The First Lesson

Aria’s POV:

I was late. Not fashionably. Not dramatically. Just enough that my heart was pounding when I knocked.

Wolfe didn’t answer.

Of course he didn’t. That would’ve been too easy.

I tried the handle. Unlocked. Inside, his office was empty—except for the envelope waiting on his desk with my name written in black calligraphy.

Another envelope.

Another game.

I didn’t hesitate. Not this time. I opened it with trembling fingers.

Go to Room 207. Now. Do not knock. Do not speak. Obey.

That was it. One line. No signature.

I knew where Room 207 was, my body already moved before my brain could argue. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears as I climbed the marble steps of the east building.

Room 207 was tucked at the end of a silent hallway. The door looked ordinary, wooden and dark. I stared at it for a moment before I twisted the knob.

It was dim inside.

Curtains drawn. One long table at the center. No chairs. And him—standing at the head of it, hands clasped behind his back.

Wolfe.

“Close the door,” he said without turning.

I obeyed.

“Lock it.”

The click of the lock felt louder than it should’ve.

“Strip.”

My heart stopped.

“What?”

He turned slowly. His eyes dragged down my body, then back up to meet mine.

“I said, strip. You’re not here as a student today. You’re here as my subject.”

“Subject,” I echoed. My voice barely a whisper.

“I told you this would escalate. This is your first test.”

I looked at the door, then back at him.

Then I obeyed.

One button at a time. One layer after another. Until I stood before him in nothing but skin and fear.

He said nothing for a moment. Just looked at me. Not like a man staring at a girl. Like a master assessing his canvas.

“Come here.”

I walked.

He didn’t touch me.

He just circled. His voice a low hum of control.

“Shame doesn’t serve you, Aria. Fear will, for now. But eventually, I’ll take that too.”

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a leather collar.

“This is not a symbol of ownership,” he said. “It’s a symbol of choice. Yours.”

I stared at it.

“Put it on,” he said.

My fingers shook, but I did. The leather was cool against my throat. The click of the clasp sounded final.

“Good girl.”

The praise hit harder than the crop.

I didn’t expect it to feel like victory.

He stepped behind me. “Hands flat on the table.”

I obeyed.

Then the first strike. Open palm, right on my ass. I gasped, but stayed in place.

Another. Harder.

Then two fingers between my thighs, just grazing. Just enough to make me gasp again.

“I told you,” he murmured. “You don’t get to hide from me anymore.”

He leaned in, lips brushing my ear.

“Next time, you’ll beg.”

He stepped away, leaving me trembling.

“Dress. You’re dismissed.”

Just like that?

The Lesson was over? What kind of psycho was this?

I left Room 207 with the collar still around my throat.

And I didn’t take it off.

I kept the collar on all night.

Not out of defiance. Not out of fear.

But because taking it off would’ve meant admitting what I was becoming.

I barely slept. My body buzzed like a live wire. Every nerve replayed the sound of his voice, the sting of his palm, the heat of his breath on my neck when he said, next time, you’ll beg.

I wasn’t sure whether to scream or come.

By morning, Jules was eyeing me like I’d grown horns.

“You okay?” she asked, sipping her black coffee.

“Fine.”

“You’ve got that glow. The I’ve-been-dominated-by-a-billionaire glow.”

I didn’t respond.

She set her cup down. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“If he ever crosses a line—really crosses it—you burn him to the ground.”

I met her gaze. “That’s the problem, Jules. I don’t think I know where the line is anymore.”

---

He has asked me to meet him again in the same room but this time Room 207 was darker. Lit only by a single red bulb that made the shadows crawl.

He was waiting, of course.

“Strip,” he said, before the door had even closed.

I obeyed. No hesitation.

“Good girl.”

The praise warmed me. Addictive, like a drug.

“Climb onto the table.”

I did, the cold wood biting into my skin.

“Lie back. Arms above your head.”

He bound my wrists with soft leather cuffs, anchoring them to the table’s corners.

Then he stepped back to admire.

“You’re learning,” he murmured. “But now we test how far you’ll go.”

He reached into a small black case and pulled out a slim, steel wand.

My breath caught.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Unless you want me to.”

The wand buzzed to life in his hand. Low. Threatening.

“Eyes on me.”

I obeyed.

He slid it down my stomach, making me shiver.

“You don’t get to come,” he said.

I whimpered.

“Not until I say.”

He pressed the tip between my thighs and I nearly came undone. Pleasure surged, thick and sharp.

But every time I got close, he pulled back.

Teasing. Tormenting.

Until I was crying.

“Please,” I gasped. “Sebastian—please.”

He froze.

“You’ve never said my name before.”

I met his gaze, tears in my eyes. “Then punish me for it.”

His control shattered.

He undid the cuffs and pulled me upright, dragging me into his lap as he sat back in the leather chair.

“Ride me,” he said, unzipping his pants.

I didn’t hesitate.

He was thick, hard, already leaking. I sank down slowly, moaning as he filled me.

“Eyes on me,” he repeated.

I moved slowly at first, then faster as his hands gripped my hips, guiding, forcing, bruising.

“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s mine.”

“Yes,” I gasped.

He thrust up harder, punishing, claiming.

“I said no coming until I say.”

“Then say it!” I cried, unraveling.

He grabbed my chin. “Come.”

I shattered.

My body collapsed into his, shaking, raw, alive.

He held me there for a moment.

Then whispered, “We don’t need a safe word. Not anymore.”