing. “I’m not done with you yet, darling, and I need you as hard as possible to punish you.”

I harden up at her words as I open my mouth and stick my tongue out, offering no resistance. The sight of her towering above me, her crimson eyes burning with desire. It’s more intoxicating than any drug could ever be.

“Oh,” Cat says with a delighted purr, feeling my renewed hardness inside her. Her eyebrows arch in surprise, a smile playing at the corners of her ruby lips. “I wonder if you even need it?”

She places the tiny blue pill on my outstretched tongue anyway, her fingertip lingering against my lower lip in a gesture that’s both tender and possessive.

“Well, it can’t hurt,” she murmurs, her voice a silky caress against my senses. “Swallow.”

I do as I’m told, feeling the pill slide down my throat.

Cat’s laugh is like musical bells, light and tinkling yet somehow predatory. She grabs my ankles and pushes them again.

“Do try to last longer this time,” she says mockingly, her tone playful yet edged with command.

Without warning, she starts violently smashing her hips down on my cock. The sensation is overwhelming her tight, wet heat, enveloping me completely before rising up only to slam back down with punishing force. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through my body, so intense it borders on pain.

Her movements are relentless, almost brutal in their intensity. The bed creaks beneath us, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust. She rides me like she’s trying to break me.

She sees me wincing in bliss, my eyes half-closed, mouth parted in ecstasy as she rides me with savage intensity. Her rhythm falters for a moment as she studies my expression.

“No,” she says suddenly, her voice sharp as a blade. “Absolutely not.”

The warmth vanishes from her face, her features hardening into that cold, imperious mask once more. Her crimson eyes flash with displeasure.

“You don’t get to enjoy this,” she hisses, her voice dripping with venom. “This is punishment, not pleasure.”

Without warning, her hands shoot out, wrapping around my throat. Her fingers press against my windpipe, not enough to crush it but enough to restrict the flow of air. The sudden pressure makes my eyes widen in shock, my body tensing beneath her.

But to my horror and her visible dismay, my cock responds with enthusiasm, growing impossibly harder inside her. The lack of oxygen sends my senses into overdrive, heightening every sensation until even the slight shifting of her weight atop me feels like exquisite torture.

Cat tilts her head. “Are you a masochist?” she asks, her voice a mixture of surprise and what almost sounds like delight, though she tries to mask it with disgust.

I try to respond, but her grip makes it impossible to form words. Only a strangled gurgle escapes my lips, my face beginning to flush from lack of oxygen. She loosens her hold just enough to allow speech, though her fingers remain threateningly poised around my neck.

“I... I think so,” I choke out, the words raw and raspy from my constricted throat.

The admission hangs in the air between us, a confession I hadn’t even fully acknowledged to myself until this moment.

Her grip tightens again, completely cutting off my air supply. The pressure is intense, frightening in its totality. Black spots begin to dance at the edges of my vision as oxygen deprivation sets in.

Just as the darkness begins to close in, as consciousness starts to slip away like water through cupped hands, she releases her hold. Air rushes back into my lungs in a painful gasp, my body convulsing beneath her as I gulp down oxygen.

As the oxygen floods back into my system, a euphoric wave crashes over me. Each cell in my body feels electrified, hyperaware. My cock throbs inside her with renewed vigor, my hips bucking upward of their own accord, driving deeper into her wet heat.

Cat senses my heightened arousal immediately. Her crimson eyes widen in disbelief, then narrow in fury.

“Stop it!” she screams, her voice echoing off the walls of the luxurious suite. “Stop enjoying this right now!”

Her hand flies through the air, connecting with my cheek in another slap. This one is only about half as hard as the previous ones, more performative than punishing. The sting blooms across my skin, but instead of deterring me, it only fans the flames of my desire.

A moan escapes my lips, unbidden and unrestrained. My body arches beneath her, seeking more contact, more friction, more of everything she’s giving me.

“I said stop!” Cat shrieks, her composure crumbling before my eyes. There’s something almost desperate in her tone now, as if my unexpected reaction to her punishment is throwing her completely off balance.

Her palm connects with my face again. Something inside me snaps. The cumulative pain, the confusion, the bizarre situation, it all comes crashing down on me at once.

“Stop hitting me!” I scream, my voice raw and ragged. The words tear from my throat with unexpected force, surprising both of us with their intensity.

My legs thrash beneath her as I try to dislodge her from atop me. The silk ropes bite into my wrists as I pull against them, desperate to free myself from this beautiful, terrifying woman.

Cat throws her weight forward, pinning my legs down. Her hands press my thighs into the mattress.

“How dare you,” she hisses, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that somehow feels more threatening than her screams.

Before I can respond, her hand flies through the air again. This time, there’s no holding back.

The slap lands with devastating precision, directly across my left eye. The impact is like a hammer blow, sending shockwaves of agony through my skull. My vision instantly blurs, the world dissolving into a haze of pain and fractured light. I can feel the tissue around my eye swelling immediately, puffing up as blood rushes to the traumatized area.

