Chapter 1 Preview (Layla's POV)

Now

"What do they say about sinners, darling?" Rome inquired, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes lingering over every exposed inch of my body with an intensity that left me trembling.

"Rome... please," I pleaded, my voice thick with emotion, as I instinctively tried to shield myself. How had we arrived at this place again? What had changed him, and why had he chosen me once more?

Here I stood, vulnerable, in his den-a place only he called our sanctuary, where my submission to him had thrived admits my love for him, now tainted with its absence. What had once been sacred was now hollow, stripped of its warmth.

Rome sighed, rubbing his temple in frustration. His posture, though commanding, betrayed a certain level of respect for the space between us. He licked his lips, and as he stood, his presence grew even more imposing.

I shivered, not from the chill in the air but from the heat of him. The temperature in the room was perfect, yet Rome himself ignited a fire within me-one that brought both pleasure and pain. His touch, his very being, felt like an enigma. Why would a man return to his former lover, offer her help, and then demand something in return that I was unwilling to give? Where had I gone wrong in seeking his aid?

"Sweetheart, what do they say about sinners?" he asked once more, his patience thinning with each passing second. I could feel the shift in his tone; it no longer held tenderness, only expectation.

"They go to hell," I answered, my voice breaking under the weight of my sobs. I knew all too well what was to come. The familiar sense of dread gripped me, though a part of me anticipated it. It was a cruel cycle-one that I had come to understand all too well.

Rome chuckled darkly. "Yes, darling, they do. And who do they meet there?"

I felt my words catch in my throat, but I forced them out. "They... they meet the devil," I stammered, the tears flowing freely now.

"And where are you right now, Layla?" he asked, his voice laced with a menacing calm as he approached, holding the familiar cuffs-the same ones I had once hoped would never touch me again.

The air in the room seemed to freeze as his hand traced the dried tears on my face, his eyes a mixture of longing and fury. I saw in him not the man I once knew, but the one I had feared-my savior and my tormentor.

"Hell," I whispered, my voice barely audible, as his fingers gripped my bare flesh. Rome no longer resembled the man I had once loved; he had become something else entirely-something darker.

Without a word, he hoisted me over his shoulder, tossing me effortlessly onto the bed. His eyes sparkled with a predatory gleam as he surveyed me, like a lion preparing to pounce on its prey.

"Oh, Layla," he murmured, his voice thick with frustration, "why must you be so stubborn? Why must I always punish you? Can't you simply do as you're told?"

His lips pressed gently against my thighs, leaving a trail of soft kisses that bordered on torture. Each kiss, though tender, served as a reminder of the twisted dynamic between us.

"I'm sorry, Rome," I begged, my words choked with desperation.

"Shhh... Don't say that," he whispered, his grip on my wrists tightening as he cuffed me. "You had been so good for the past few months, so why did you have to ruin it?" His hands worked quickly, undressing himself; flipping me over, so I was on all fours, before placing himself between my legs, his desire unmistakable.

"Rome, please," I implored, my body still aching from earlier that day. "I'm tired... I'm sore."

But his expression hardened. "You're soaking wet down here," he growled, his voice filled with a mixture of satisfaction and cruelty. "And all I can do is make you feel better. Now... count with me, Layla."

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could speak, I felt the sharp sting of his hand against my behind. The pain shot through me, making my body tense.

"I said, count," he ordered, his voice low and commanding.

"Two," I gasped, barely able to choke out the words.

The second strike came harder, making me cry out in pain.

"Three..." I whimpered, tears of pain and frustration mingling with the bitter taste of surrender.

The strikes continued, one after another-each one a reminder of my failure, of my brokenness. By the time he had finished, my ass was numb, but his touch-gentle, almost affectionate-contrasted the brutality of his actions. He kissed my skin, his lips soft against the marks he had left behind. He licked my skin, as a wild animal would attend to its wounds; then he'd bit me, nibbling on my soft flesh, I winced in pain when he did that, then he kissed my ass again.

"You're soaking wet, Layla," he whispered with satisfaction. "I could feast on you for days and never tire."

The words, though meant to wound, had the opposite effect. I moaned, the pleasure he brought me undeniable, even as my mind screamed in protest. How could I feel both pain and pleasure so intensely in the same breath?.

His hot member, rubbed on my entrance, and before I could say anything, he thrusted deeply inside of me

As he took control, I was lost in the overwhelming tide of sensations-each thrust deeper, each movement pushing me further into a place where I was no longer sure of who I was or where I began. All that remained was the haunting familiarity of a past love turned into a twisted game of power and submission.

And still, despite the hurt, I wondered: How had I let him, my ex-lover, reduce me to this? To become nothing more than a toy for his amusement, a plaything for a man who once claimed to love me?