Chapter 2 The Game

The ache between Raven Knight's thighs was a brand she couldn't shake. It pulsed through her all night-beneath her skin, behind her ribs, settling low in her belly like a quiet explosion waiting to detonate. She'd slept, but only barely. Every time she closed her eyes, Jaxon Morreau's voice haunted her.

Tell me you're ready to break.

His kiss had ruined her. Not just her body, but her resolve. Her boundaries. Her sense of control. She didn't get flustered, didn't get weak over men. But he wasn't just a man. He was something else.

Raven stood in front of the mirror in her hotel room, a towel wrapped tightly around her damp skin. Her body was betraying her, breasts flushed, lips still swollen. And the ache... God, the ache.

She dragged the towel off and ran a cool hand down her thigh, then up between her legs. She was soaked again. Pathetic.

She clenched her jaw, ignored the need clawing inside her, and got dressed in black jeans and a simple crop top that showed a sliver of skin. Just enough to tempt. Just enough to play her part.

Her phone buzzed. Talia.

Talia: You survived. Barely. Meet me before shift. We need to talk.

No emojis. No fluff. Raven tossed her phone into her purse and headed out.

Club Eden pulsed like a heartbeat when she arrived. The low thrum of bass teased her skin as she walked past the bar, past the dancers, past the patrons who barely looked up. Everyone in here was playing a role. Hers just hadn't been defined yet.

She found Talia in the dressing room, bent over the mirror, applying glitter to her chest with a flat brush. The room smelled like perfume and desperation.

"You're late," Talia said, eyes on her own reflection.

Raven leaned against the wall. "You're nosy."

Talia arched a brow. "You're glowing."

Raven ignored that.

"So," Talia continued, setting down the brush. "He kissed you."

"He's kissed a lot of girls."

"Yeah," she said darkly, "but they don't usually come back upstairs."

Raven's pulse kicked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you need to stop thinking you're special and start thinking like a survivor." Talia turned to face her, voice lower now. "You're not in control here, Raven. You're not reporting. You're not investigating. You're dancing with a man who likes to break things, and he doesn't put them back together."

Raven folded her arms. "He doesn't scare me."

"He should."

Before Raven could answer, the door opened.

And there he was.

Jaxon Morreau. Impeccably dressed, tailored black suit hugging his frame, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease. He didn't look at Talia. He didn't need to. The room bent toward him like a magnetic pull.

"Raye," he said.

Raven's spine straightened.

"Come." He didn't touch her. Didn't explain. Just walked.

Raven followed him down a corridor she hadn't seen before sleek black walls, dimly lit, completely silent. It felt like being led into a confessional.

At the end, he opened a door. Inside: one leather chair, a small round table, a single glass of red wine, and a spotlight above.

"Sit."

Raven did, slowly. Her thighs pressed tight together. The ache was back, stronger now.

He circled her, silent, studying her like a sculpture he hadn't yet decided to keep.

"You're not a dancer," he said finally.

"You've known that."

"I wanted to see how long you'd lie."

She looked up. "What gave me away?"

"Your eyes. Dancers look to seduce. You look to understand. Like you're collecting puzzle pieces."

Her pulse skittered. "And?"

"And now I want to see what you do when the pieces don't fit."

He stepped in front of her, crouched, placed one large hand on her thigh. Just resting. Not squeezing. But it scorched.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

Her mouth was dry. "To write a story."

He shook his head. "Try again."

"To find the missing girls."

Still, he said nothing.

"To understand you."

That made him smile.

"There it is."

He rose, moved behind her, leaned down until his breath was hot against her ear.

"You want to know me, Raye? Then follow me into the dark."

The elevator that took them down was silent. No music. No buttons. Only a black key he inserted into the control panel.

She stepped into the basement and stopped breathing.

The dungeon was candlelit and soundless. Velvet and steel. Restraints hung like ornaments. Crosses. Chains. Hooks in the ceiling. A mirrored wall reflected every inch of space.

