Daisy stood beneath the steaming jets of the shower, the heat soaking into her skin, washing away the tension of the day or trying to.
Her thighs still tingled with the memory of the elevator.
Of Xander's hands.
Of the way he had claimed her like she was his personal possession.
And yet… it wasn't just the act.
It was the look in his eyes.
Like he was trying to erase every trace of anyone else she had ever known.
Like he was marking her.
And it was working.
After dressing in a simple oversized shirt and soft cotton shorts, Daisy made her way down to the massive, modern kitchen. She tied her hair up loosely and began prepping dinner; grilled chicken, vegetables, and mashed potatoes. Simple, warm and human.
Something about cooking grounded her. Reminded her that she still had control over something.
The aroma filled the space, and just as she was stirring the sauce, she felt it.
A presence.
She turned, and her breath caught.
Xander stood at the kitchen entrance shirtless. His sculpted chest glistened faintly with a light sheen of sweat from a workout, his broad shoulders stretching wide, like they could carry the weight of a kingdom.
He didn't speak.
Just watched her.
With hunger in his eyes.
"You're staring," she said without turning fully, pretending to stay focused on the food.
"I always stare at what I own," he replied.
Before she could speak, he crossed the kitchen in just a few strides. His hands wrapped around her waist, lips brushing against the back of her neck hot, slow kisses that sent chills across her skin.
Then his hands moved up.
Over her shirt. Under it.
He cupped her breasts firmly, fingers teasing, massaging, his lips never leaving the sensitive skin of her neck.
Daisy's breath hitched.
Her spoon clattered to the counter.
"I'm trying to cook," she whispered, barely able to stand straight.
"And I'm trying to taste something better," he murmured.
He turned her around, bent her slightly over the counter, the cool granite pressing against her thighs. She gasped, gripping the edge of the counter as his hands roamed again, his breath heavy in her ear.
"What if someone walks in?" she managed to say.
"No one walks into my kitchen without permission," he growled, then leaned down and whispered, "Touch your toes again."
Daisy shivered and obeyed.
Afterward, Daisy adjusted her clothes in silence and brought the food to the dining table, cheeks flushed and heart pounding.
She set the table silverware, napkin, wine.
But when she turned to leave…
He grabbed her wrist.
"Sit."
She hesitated.
"I already ate," she said softly.
His eyes darkened.
"That's not what I meant."
He pulled her closer, sitting in his chair like a king on a throne.
"I want you right here," he said, guiding her to kneel in front of him beneath the table.
"And I want your mouth," he added with a wicked smirk, "while I enjoy this steak."
Her eyes widened.
"You want me to...?"
"Daisy," he said, voice firm but sensual, "this is His Pet, His Rules, remember?"
She did as instructed. Savouring every tip and bit of his cock.
A soft moan left his mouth as he presses Daisy's head against his cock. He pushed the dishes aside and thrust Daisy on the table. He slides in and out of her while whispering her name.
The next morning, Daisy couldn't look at herself in the mirror without blushing.
But something deeper stirred beneath the surface not just lust.
Conflict.
She didn't recognize this version of herself.
Not the girl who kneeled.
Not the girl who wanted to.
She was supposed to be doing this for survival. For her father. For freedom.
So why was she starting to crave the chains?
As she got ready for work, Daisy checked her phone again.
Another message had arrived.
"He didn't just pay off your father's debts, Daisy. He created them."
Her heart slammed into her chest.
Because if that was true…
Then everything she thought she knew about Xander, about why she was here might be a lie.