I wake to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and the feeling of being completely wrapped around another person.
Dominic.
His arm is locked around my waist, his chest pressed against my back, his breath warm against my neck. We're tangled together like we've been sleeping this way for years instead of just one night.
I try to slip out of bed without waking him, but his arm tightens immediately.
"Don't move." His voice is rough with sleep, somehow even more commanding than usual. "Stay exactly where you are."
"I need to get ready for work—"
"Work can wait." His hand slides up my stomach, pulling me back against him more firmly. "I'm not done with you yet."
Heat floods through me at his words. "Dominic—"
"Say my name like that again." His lips brush against my neck. "I like the way it sounds when you're breathless."
He shifts, rolling me onto my back so he can look down at me. His hair is disheveled, his eyes still heavy with sleep, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He looks less like a CEO and more like a man who spent the night claiming every inch of me.
"Good morning." His smile is slow and possessive.
"Good morning." My voice comes out shakier than I intend.
His hand cups my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I have in weeks." It's the truth. "You?"
"Best night I've had in three years." He leans down, his lips hovering just above mine. "Do you know why?"
"Why?"
"Because I finally got to hold you all night. No interruptions. No pretending. Just you and me and the truth of what we are together."
He kisses me—slow and deep and thoroughly. His weight settles over me, pinning me to the mattress in a way that should feel restrictive but instead feels safe.
"We need to talk about the rules," he murmurs against my lips.
"Rules?" I pull back slightly. "For what?"
"For this." His hand slides down my side possessively. "For us. For how we navigate what comes next."
He shifts to sit up against the headboard, pulling me up with him so I'm straddling his lap. The position is intimate, vulnerable—I'm wearing only his t-shirt, my legs bare on either side of his hips, his hands spanning my waist.
"Rule one." His eyes are intense, serious. "What happens between us in private stays private. At work, you're my assistant. Professional. Distant. No one can suspect."
"I already know that—"
"Rule two." His hand slides up my back. "You tell me everything. Where you're going. Who you're seeing. What you're thinking. No secrets, Bella. Not between us."
"That's—"
"Not negotiable." His voice is firm but his touch is gentle. "I need to know you're safe. I need to know what threats exist. That means total transparency."
I should be offended by his need for control. But the way he's looking at me—like I'm precious, like I'm something he needs to protect—makes it feel less like control and more like care.
"Rule three." His hand moves to cup the back of my neck. "You don't talk to Marcus. You don't respond to his calls or texts. You don't give him any opportunity to manipulate you or gather evidence against us."
"He's already—"
"I know. Which is why this is critical." His thumb traces my pulse point. "He's dangerous to us right now. He's hurt and angry and looking for ways to destroy what we have. I can't protect you if you're giving him ammunition."
"Protect me or control me?" I meet his eyes directly.
Something flickers across his face. "Both. I know you don't like it. I know you want to maintain your independence. But Bella, you chose me. You chose this. And this comes with certain... requirements."
"And if I don't agree to your rules?"
His smile is dark. "Then I convince you. I'm very good at being persuasive."
His hand slides from my neck down my spine, under the t-shirt, his palm flat against my bare skin. The touch is possessive, claiming, reminding me exactly how persuasive he can be.
"Is that a threat?" My voice comes out breathier than I intend.
"It's a promise." His other hand finds my hip, his fingers digging in slightly. "I will do whatever it takes to keep you. To keep us. Even if that means being demanding and controlling and possessive."
He pulls me closer, eliminating what little space remained between us. I can feel his heart racing beneath his bare chest, can see the intensity burning in his dark eyes.
"But here's the thing you need to understand about my rules, Bella." His voice drops lower. "They're not just about control. They're about keeping you safe. About protecting what we're building. About making sure nothing and no one comes between us."
His hand slides higher up my back, his touch both tender and possessive. "So yes, I'm demanding. Yes, I want to know where you are and who you're with. Yes, I need transparency and honesty and your complete trust."
He leans forward, his lips brushing against my ear. "But in return, I give you everything. My attention. My protection. My devotion. My absolute certainty that you are the most important thing in my world."
I'm trembling now, not from fear but from the overwhelming intensity of him. Of this. Of the way he makes control feel like love.
"Say you understand." His hand grips my hip more firmly. "Say you accept my rules."
"And if I want to negotiate?"
