Chapter 567: His Promise: Into His Inner Circle

"No I’m not." A frustrated little sound escaped her. "Why do you do this to me? I had a whole personality before you. I was

cool.

I was

collected.

I had hobbies. Now my only hobby is waiting for you to text me back. That’s unhinged behavior!"

"You were bored out of your mind and starving for someone to

ruin

you properly and let you explore things that actually make you

yourself,

Amber. It was special for both of us and whatever you’re feeling after it,

I do to

. So, no need to fight it."

She had no comeback for that.

Because it was true.

"You free tomorrow?"

he asked, casual as anything, like he hadn’t just dismantled her entire sense of self with six words.

Her heart stuttered. Excitement bloomed hot and bright in her chest, glowing like a brand.

"I—yes,"

she said quickly. Too quickly. The words tumbled out tripping over each other. "I mean, the Academy’s still on break for another week so my schedule’s literally empty. I’ve got nothing. Nada. I’m basically a professional couch potato right now. So yeah. Anything. Whatever you want."

"Great."

She could hear the satisfaction curling through his voice like smoke.

"I’ll pick you up myself. Been organizing something. Wanted to know if you’d spare some of your precious time for me."

Pick her up himself.

Not some driver. Not some arrangement.

Him.

The towel slipped another dangerous fraction—now the tops of her

areolas

peeked over the edge, dusky pink and still pebbled hard. She didn’t fix it. Couldn’t. Her brain had short-circuited.

"Wait, like—you’re coming here? To my house? In

person?"

"That’s generally how picking someone up works, yeah."

"But—what if someone sees? What if my parents—"

"I’ll handle it."

"How?"

"Don’t worry about it."

"That’s so

ominous!

You can’t just say ’don’t worry about it’ like some mafia boss and expect me to—"

"Amber."

She stopped. Waited.

"Do you trust me?"

The question hit different than she expected. Softer. More serious. Like he actually wanted to know.

"...Yeah," she admitted, voice small and trembling. "I do. Which is honestly terrifying because I’ve known you for like five minutes in the grand scheme of things, but—yeah. I trust you. That’s the problem."

"It’s not a problem, princess."

"It feels like a problem! You’ve turned me into—into

this

."

She gestured vaguely at herself, naked and dripping in more ways than one. "I used to be a functioning human being, Phei."

He laughed—genuine, warm, with just enough edge to remind her who she was talking to.

"You’re so fucking cute when you

rant."

"I’m not cute! I’m having a crisis!"

"A cute crisis."

"Oh my

god

."

"Don’t be so polite with me,"

he said, voice dropping back into that possessive register that made her knees weak.

"You don’t have to ask permission. You don’t have to be careful. When I come get you tomorrow—you could be waiting in anything. A dress. Jeans. That skirt that makes your ass look good... or

nothing at all."

Her breath shattered.

"I—" Her voice cracked. "I wouldn’t

hate that last option

."

"I know you wouldn’t."

Softer now, almost tender beneath the dominance.

"That’s why I’m not telling you to do it. Not yet. You’re not ready for everything I want to do to you, princess. And when I finally take you—really take you—it won’t be rushed. It won’t be a transaction. It’ll be

because you’re mine.

Completely. And you know it."

She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. The words wrapped around her like bindings she hadn’t asked for but desperately wanted.

"I’m in the middle of something right now,"

he said, voice shifting back to something lighter, easier—giving her room to breathe.

"Gotta go. Get some rest tonight. You’ll need the energy."

"That’s—why do you always say ominous stuff like that?"

"Because it’s fun watching you spiral."

"Watch? Wow. Okay. Mean."

He laughed again—softer this time.

"Text me before you sleep?"

Something warm bloomed in her chest. He wanted her to text him. Just... because. Not for a transaction. Not for a deal. Just to hear from her before she fell asleep.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Okay. I can do that."

"Good girl."

The words rolled through her like honey and fire.

"Talk soon, princess."

"Okay," she whispered, voice small and aching. "Stay safe too. Please. I—"

I love you.

The words sat on her tongue, terrifying and true, but she swallowed them back. Too

soon.

Too much.

"Be safe. Don’t die or whatever."

A pause. Then, he said in an amused voice,

"Romantic."

"Shut up."

Click. He was gone.

Amber stood there, phone still pressed to her ear, towel finally giving up and sliding down to pool at her feet. Naked again. Exposed. Grinning like an absolute idiot while also shaking like a leaf.

He was picking her up.

Himself.

Their deal had been transactional—at least on paper.

Three times

. He helps her explore the darkest corners of her kinks three times, then she’ll keeps quiet about him and Miss Bloom.

That was the rule she’d set to protect herself. Clean. Simple. Safe.

But the first time—the recording, the bindings, the paddle, the shallow teasing pops of that dildo stretching her lips without ever letting him inside—had shattered every wall she’d built. She’d signaled it,

gods,

she’d practically begged with her body: hips lifting, muffled pleas through the gag, pussy weeping and gaping for him.

She’d seen the understanding flash in his eyes.

And he’d refused.

Pulled the toy away. Left her aching, empty, marked.

Then silence. Days of it. No calls. No texts. Just her, alone with the ache, the marks fading but the need growing sharper every hour. He’d done it on purpose—let her feel the void, let her miss him until she couldn’t pretend anymore.

Stupid Amber.

She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling her heart race beneath it.

"Text me before you sleep?"

That wasn’t a transaction.

That wasn’t part of any deal.

That was just... him. Wanting to hear from her. Wanting to be the last thing she thought about before she closed her eyes... showing her there was so much more they could be and opening the doors wide open into his inner circle for her to enter if she chose to.

He’d called. Tonight. After days of silence that had felt like years.

And tomorrow he’d come for her himself.

He hadn’t forgotten. Hadn’t let her go. Hadn’t moved on to the next girl in his collection and left her as a footnote.

He was coming to claim what was already his.

And this time—this time she wasn’t going to fight it. Wasn’t going to hide behind deals and transactions and carefully constructed walls.

She’d fall.

Completely.

And she could only

pray—really,

stupidly, desperately pray—that

he’d catch her

.