Chapter 5 Surrender

The penthouse was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city below. But inside, the silence felt heavier. Denser. As if every breath I took echoed louder than it should've.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms folded tightly across my chest, trying to convince myself I still had control. But the truth was-I didn't. Not here. Not with him.

I heard him before I saw him. The soft flick of a lighter. The hiss of flame meeting tobacco. Then the curl of smoke.

I turned slowly.

Dave stood at the edge of the room, cigarette in hand, a trail of smoke weaving around his sharp profile like silk. The soft glow of the ember pulsed with each drag he took, like it was syncing with my heart.

He watched me through the haze. Calm. Patient. Predatory.

"Why do you smoke," I said, my voice too even to be real.

His lips quirked. "Only when I need to think. Or when I want something."

He took another long drag, exhaled slow, and stepped toward me. Each footfall felt like thunder in my bones. His presence was overpowering-the kind of gravity that pulled even when you tried to resist.

"You hate it, don't you?" he asked.

"The smoke? Yes, and the control you think it gives you? Even more."

He smiled, just enough to show teeth. Then he extended the cigarette toward me.

"One drag."

"No, I don't smoke"

His smile widened. "Good girl. I don't like girls that smoke"

I didn't move as he reached up, his thumb brushing the corner of my lip. The intimacy of it knocked the air from my lungs.

"You wear defiance well," he said. "But you wear obedience better."

He leaned in, mouth grazing mine-not kissing. Testing. Invading my breath.

"Say stop, and I'll stop," he whispered.

I said nothing.

He didn't wait.

His mouth claimed mine with slow, brutal precision. Not tender. Not soft. But deep and consuming. Like he wanted to erase every kiss I'd ever had before him.

I gasped into him, fingers curling into his shirt as his hands found my waist and pulled me closer. He didn't just kiss-he conquered. His tongue slid over mine, teasing, demanding, devouring. And I gave in.

Heat roared through me like a wildfire. My body lit up-nerve by nerve, inch by inch. The world disappeared. There was only his mouth, his hands, and the hunger that clawed beneath my skin.

He walked me backward until my spine met the cold glass window. His hands slid under my shirt, fingers grazing my skin, making me shudder.

He paused.

"Do you want this?"

"No," I breathed.

He smirked. "Lie better."

His mouth returned to mine with even more intensity, one hand gripping my jaw, the other sliding under my thigh, lifting me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, moaning into the kiss as the friction sparked between us like static.

He carried me to the couch, laying me down like something sacred-and then like something meant to be ruined.

He hovered over me, his eyes raking over every inch of my face, my body, like I was a puzzle he intended to dismantle.

"You're shaking," he said.

"You're the devil."

His fingers slid up my inner thigh, slow and agonizing. He never broke eye contact.

"You think I own you?" he asked, voice low.

I couldn't speak.

"I don't. Not yet. But I will."

His hand reached the lace beneath my dress, and he didn't ask this time. He moved with confident precision, pulling a moan from my throat as his fingers found exactly where I needed them.

My pu**y. My breath caught. And still, he didn't kiss me again. He watched me come undone.

"That's it," I whispered. "Give it to me. Just this once."

But it wasn't just once. It wouldn't be.

And I didn't care.

"Beg for it. Beg" He said.

Please...I pulled him down, kissed him like I needed air, clawed at his shirt until the buttons scattered. His skin was warm, hard, unforgiving. He bit my lower lip, just hard enough to mark.

He slid inside, slowly... going deeper with every stoke. My body welcomed him like it had always been waiting.

He didn't speak.... Just looking at me.

He moved.

Slow. Deep. Dangerous.

Our breaths tangled. Our sweat slicked the space between us. I clung to him, legs wrapped tight, heart thundering against his chest.

He bent to my ear.

"You feel like you were made for me."

I moaned, head falling back as he went deeper, my eyes rolled back

"Say my name," he growled.

"Dave."

"Louder."

"Dave."

He thrust harder, deeper. "You're mine."

I didn't deny it.

Because in that moment, I was.

I shattered against him, biting back a scream, my entire body trembling as I fell apart.

And when he followed-groaning low, teeth at my shoulder-I felt the world collapse and rebuild around us.

---

After, we lay tangled, breathless, silent.

He brushed my hair back from my face, eyes soft for once. Unreadable.

"This changes nothing," I said.

"No," he agreed. "It changes everything."

He stood, pulled on his shirt, then tossed his cigarette into the sink, still smoldering.

"Sleep. You'll need it."

Then he left me there. Sore. Shaken. Wanting more.

And hating that I did.

Because surrender was supposed to feel like defeat.

But this?

This felt like victory.