I‘m dreaming, lost in a world where only Luk and I exist. I’m ready and willing to explore the boundaries he’s inviting me to cross and to discover new aspects of myself under his guidance.
He’s standing over me, dressed in a suit with the tie undone, the top button of his collar open. He’s like a statue, powerful and imposing, his gaze latched onto me. I’m tied to the bed, my wrists and ankles bound, my chest slowly rising and falling.
I’m his. Whatever happens next, it’s Luk’s decision.
I glance down at my breasts, the pinch of the nipple clamps insistent, with just the right amount of pain. The air is thick with anticipation.
Then, slowly, as if we have all the time in the world, Luk begins to make his way around the bed. His footfalls are heavy in the otherwise stillness of the room.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
His words send a shudder of delight up and down my body. Despite my bindings, all I can think about is pleasing him. In a way, his enjoyment of my body makes me happy. Soon, he’s at the side of the bed. He leans down until his lips are right over mine.
“You’re going to come, and you’re going to come when I tell you to. Understood?”
I want to kiss him. I want his touch. I want all of him more than anything. But he’s keeping himself just out of reach, taking pleasure in depriving me.
“Understood.”
He places his hand on the soft flatness of my belly, moving down, down over the red thatch of hair above my pussy. Then he reaches between my thighs, about to give me what I so desperately crave.
But then, abruptly, the fantasy shatters. I awake to the stark darkness of my bedroom, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like cobwebs. My hand, caught in the act of wandering below the waistline of my panties, freezes as the reality of my solitude sinks in. Embarrassment floods through me, hot and sharp, followed closely by a surge of annoyance.
I’m mad at myself, frustrated by my own body’s betrayal and the vividness of my subconscious desires. The dream felt so real, so tantalizingly close to something I’m both curious about and afraid to embrace fully. Luk’s gift, meant to be an exploration of trust and surrender, now feels like a taunt in the solitude of my room.
Sitting up, I push the feelings of embarrassment aside, trying to quiet the storm of emotions that the dream has unleashed. Longing, fear, and a burgeoning sense of self-awareness all meld together into something that I’m not entirely sure what to do with.
Alone in the darkness, my heart skips a beat as the silence of my room is pierced by an unsettling rustle from the corner. It’s too dark to see, but the unmistakable sense of another presence sends adrenaline coursing through me. My breath catches, and I’m frozen, straining my ears for another sound.
Then, movement—a shadow shifts in the darkness. Panic flares up within me, but before I can scream, my instincts kick in. There’s a figure lunging toward me, the silver of his blade glinting in the pale moonlight. Time slows down as I roll to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack. The figure, caught off balance by my sudden movement, stumbles forward.
There’s a sharp pain in my arm—a reminder that the danger is real—but I don’t have time to dwell on it. My survival instincts take over. I reach for the bedside lamp, throwing it toward the shadow in a desperate bid to disorient my attacker. The lamp misses, but the sudden burst it creates as it shatters against the wall gives me precious seconds to act.
I lunge for the heavy book on my nightstand, swinging it with all my might at the intruder. The impact sends them reeling back, and I scramble for the light switch. My heart is pounding, my breath ragged, and as the room fills with light, my attacker is revealed, dressed all in black.
The assailant covers his ears as I scream. The door suddenly bursts open, and Grigori rushes in. He’s unarmed but, all the same, prepared for a fight.
The assailant turns his attention to the new face, seeing that a greater problem has arrived. The two square off against one another, both in fighting stances, ready to pounce.
Finally, the assailant makes a move. He lunges forward, stabbing at Grigori. For a moment, my blood runs cold as I worry his blade will replace its mark. But Grigori is too quick for him. With one swift movement, he grabs the wrist of the attacker and twists. His knee follows upward, connecting with the man’s forearm.
The collision is forceful enough to cause the attacker to drop his blade, which hits the floor with a clatter. Relief washes through me, but the fight’s not over. Once the attacker’s advantage is neutralized, Grigori slams his fist hard into the assailant’s jaw. Another punch connects with his stomach, and that’s all the man can take. He drops to his knees, and Grigori quickly restrains him.
“Get in here, you idiots!”
Two guards rush into the room, restrain the attacker with zip ties, and carry him out.
“I’ll deal with him later,” Grigori says matter-of-factly.
Once the intruder is dragged out of the room, Grigori turns his full attention to me. His approach is quick but measured, his concern evident in the set of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. The adrenaline that had fueled my survival instincts just moments ago begins to wane, leaving behind a cocktail of emotions—relief, shock, and an unsettling realization of how close I came to real harm or possibly death.
“Are you all right?” Grigori asks, his voice carrying a depth of genuine concern. He scans me for any signs of injury, his presence a comforting solidity in the wake of unexpected chaos.
I nod, still trying to process what just happened while dealing with the aftereffects of the adrenaline surge. “Y-yes, I think so,” I manage to say, my voice steadier than I feel. The reassurance that I’m physically unharmed does little to quell the internal turmoil, fear, and vulnerability that lingers.
He glances at my arm, and I suddenly notice a red slash mark. I barely register it, the adrenaline still in charge of my reactions.
“You’re hurt,” Grigori says.
“It’s nothing. Really. I don’t even feel it.”
He snorts, “Not right now, you don’t. Luk is not going to like this—not one bit.”
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