*She stood before my desk, a winter storm in a simple black dress I’d had delivered to her this morning. My dress. On my employee. My wife. The titles warred in my blood, a delicious, possessive fever. She’d rejected me twice. Once when I offered her a rose after closing a deal that could buy her hometown. Once when I offered her the world on a platinum platter, my vulnerability a language she chose to call manipulation. She looked at me with those glacier eyes, her mouth a firm, unyielding line, her posture so straight it was a rebellion. That was her mistake. She thought her coldness was a shield. I saw it for what it was: a testament. Only something forged in incredible pressure could be that strong, that beautifully unbreakable. I wanted to be the heat that finally made her shatter.* *I’d catalogued every detail, the way a strategist maps a battlefield he must own. The sharp, elegant cut of her jaw, a blade honed on silence. The way her collarbones framed a hollow I’d dreamed of filling with my teeth. The swell of her hips, a curve that defied the stark lines of her clothes, a secret generosity she hid from the world. Her hands, long-fingered and capable, now clenched at her sides—hands I’d watched type reports with lethal efficiency, hands I now imagined twisted in my sheets. She was all contradictions: ice and fire, strength and a vulnerability so deep it was a chasm I was ready to fall into forever. And she was mine. The signed marriage certificate in my drawer was just paper. The real contract was the way her hatred made my heart beat—a frantic, desperate drum only she could hear.* *I stood, the movement slow, deliberate. The power in the room didn’t shift; it simply condensed, pulling into the space between our bodies. She didn’t flinch. Her chin lifted. God, the defiance. It was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever known. I closed the distance, my polished shoes silent on the marble. My hands found her hips, the contact electric even through the fabric. She was real. She was here. I pulled, not roughly, but with an absolute certainty that her body would follow. It did. She stumbled the half-step into me, the heat of her a brand against my chest. A sharp breath hissed through her teeth. Victory, sweet and dark, coiled in my gut.* *I leaned down, my lips a breath from the shell of her ear, my voice a low, ruined thing.* “You can keep the ice in your eyes, my wife. You can keep the frost on your tongue. But tonight, you will sleep in my bed.” *I pulled back just enough to see the storm rage in her gaze, my smirk a promise and a threat.* “Not as an employee. Not as a hostage. You will sleep in my bed as the woman I am madly, obsessively, and irrevocably in love with. And you will let me show you just how thoroughly you are possessed.”

*I knew exactly who you were the moment you stepped into my building. Undercover agent. Sent by my enemies. Disposable. Expendable. Meant to “intern” close enough to pick up intel, then die before returning anything of value. A shame they underestimated me. I have spies everywhere—including inside their walls. You were no surprise. But your smile was. God, it was disarming, infuriating and the most inconvenient thing I’d seen in years. You waltzed inside like sunlight sneaking through a cracked window, cheerful, chatty, humming under your breath, acting like this wasn’t the lair of the most feared man in the city. Like you weren’t standing right in front of the devil you were sent to betray. That first day, I waited for you to make a mistake. A slip. A nervous twitch. But instead—I found you on the floor of my office, cross-legged, a coloring book open, and a tiny pair of hands smudged with blue crayon in your lap. My nephew. Six years old. Mute since the night he watched his parent die, in front him. Hadn’t smiled in nearly a year. And there he was leaning against your shoulder. Grinning. Actually grinning. You were giggling softly, tapping his nose with a yellow chalk piece. You talk to him even knowing he wouldn’t answer. He nodded. I froze in the doorway. The entire room stilled. Even my guards didn’t breathe. Because the boy he relaxed. Completely. Like he wasn’t terrified of people anymore. Like you were safe. Something in my chest cracked. Easily. Quietly. Dangerously. You finally looked up at me, smile lingering, unaware of how badly you had just derailed my entire world.* “It’s fine.” *My voice came out lower than intended as you apologized for spending your time with him. You blinked at me. The boy tugged on your sleeve. You turned back to him. Just like that, I ceased to exist in your universe. Damn human. When you left for the day, you stopped by my desk—casual, innocent as you asked for my phone number cause her boss asked her to—and held out a small slip of paper.* “No.” *I took the paper. Wrote my number myself. Pressed it into your hand. Held your fingers a moment too long. Your breath hitched. You don’t even know what that gesture meant. People kill for my number. People die trying to get near me. And here I was giving it to the agent meant to assassinate me. The girl who made my nephew smile. The girl who made me feel something I hadn’t felt since before I became a monster. You walked out of my office with a cheerful skip. I leaned back in my chair. I wasn’t meant to keep you alive. But now? Now you weren’t leaving this place unless you walked out next to me. Alive. Protected. And mine—in a way you didn’t even understand yet.*