Jaxon stood beneath a heavy rig with leather cuffs and silk ropes.

"Strip."

Raven's heart pounded.

"Are you serious?"

He tilted his head. "You want the truth? This is how it begins."

Slowly, breath shallow, she took off her top. Then her jeans. Then her bra. Then panties.

He didn't move. Just watched.

"Turn around. Hands behind your back."

She obeyed.

The cuffs were cool leather. He fastened them snug but not tight. His fingers brushed her wrists.

She was trembling. The first crack of the crop made her jolt. Not from pain, but from the sound.

Then came the sting. She gasped. Her ass clenched. Her thighs tensed.

"You're wet already," he said behind her. "Good girl."

Another strike. And another. She moaned. The ache between her legs had become unbearable.

"You don't get to come tonight," he said, stepping in close. "Not until you beg. Not until you know who owns that little pussy you've been so busy ignoring."

She whimpered as he slid one finger between her thighs. Found her soaked. Slipped it inside, just a knuckle. Just enough.

"Fuck, you're tight."

Then he pulled away and laughed when she whimpered.

"Say it."

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Please touch me."

He wrapped one hand around her throat. Not choking, just a reminder.

"Wrong answer. Try again."

"Please, Daddy."

His groan was low, rough, feral. He dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs.

Jaxon's tongue moved with slow, practiced precision, up her slick folds, circling her clit without mercy, then dipping low again just to drive her mad. Raven's moans echoed off the dungeon walls, raw and breathless.

Her knees threatened to buckle, but the cuffs held her upright, spine arched as he devoured her. Her skin was damp with sweat, every nerve set ablaze. Her thighs trembled.

She'd never been touched like this. Never been studied like this, every reaction cataloged, every gasp used as fuel.

"Such a good girl," he murmured against her slit, licking her slowly. "I could taste you forever."

When he slipped a finger inside her, curling it just right, Raven shattered. Or tried to. He pulled back just before she tipped over the edge.

"No," he said softly. "Not yet."

She sobbed, hips rocking forward, chasing the friction. "Please."

His palm pressed between her shoulder blades. "Do you want to come, little liar?"

"Yes," she whispered. "God, yes."

"Then earn it."

He stood, his body pressed against her back now, hard and hot. One hand moved to her throat, the other between her legs again.

"I know what you're really here for. Not the story. Not the girls. You want someone to take the control away from you, Raven. You want someone to break the part of you that always has to be strong."

Tears stung her eyes, not from pain. From truth.

"Yes," she admitted, voice raw.

"Say it."

"I want you to break me."

"That's more like it."

He released her throat. Stepped back. "Get on your knees."

She dropped instantly, skin against cold floor, eyes wide.

He unfastened his belt slowly, deliberately. Pulled himself free. He was hard. Thick. Already leaking.

"Open your mouth, baby girl."

She obeyed. He fed it to her slowly, his hand cradling the back of her head, guiding her inch by inch.

"That's it. Just like that. Look at me."

Her eyes locked onto his, glassy with need. He rocked into her mouth, each thrust slow but deep, deliberate, watching how far she could take him.

"Good girl. So fucking obedient."

When he pulled out, she gasped for air, lips wet and swollen.

"You've earned it."

He helped her up, then turned her around, bending her over the padded bench nearby.

Raven braced herself as he kicked her legs open and lined himself up behind her.

"This pussy belongs to me now."

He drove into her hard, stretching her, filling her completely.

She screamed from pure pleasure.

Every thrust hit deep, sharp, relentless. His hand fisted in her hair, holding her in place, while the other found her clit and rubbed tight, brutal circles.

"You want to come?" he growled.

"Yes!"

"Then come. Now."

And she did. She shattered around him, convulsing, her moans broken sobs as he followed with a deep, guttural groan, spilling inside her as his grip went slack.

They collapsed together, bodies shaking.

He leaned down, whispered against her neck, "Now you understand."

She didn't respond. She couldn't. He'd taken her.

And she didn't want it back.