Nicolas had her pinned flat beneath him, one large hand locked around her throat. His thumb pressed just hard enough to make her feel the threat without cutting off her air.

“You still think there’s a version of this where you get to keep your pride,” he said quietly. His voice was calm, almost conversational, which made the words land heavier. “You still believe you can stand against me and walk away intact.”

Allyra stared up at him, chest rising and falling fast. She didn’t answer.

Nicolas’s mouth curved into a cold smile. “That’s fine. I don’t need you to understand. You already belong to me. The rest is just you learning how to accept it.”

He dragged both her wrists above her head and bound them brutally tight to the iron bedpost with his scarf. Then he reached for the thick leather belt from his coat and wrapped it around her wrists as well, cinching it until the leather dug deep into her skin. She tested the restraints and found no give at all.

“You tried to keep your plans from me,” he murmured, running a single finger down the center of her chest. “That was insolent.”

He reached for the short leather whip resting beside the bed. Allyra’s breath caught when she saw it.

The first strike landed sharply across her breasts. She gasped, body jerking. A second followed immediately across her stomach, then a third across the tops of her thighs. Nicolas worked methodically, laying red, stinging lines across her skin. Each time the leather connected, he watched her face closely.

“You don’t get to decide when you surrender,” he said, bringing the whip down again across her hip. “You surrendered the moment I decided you were mine.”

Allyra turned her face away, biting her lip hard to keep from crying out too loudly. The pain bloomed hot across her skin, but worse was the way her body reacted, a shameful, traitorous heat building low in her belly with every cruel lash.

Nicolas paused, tilting his head. “Still fighting me. Still so proud.” He struck her again, harder this time, across the sensitive underside of her breasts. Allyra cried out, back arching off the bed. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Only when her skin was marked and flushed did he finally drop the whip.

He flipped her onto her stomach without warning, yanking her hips up so she was on her knees. He shoved her face down into the pillow and drove into her in one brutal thrust. Allyra sobbed at the sudden stretch and force. Nicolas didn’t give her time to adjust. He fucked her hard and deep, one hand fisted tightly in her hair, the other gripping her hip so hard his talons threatened to break skin.

“You’re mine,” he growled with every punishing thrust. “Say it.”

When she didn’t answer quickly enough, he reached beneath her and slapped her clit sharply. Allyra cried out into the pillow.

“I’m yours!” she choked.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!”

He fucked her even harder after that, the wet sound of their bodies obscene in the quiet room. Just as she felt herself climbing toward release, he buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural groan, pulsing hot inside her while she trembled on the edge, denied.

Nicolas stayed buried in her for a long moment, breathing heavily against the back of her neck. Then he pulled out slowly, leaving her empty and aching.

He untied her wrists in silence.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were their uneven breathing and the faint creak of the bed. Allyra rolled slowly onto her side, turning her back to him. Her skin stung where the whip had landed. Her core throbbed with frustrated need. Shame and fear twisted tightly in her chest. She curled in on herself slightly, staring at the wall.

Nicolas lay beside her without touching her. The silence stretched on, heavy and thick. Minutes passed. The tension in the room grew almost unbearable.

Allyra’s breathing slowly steadied, but her mind would not quiet. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her, the burn of the whip, the way he had used her so completely. She was terrified of him. She was terrified of how much she had wanted him even while he hurt her. And most of all, she was terrified of how easily he had made her say the words.

After what felt like an eternity, she turned back toward him.

Her eyes were wet when they met his. There was fear there, and exhaustion, and something raw and uncertain. She didn’t speak. She simply looked at him.

Nicolas reached for her.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her like a man starved. This kiss was nothing like the ones before. It was deep, hungry, almost desperate. His mouth moved over hers with fierce intensity as he rolled her onto her back and settled between her thighs.

When he pushed into her this time, it was slow but no less claiming. Allyra gasped against his mouth, her hands sliding up his back to clutch at his shoulders. Nicolas moved with deep, rolling thrusts, grinding against her with every stroke. He kissed her constantly, her mouth, her jaw, the tears on her cheeks, as if he needed the contact as much as she did.

His hands cradled her face as he looked straight into her eyes. There was no taunting now. Only raw, burning need.

Allyra wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Their bodies found a rhythm that felt almost frantic in its intensity. Every thrust dragged a broken sound from her throat. Nicolas’s breathing grew rough, his control visibly fraying as he felt her tightening around him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes locked.

“Come with me,” he rasped.

Allyra nodded, tears slipping down her temples. The pleasure built fast and overwhelming, different from anything she had felt before, deeper, more devastating. Nicolas kept moving, kept kissing her, kept watching her face as she came apart beneath him. Her orgasm hit hard, her whole body tightening and shaking around him as she cried out into his mouth.

The feel of her coming undone dragged him over the edge right after her. Nicolas groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt as he pulsed hot and thick inside her, his hips jerking through the intensity of it.

They stayed locked together long after the tremors faded, foreheads pressed close, breathing each other in. Nicolas kissed her slowly now, almost reverently, while one hand stroked down her side, tracing the red lines the whip had left.

Allyra clung to him, trembling. The fear was still there, quiet but present. But so was something else, something terrifyingly close to surrender.

Nicolas held her tighter, his mouth brushing her ear.

“Mine,” he whispered.

This time, she didn’t argue.