Angel’s nod came stiffly, her pulse hammering like a war drum with every careful step she took. The weight inside her was maddening—a constant, intimate reminder of Reece’s domination even when his hands were idle.

“Perfect,” he murmured, circling her like a lion stalking an antelope. His voice was low, predatory, savoring her apprehension. “Now, let’s finish getting you ready.”

He guided her to the vanity mirror. Under the harsh white light, Angel’s fingers trembled as she swept on powder and blush. Each brushstroke sent the silver spheres inside her shifting, tides of pressure rippling through her core. She bit back a gasp. Reece’s dark gaze never left her reflection while she applied a single coat of mascara, her lashes trembling under the weight of his attention.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a possessive kiss to her temple. “Ready for your heels?”

Angel slipped her feet into the strappy stilettos he handed her. The instant her arches lifted, the spheres rolled deeper, drawing a ragged inhale from her lips. She rose fully dressed in emerald silk that clung to every curve—an outward picture of elegance belying the inferno inside her.

“Remember,” Reece murmured, his palm anchored at the small of her back as he steered her toward the door, “you may not come without permission. No matter how intense it gets.”

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed, already doubting her own courage. The short march to the elevator was exquisite torture: every click of her heels a pulse of ecstasy through her core, the anklet’s cool metal circling her ankle like a chain.

In the elevator, Reece pinned her against the mirrored wall, his breath warm at her ear. “One more thing.” From his jacket pocket he produced a small silver remote. Angel’s heart stuttered.

“They vibrate too?” she whispered, eyes wide with dawning dread and desire.

His smile was wicked, triumphant. “Only when I decide you need… encouragement.” He slipped the device back inside as the elevator dinged. “Now smile, angel. We have a reservation to keep.”

The restaurant was everything she feared and craved—soft jazz, candlelight flickering over moonlit waves, hushed voices weaving through the warm night air. The maître d’ escorted them to a secluded corner. Angel clutched Reece’s arm, forcing her features into a demure mask while her guts roiled with need.

“Your table, sir,” the host intoned. Reece settled Angel into her chair. The slightest lean forward sent the spheres shifting again, and she trembled. Across from her, Reece watched with silk-dark eyes as she struggled to seem composed.

“The wine list, sir.” The server materialized.

“2018 Sancerre,” Reece answered, his gaze glued to Angel’s taut throat. “And a few more minutes with the menu.”

As the server retreated, Reece leaned in, his voice a silken whisper only she could hear. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I might lose my mind,” she admitted, shifting. The new angle sent a shuddering wave through her, and she clamped her hands to the table’s edge.

“Perfect,” he breathed. His hand found hers, thumb stroking fetishistic circles over her knuckles. “That’s exactly where I want you tonight—balanced on the edge.”

His fingers ghosted over the remote hidden beneath the table. A low vibration bloomed inside her. Angel’s eyes fluttered shut, her breath catching in a strangled moan.

“Open your menu,” he instructed calmly. “I recommend the sea bass.”

She fumbled with the leather-bound pages, words swimming before her eyes. Uncrossing and recrossing her legs only intensified the pulse. Reece’s soft command cut through her fog: “Feet flat, knees apart. I want you open for me.”

Her thighs shook as she obeyed, the vibration humming between them like a live wire.

“Have you decided?” The server reappeared, pen at the ready.

Reece’s thumb flicked the remote. The next setting jolted her breathless. He ordered smoothly: “Sea bass for my companion, filet medium-rare for me.”

When the server left, Angel exhaled in a quivering rush. “That was cruel.”

“Merciful,” Reece corrected, dialing the hum down just a notch. “Wait until appetizers.” His predatory smile promised further delicious torment.

The oysters arrived on a bed of crushed ice. Reece pressed the button again. The vibration pulsed, and Angel’s hand jerked, nearly tipping her wine. He steadied it, thumb stroking her pulse. “Try one.”

She bit into the chilled oyster; briny sweetness and searing need collided in her veins. Reece watched her every nuance. “Another,” he coaxed. With each oyster, he raised the intensity, her thighs clenching and her breath stuttering.