I groan in pain, the sound raw and primal. “Please stop,” I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Cat looms over me, her beautiful face contorted with rage.

“I need you to fear me!” she screams, her voice cracking with emotion. There’s something desperate in her tone, something almost pleading beneath the fury.

“Please stop hitting me,” I say, trying to turn my face away to protect my injured eye from further assault.

Cat grabs my chin with bruising force, her fingers digging into my jaw as she wrenches my face back toward her.

“I need you to be obedient!” she shrieks. Spittle flies from her perfect lips, landing on my cheeks and mixing with the tears I hadn’t even realized were streaming from my good eye.

The weight of the situation crashes down on me all at once. I’m bound to a bed in a strange hotel, being assaulted by a woman who bought me from my wife.

“I want to go home,” I whisper, the words carrying all the broken fragments of my heart.

“You aren’t going fucking anywhere,” she says, her voice suddenly quiet, controlled, and all the more frightening for it. Each word falls from her lips like a shard of ice, precise and cutting.

“Please, I’ll be good. I would have been good. Please,” I beg, my voice breaking as the words tumble out. The fight has drained from me, leaving only desperation in its wake.

Cat stares down at me, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she remains perfectly still, like a predator assessing its prey. Then, without warning, she begins to move her hips again. This time, her movements are different, slower, more deliberate, almost gentle.

A soft moan escapes her lips as she rocks against me. The sound is startlingly at odds with the violent woman from moments ago.

“Shhh,” she whispers, her voice suddenly tender. “We’re almost done with your punishment, my love.”

The unexpected endearment, spoken with such softness, confuses me even more than the violence did. Tears well up in my good eye, spilling over and tracking warm paths down my cheek.

‘I don’t like this.’

“Look at me,” Cat commands, though her tone lacks the earlier harshness.

I obey, lifting my gaze to meet hers. Something shifts in her expression as she takes in the damage she’s caused. Her perfect brow furrows slightly, a flicker of what might be regret crossing her features. She studies my rapidly swelling eye, watching as the tissue puffs up, already beginning to close from the force of her blow.

She sighs, a sound so heavy with emotion it seems to physically deflate her magnificent form. Her shoulders slump slightly, the imperious posture giving way to something almost defeated.

“I can’t do this,” she says softly, the words barely audible.

Without another word, she dismounts me, leaving me feeling dissatisfied.

She gets off the bed, her movements fluid despite the abrupt change in mood. I lie there, bound and confused, watching through my one good eye as she walks to the door. There’s something fragile in her posture, a vulnerability that wasn’t there before.

She pauses at the doorway, her hand resting on the frame.

“I’ll be right back,” she says softly, not turning around.

I hear her footsteps receding, bare feet padding against marble floors. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what just happened. The rapid shifts in Cat’s demeanor have left me emotionally whiplashed. One moment she’s a cold, sadistic tormentor, the next a passionate lover, then suddenly vulnerable and regretful. It’s impossible to predict which version I’ll face when she returns.

‘I don’t know if I should do this for Claire. If this is how it’s going to be, maybe I should just run away and live with Jessica for a while. Claire dug this hole. This isn’t fair for me.’

Minutes pass. Eventually, I hear her returning, her footsteps growing louder as she approaches the bedroom.

She appears in the doorway holding something in her hands. As she comes closer, I see it’s a small face cloth wrapped around what must be ice.

Without a word, Cat sits on the edge of the bed beside me. She doesn’t immediately apply the ice or even look at my face. Instead, she stares down at the cloth in her hands.

“I’m sorry, Adam,” she says finally. “I didn’t mean to do this. I wanted to punish you, but I took it too far.”

She lifts her gaze to meet mine, and I’m startled to see genuine remorse in those crimson eyes. It transforms her face, softening the sharp edges of her beauty into something more human, more approachable.

With gentle hands that seem incapable of the violence they delivered just minutes ago, she helps me shift position, cradling my head and guiding it onto her lap. The movement pulls at my bound arms.

I close my eyes as she tenderly applies the ice to my swollen eye. The cold seeps through the cloth, numbing the throbbing pain that pulses with each heartbeat. Her lap is warm beneath my head.

She holds the compress with one hand while the other strokes my hair, her fingers weaving through the strands with surprising gentleness. Each caress feels like an apology, the soft touch at odds with the violence that preceded it.

“Does that hurt?” she asks, but she’s not referring to my eye. Her gaze has drifted lower to where my cock still stands erect despite everything that’s happened.

I follow her gaze, noticing with some surprise that I’m still hard. The blue pill has done its work well, perhaps too well. My erection juts upward, flushed and insistent, seemingly disconnected from the emotional turmoil roiling inside me.

“Is it safe?” I ask, my voice hoarse from shouting and crying. “With the pill, I mean.”

Cat’s expression softens further, a small smile playing at the corners of her perfect lips. She shifts the ice pack slightly, adjusting it to cover the worst of the swelling around my eye.

“Let your mistress take care of you,” she speaks warmly. There’s something different in how she says it now, not commanding or cruel, but nurturing, loving even.