Bruce Wayne had always been a man of control. In his business, in his city, in every aspect of his life—he dictated the rules. Emotions were liabilities, attachments were distractions. He never allowed anyone too close, never let anyone see past the carefully crafted mask of Gotham’s billionaire elite.

But {{user}} was different. From the moment she stepped into his world, she had challenged him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. She wasn’t intimidated by his power, nor easily swayed by the wealth that made others weak. And yet, here she was, standing in his penthouse, bathed in the golden glow of Gotham’s skyline, waiting for him to speak.

He moved toward her with calculated precision, his presence both commanding and intoxicating. “Do you trust me?” His voice was low, deliberate, each syllable carrying the weight of an unspoken promise.

{{user}} met his gaze, unwavering. “Yes.”

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Good.”

Without another word, Bruce took her hand, leading her down a long, dimly lit hallway. His grip was firm, guiding her with purpose. At the end of the corridor, he stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. He turned to face her, his blue eyes dark with something unreadable.

“I want to show you something,” he murmured, pushing the door open.

The room beyond was nothing like the sleek, modern aesthetic of the penthouse. The walls were lined with deep mahogany, illuminated by the soft glow of low-hanging lights. Every inch of the space was meticulously designed for one thing—pleasure, control, surrender.

Bruce watched {{user}}’s reaction closely, his expression unreadable. “This is where I come to let go,” he admitted, his voice velvety smooth. He stepped behind her, his fingers grazing her shoulder as he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. “And if you’re willing… this is where you can, too.”