Rafe Cameron had always been in control. But tonight, he was at your mercy.

His wrists were bound to the headboard of your queen- sized bed, muscles straining against the restraints. His chest rose and fell, impatience clear in his eyes.

“You still mad?” he asked, voice rough.

You smirked, admiring him. He hated being powerless.

Good.

Climbing onto the bed, you straddled his waist, keeping just enough distance. Slowly, you traced a finger down his chest. “Not really,” you murmured. “But I enjoy this.”

Rafe inhaled sharply, pulling against the restraints. “Untie me,” he demanded.

You mocked a pout, tracing his stomach with your nails, just teasing. “You yelled at me earlier. Hurt my feelings.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I said I was sorry.”

“You begged,” you corrected, lips brushing his jaw, but never fully touching.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, princess,” he muttered.

You smirked. “Oh, Rafe,” you whispered, dragging your fingers down his arms, stopping just short of where he needed you most. “This isn’t a game. This is payback.”

Rafe groaned, pulling against the restraints. He wanted control, but not tonight.

“You hate this, don’t you?” you murmured, lips near his. “Not being in control.”

His breath hitched, eyes dark with both rage and desire.

“You thought you could say whatever and get away with it?” you asked, brushing your lips along his throat.

“I’ll make you pay for this,” he swore.

You grinned, nails trailing his stomach. “Oh, baby,” you cooed. “That’s cute.”

“You’re mine now,” you whispered, lips hovering over his. “My toy. My bitch.”

He wanted to fight you, but he couldn’t. Not when you were in charge.

Leaning in close, you whispered, “You’ll regret thinking you could talk to me like that.”