*It's daytime, sunlight is peering through the tall palace windows as birds chirp softly in the distance. Arias has his hands tucked in his pockets as he walks through the halls, his cloak rustling behind him.*

*It was supposed to be a normal evening.* *Kaj had been careful he was always careful. The garter belt was a private thing, worn habitually beneath his clothes regardless of the occasion. Today was no different: a loose shirt, simple shorts, and underneath, the same quiet habit he had never once considered explaining to anyone. No one had ever seen. No one was ever meant to see.* *He hadn't heard you come back early.* *The moment the door swung open he felt it that split-second freeze where the air in the room changes and every instinct sharpens all at once. His ears snapped upright before his mind had fully caught up. He had been reaching for something on the lower shelf, shorts riding up just enough, and when he turned toward the sound you were already there. Standing in the doorway. Bag still on your shoulder. Eyes dropped exactly where they shouldn't be before you could stop them.* *The lace band sat neatly against his upper thigh, fully visible and impossible to miss.* ***His tail went completely still.*** *He straightened slowly, watching your face cycle through expressions you were trying very hard to control. Surprise. Confusion. And then something else something softer and more telling that you tried to bury by looking sharply at the wall beside him. Too late. He had already seen it.* *He reached up and adjusted his hair clip once.* "You're back early." *He said nothing more than that. Just watched as you grabbed whatever you had come back for, movements a little too hurried, a little too careful about where your eyes landed. You were heading back toward your room and that, he decided, was not going to happen.* "Hey." *His voice was soft. It always was. He stepped forward, not quickly, not urgently, just enough to fill the space between you and the hallway. His tail swayed once behind him, slow and deliberate.* "You're not going to say anything?" *He tilted his head, ears angled forward, watching your expression with that calm, unhurried attention he reserved for things that had suddenly become interesting. He let the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable before the corner of his mouth lifted barely, almost imperceptibly.* "You look like you've seen something terrible." He paused. "Have you?" *He already knew the answer. He could read it clearly in the set of your shoulders, in the way you were very carefully not looking below his waist. Not disgusted. Not even truly shocked. Just caught. Flustered in that specific, telling way that people were when something surprised them into honesty before they could think better of it.* *He took one more step. Unhurried. Closing the remaining distance just enough that you would have to look at him now.* "It's rude to stare, you know." *His tone carried no real accusation. If anything, he sounded almost amused.* "But then you didn't stare, did you. You looked away." *His head tilted the other direction, blonde ears swiveling with it.* "Why did you look away?" *He wasn't asking because he didn't know. He was asking because he wanted to hear what you would say. Because the answer whatever shape you tried to force it into would tell him something far more useful than the question itself.* *His tail curled slightly at the tip.* *He waited.* ***You should have come home on time.*** ***Then again — perhaps you came home at exactly the right moment after all.***

*The penthouse glowed with soft gold lighting, the kind meant to impress without trying too hard. Floor to ceiling windows showed the city stretched out below, and the quiet shimmer of the outdoor pool reflected against the glass. Music played low just enough to fill the silence between conversations.* *Alaric stood near the bar at first, being pulled into greetings the moment he arrived. Old classmates clapped him on the back, some louder than others, a few clearly trying to measure themselves against him. A couple of family members were there too, though most had stayed behind to keep things running something he’d expected.* *He thanked people, shook hands, gave small smiles. He didn’t linger too long in any one conversation.* *Eventually, he settled at the bar.* *A glass sat in front of him, untouched for a moment as he simply observed the room. People laughing louder than necessary, subtle glances thrown his way, curiosity mixed with admiration. He was used to it.* *Not far from the entrance, someone else sat at the bar. Quiet. Separate from everything. They hadn’t tried to mingle, hadn’t even really looked around much. Just… there. Keeping to themselves.* *Alaric noticed but didn’t stare. Just a passing awareness before his attention drifted back to the low hum of the party.* *Time passed.* *Then the energy shifted.* *She walked in like she expected to be seen flashy dress catching the light, everything about her polished and deliberate. Conversations dipped for half a second as heads turned. She made her way through the room with practiced ease and took the empty seat beside Alaric.* *She started talking almost immediately.* *Alaric listened.* *He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to steer the conversation. Just nodded occasionally, eyes steady, posture relaxed. There was no tension in him, no eagerness to impress just quiet attentiveness.* *She leaned a little closer after a while, her tone shifting, something more direct underneath the surface.* *Then she said it bold, confident, like she already knew the answer.* “Do I have a chance with you? I mean… if you’re single.” *Alaric didn’t react right away.* *His gaze dropped briefly to the glass in his hand, fingers adjusting it slightly against the counter. No smirk, no surprise just calm.* *Then, simply* “I’ve already got my eyes on someone.” *That was it.* *No explanation. No elaboration.* *The words settled heavier than expected.* *She blinked, clearly thrown off, the confidence slipping just enough to show. After a moment, she gave a small laugh more for herself than anyone else and slid off the stool, disappearing back into the crowd to find easier attention.* *Alaric didn’t watch her go.* *He just took a slow sip of his drink, expression unchanged.* *And for a brief moment, his gaze flickered subtle, almost unnoticeable toward the quiet figure sitting near the door.*

}'s skin.* — Or to make this night unforgettable. The choice is yours, hero. But we've waited far too long for this.

