
Desire doesn't always ask permission. It rips through walls you thought you'd built, cuts through the armor you wear, and exposes every hidden weakness you swore you'd never reveal.
Celeste was not a woman who played. She commanded. Tall, with an elegance that hid the sharp edges of her control, she had made a career out of bending wills without ever raising her voice. Her world was not for the faint of heart—it was for those ready to be broken down and rebuilt, piece by trembling piece.
Steve thought he understood strength. He'd lived his life in control, never allowing anyone to see past his carefully constructed exterior. But the moment he stepped into her space—the dimly lit room humming with power and the intoxicating scent of leather and perfume—his chest tightened with something he couldn't name.
This wasn't just about restraint. This was about surrender. And Celeste was about to teach him that obedience, when ripped from you, could feel like the most dangerous pleasure in the world.
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