“What did I say about your legs?” he murmured when she instinctively crossed them.

“Sorry, Sir,” she whimpered, uncrossing to present herself better.

“Better. Now eat another.”

By the third oyster, tears glistened at her eyes. Her body screamed beneath his relentless control. “Please,” she breathed, voice barely audible over the jazz.

“Please what?” His tone was velvet-edged steel.

“May I come, Sir?”

“Not yet.” His finger hovered over the remote. He cut the sensation entirely—and Angel sagged with relief. “We haven’t even touched the main course.”

Her pulse settled only marginally. She wrapped her fingers around her Sancerre glass, but even the cool rim against her lips made the spheres shift.

Reece’s voice lowered: “Tell me about your day.”

“You,” she whispered, and he spiked the vibration again. “How you made me beg last night, how my tears tasted sweeter than salt water.”

His pupils dilated. “And now, here you are at my mercy.” He pressed the remote beneath the table, dialing deep into her core. She clutched the tablecloth, white-knuckled, as the filet and sea bass slid between them.

“On a scale of one to ten,” he murmured, leaning forward, “how close are you?”

“Nine,” she choked out, thigh muscles trembling.

“Good. Eat five more bites without tipping over.”

Every forkful of sea bass dissolved on her tongue—silky, buttery, divine—while the spheres pulsed in cruel tempo. She chewed through tears, swallowing her humiliation and desire. “One,” “Two,” “Three”—her whispered count came out ragged. By the fifth bite, she was sobbing silently, her control fraying like thread.

“Perfect,” Reece praised, cutting the vibrations. Instant relief washed over her, though her body still thrummed with residual ache. He signaled for dessert.

Moments later, chocolate soufflé arrived in a velvet cloud of steam. Reece loaded his spoon and instructed, “Open.” Before the warm chocolate even touched her tongue, he unleashed the highest setting. Pleasure exploded in her with the first molten bite; her back arched, a half-plea slipping from her parted lips.

“Swallow,” he demanded, voice thick as honey.

She obeyed, tears of exquisite torture running down her cheeks. He fed her again and again—each spoonful paired with a surge of vibration so intense it brought her to the brink of collapse. “Four more bites,” he ground out. She counted them amid sobs and gasps. When he lifted the remote and the tremors ceased, Angel slumped, spent, body still humming for more.

“Can you walk?” he asked, voice tinged with real concern.

“I think so, Sir.” Her legs felt like water.

“Good girl.” He offered his arm and guided her outside. Every step made the spheres roll, each click of her heels a wave of delicious agony.

In the elevator they were alone. Reece crushed her against the mirrored wall, lips descending on hers with feral hunger. “You were magnificent,” he growled. “So desperate, so beautiful on the edge.”

She gasped into his mouth, slick with need. When their villa door shut behind them, he captured her in a fierce kiss, hands tangling in her hair. “No more waiting.”

With hands that trembled with need, he unzipped her dress, letting the emerald silk pool at her feet. Naked but for heels and that silver anklet, she shivered beneath his hungry stare.

“Turn,” he commanded. She did, pressing her hands against the door, legs spread. The spheres shifted as he withdrew them one by one—each slow pull reverberating through her slick core.

“Breathe,” he whispered before his fingers found her dripping center. He traced her slickness, then pressed two inside, curling to that perfect spot. Angel’s head flung back, mouth open in a silent cry.

“May I come?” she pleaded, voice raw and broken.

“Yes,” he rasped, his thumb brushing her clit. “Come for me.”

Her orgasm tore through her like lightning, her body convulsing around his fingers. She trembled in his arms, sobbing with release. Reece held her, his lips ghosting along her neck.

“When you can stand,” he murmured, voice gentle even under its edge, “we’re far from done.” He lifted her effortlessly, and with her thighs locked around his waist and her pulse still throbbing, he carried her toward the bed—his conquest, utterly surrendered, still buzzing from the exquisite torment he alone had bestowed.