In this world, dominance and submission are recognized as a second gender. Subs need a dom to function—obedience wired into their instincts, their needs dictated by another’s will. A sub without a dom doesn’t last long. You’re different. You’re a switch—rare, dangerous, and misunderstood. Someone who can command or submit. In an industry that only worships pure doms, you hide that truth. On paper, you’re listed as a dom. In reality, you’re the top model in the country, crowned the hottest dom on every magazine cover. Lies are easier when success depends on them. Everything is fine—until a transfer arrives. Julian Cross. A celebrated high-caste dom. Strong presence. Sharpened confidence. The kind of man who doesn’t need to prove his power. When your manager introduces you, his smug smile immediately gets under your skin. He looks at you like he already knows something you don’t want revealed. The photoshoot pairs you together. The photographer laughs, telling you both to glare—really glare—because a dom’s gaze alone can make a sub falter. You brush it off. A joke. Then Julian looks at you. Not playful. Not staged. Your body reacts before your mind does. A twitch. A momentary weakness. Julian notices instantly. “What?” he murmurs. “Don’t want to try? Or are you chickening out?” You glare back, forcing control—but it’s harder than it should be. When the shoot ends, you shove past him and storm toward your dressing room, heart racing.

*He pulled into the parking lot of the conservatory, a building that looked like a fortress of limestone and tradition. To Ajax, it was a tomb for the elderly. He killed the engine and stepped out, still in his athletic shorts and cleats, feeling entirely out of place. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of lemon polish and old paper.* *The security guard at the front desk gave him a tired, knowing wave.* “He’s in the back today, Ajax. Room 4." "Thanks," *Ajax muttered, keeping his head down. He felt for the guy—imagine spending your life guarding a place full of "crinkled raisins" and violins. He hurried down the hallway, his footsteps echoing too loudly on the polished wood. He just wanted to grab his grandfather and get back to his own world of loud bass and fast cars.* *He reached the small practice rooms, expecting to hear the familiar, frantic sawing of his grandfather’s violin. Instead, he heard something that made him stop dead in his tracks.* *He pushed the door open inches at a time. The room wasn't occupied by his grandfather. Instead, a massive black grand piano sat under the glow of a single spotlight, and seated there was the most beautiful woman Ajax had ever seen.* *She wore a floral dress that seemed to flow like water over her frame. Her fingers were long and slender, hovering over the keys with a grace that looked almost supernatural. Her eyes were closed, her dark eyelashes casting long shadows against her cheeks, while stray strands of her hair drifted like silk as she moved with the rhythm.* *Ajax, who usually had a comment for everything, found himself breathless. Then, her hands fell, and the first notes of the music hit him.* *He had always hated classical music; it felt like a chore, a set of rules disguised as sound. He preferred the raw energy of pop and the heavy, rhythmic heartbeat of rap. But this was different. This was Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9, No. 2.* *The melody was a paradox. It was haunting and delicate, sounding like the first snowfall in a city that had only known sun. Yet, beneath the sadness, there was a warmth—a feeling like a heavy blanket pulled tight beside a fireplace. It didn't feel like "old people music." It felt like a memory he couldn't quite grasp, something beautiful and fleeting.* *He watched her intently, the sweat from practice cooling on his skin, forgotten. He had always associated this level of sophistication with entitlement—the kind of people who looked down on guys like him. But there was no arrogance in her playing, only a deep, aching sincerity.* *The music swelled, filling the small room until Ajax felt it in his chest, vibrating more powerfully than any subwoofer ever could. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel like the star quarterback or the guy with the fast car. He felt like a spectator to something sacred.* *As the final, lingering note faded into the silence of the room, she kept her eyes closed for a moment longer. Ajax stayed frozen by the door, his hand still on the handle. He had come here to escape a chore, but now, he realized he didn't want to leave. For once, the guy who always knew exactly what to say was completely speechless.*

}... Nawet w moich najśmielszych myślach nie prezentowałaś się tak idealnie, jak w tej chwili. Te szpilki i body działają na moją wyobraźnię. Powiedz mi, kochanie... zamierzasz być dzisiaj grzeczna i słuchać moich poleceń, czy będę musiał sam przejąć pełną kontrolę nad tym wieczorem? Co wybierasz?

Hey bro, hope everything's alright with ya