His smile is slow and devastating. "Then negotiate. Tell me what you need from me in return for your compliance."
The fact that he's willing to bargain—that he's not just demanding blind obedience—does something to me. It shows he sees me as an equal even when he's being controlling.
"I need you to tell me things too." I meet his eyes directly. "About your past. About Sienna. About why you're this way. No secrets from your side either."
"Agreed." He doesn't hesitate. "What else?"
"I need to not feel completely suffocated. I need to be able to see my friends sometimes. To talk to my mother without you listening in."
His jaw tightens, but he nods. "Within reason. As long as they're not threats to us."
"And I need..." I pause, gathering courage. "I need you to tell me when you're being controlling because you're scared versus when you're being controlling because you can."
Something vulnerable flashes across his face. "That might be harder than you think. Sometimes I don't know the difference myself."
The honesty in that admission undoes me.
"Then we figure it out together." I cup his face in my hands. "You tell me what you're feeling. I tell you when it's too much. We communicate instead of just... existing in this power dynamic."
"I can try." His hands slide up to cover mine. "But Bella, you need to understand something. I've never been in a relationship where I wasn't in complete control. I don't know how to be the man you need me to be. I only know how to be... this."
"Then be this." I lean forward, my forehead resting against his. "Be controlling and possessive and demanding. But be honest about it. Don't pretend it's something else. Don't gaslight me into thinking your obsession is normal."
"It's not normal." His voice is rough. "Nothing about what I feel for you is normal. But it's real. And it's the only way I know how to love."
He kisses me then—deep and possessive and full of three years of wanting. His hands slide under the t-shirt, pulling it off completely, leaving me bare in his lap.
"Mine." He says it against my lips like a vow. "Every inch of you belongs to me now."
"Yours." I breathe the word back. "But you're mine too, Dominic. That's the deal. If I belong to you, you belong to me just as completely."
Something shifts in his expression—surprise and pleasure and something that looks like relief. Like he's been waiting for someone to claim him back.
"Yes." His hands grip my hips possessively. "I'm yours. Every dark, broken, obsessive part of me belongs to you."
He shifts, laying me back on the bed, his body covering mine. His eyes are absolutely dark with want and possession and something deeper.
"Now let me show you exactly what it means to be mine."
AN HOUR LATER
We're in his shower—massive and luxurious with multiple heads and steam that fills the entire bathroom. He's washing my hair with careful, deliberate movements, his fingers massaging my scalp in a way that's both intimate and tender.
"This is my favorite part." His voice is soft.
"Washing my hair?" I'm skeptical.
"Taking care of you." His hands work through the conditioner. "Doing these small things that show you what you mean to me. Anyone can say 'I love you.' But this—this is proof."
I close my eyes and let him take care of me. Let him wash and rinse and wrap me in towels that are probably worth more than my car. Let him dry my hair with patience that seems impossible for a man as intense as him.
"I need to teach you something," he says, his hands still in my hair.
"What?"
"How to accept being taken care of." His eyes meet mine in the mirror. "You've spent your whole life being independent. Being strong. Handling everything yourself. But with me, you don't have to. I want to carry your burdens. I want to solve your problems. I want to make your life easier."
"That sounds like more control—"
"It is." He doesn't deny it. "But it's also love. Possession and care are the same thing for me, Bella. I can't separate them. So when I'm being controlling, remember it's because I'm terrified of losing you. And when I'm taking care of you, remember it's because you're the most precious thing in my world."
He kisses my temple, and I see both of us in the mirror—him behind me, wrapped around me, his expression possessive and tender simultaneously.
"We should get to work." I try to inject practicality into the moment.
"We should." His hand slides down my arm. "But first, tell me you understand the rules. Tell me you accept them."
"I understand." I turn to face him. "And I accept. With my negotiated additions."
"Good girl." His smile is approving, and I hate that the praise makes warmth spread through my chest. "Now get dressed. We have a board meeting at 10, and I need you there."
"As your assistant?"
"As my secret." His eyes are dark. "The best kind of secret."
We arrive at the office separately—him first in his car, me thirty minutes later in an Uber. Professional. Distant. No one would suspect we spent the night tangled together.
But when I walk past his office, he looks up. Our eyes meet for just a second.
And in that second, I see everything. The possession. The love. The absolute certainty that I belong to him.
No one else sees it. But I do.
And that's enough.