C25 Twenty five

~Bianca's POV~

Damien carried me as if I were weightless, slung over his shoulder while I beat at his back with my fists. The strikes landed uselessly against impenetrable muscle. He didn't even flinch.

A heavy mahogany door squeaked open under his free hand as the scent of leather, ink, and old paper harsh enough to sting my nose, rushed out.

I caught only flashes upside-down: the twinkle of polished floors, the bottom shelves lined with books, and the edge of a massive desk. Then he dropped me onto a black leather couch. My breath rushed out in a harsh gasp as I caught myself, palms stinging once more.

Only then did I take it in properly: the wide room, walls lined neatly with books and files, the sleekness of a desk standing at its centre like a throne. A floor-to-ceiling window was cracked open behind the desk, to what appeared to be noon now, the curtains stirring slightly with the breeze… mocking me with the nearness of freedom.

The room cramped in. Glossy wood, intentional order, and power appearing to be in every detail. Yet my eyes kept dragging back to the open window. Close enough to see, impossible to reach.

Damien moved ever so slowly as he circled behind his desk and dropped into the chair. The squeak of leather echoed as he leaned back, shoes propped on the edge, gaze scissoring into me like a blade.

"Take off your clothes."

Those words slammed into me furiously, taking the air from my lungs. "What?"

"You heard me." His voice was infuriatingly calm, unhurried. "Or would you prefer I do it for you?"

My throat constricted. Blue eyes, ever so dark and merciless, stared intensely into me, leaving no doubt that refusal wasn't an option.

"You agreed to the game," He slanted his head as though observing prey. "I won. That means punishment. You understand that, don't you?"

A shiver gutted down my spine. Run, every nerve screamed fiercely at me. But where? He'd cornered me, and giving in, breaking apart, would hand him the victory he wanted most.

Not this time.

So I forced myself upright. My hands quivered and shook as they found the hem of my cotton top, peeling it upward. Denim followed, sliding down my legs until I stood in little more than black lace.

Dark and slow and ever-consuming gaze dragged over me. I wrapped my arms tightly over my stomach as the sting of shame crawled its way up my throat.

"All of it." His voice came softer now, but with a sharper edge to it.

I fought for breath. "Damien—"

The warning in his eyes made me clamp my mouth shut.

Six months, I reminded myself. Six months. I could survive this.

And yet… how could a man who was meant to marry someone else, who had a date arranged in two days, look at me like this? Touch me like this? The thought scorched as much as the shame.

Lifting my chin high up into the air, I slipped off my bra, then my thong. I stood naked in front of him, spine locked straight, with defiance holding my body where fear threatened to fold it.

A smile found its way to his lips. Slow. Inevitable. "Come here."

He dropped his feet down from the desk, pushed to his feet, and shifted the chair back. Waiting.

Each step I took was one of heaviness, like walking into a snare. His gaze devoured every inch of me, hunger sewn in with possession. When I reached him, he leaned forward as his breath danced over my skin.

"Prying comes with consequences," he murmured.

In a motion so swift, he swept the files from his desk. Strong hands caught my waist, lifting me as though I weighed nothing, and set me down onto the polished surface. The wood chewed coldly against my skin.

My pulse thundered so loudly I could hear nothing else.

A drawer slid open afterwards, followed by the scrape of metal which prompted my stomach to lurch. When his hand emerged with a rope coiled in his grasp, I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Don't—" I tried to jerk back, twisting my wrists but it was futile, as his grip was that of iron.

The fibers dug into my skin as he bound my wrists tightly behind me. My ankles followed: ropes biting in, securing them to the desk, forcing them apart until resistance was completely useless. My back pressed into the wood, with my chest heaving and my legs lashed open. The window gaped before me, freedom just beyond the glass.

"No—" The word ripped out raw with panic coating it.

A sudden sting so sharp lashed across my pussy lips, causing my breath to seize. I gasped, arching my body against the ropes with my wrists grinding helplessly behind me. My eyes searched for the source, only to catch sight of the wooden spatula in Damien's grip, his lips curling into a slow, merciless smirk.

"Wh-what are you doing?" My voice was barely air.

His gaze didn't waver from me. "Teaching you that sticking your nose into things that are of no concern to you comes with a cost."

The next strike was harder, eliciting an even louder gasp from me, pain mixing with something I couldn't quite name, couldn't control.

"You'll count to twenty," Damien said in a smooth, almost businesslike tone. "Miss one… and we begin again."