The room still smelled of wine, sweat, and sin.
The man—still breathless, still aching—sat slumped on the couch, his shirt unbuttoned, lips swollen, body trembling.
But the boy?
He was pacing now. Calm… too calm. His fingers traced the edge of a sharp silver letter opener sitting on the glass table. His eyes were glassy but wild—like a lion who just tasted blood for the first time.
"You want to know a secret?" he asked suddenly, not looking back.
The man didn't reply. He just watched him, panting like an animal who'd just been hunted… and owned.
The boy turned slowly, smirk on his lips. "You've got a dirty little past, don't you, Daddy?"
The man tensed.
"Shh… don't lie," the boy cooed, walking closer. "You think I don't know? The money. The missing files. That one man who disappeared from your company? You think I didn't check before putting a collar on you?"
The man tried to stand, but the boy pushed him down with one finger on his chest. "Nope. Stay. Good boys listen."
His voice was sweet, but there was venom underneath.
"You're not as clean as you pretend to be, Daddy. But guess what?" He leaned in and whispered, "Neither am I."
The man looked at him, something between fear and fascination in his eyes.
"You think you're the only one who likes games?" the boy asked, giggling. "I've played darker ones. With sharper toys. With people who never came back."
The man swallowed.
"And yet…" the boy sat on his lap again, straddling him smoothly, "I picked you."
"Why me?" the man asked, his voice hoarse.
"Because you're broken," the boy said simply. "And I like broken things."
He bit the man's lip, pulling it between his teeth until the man hissed. Blood rose slowly, and the boy licked it off, eyes fluttering.
"You taste better when you're in pain."
The man's hands twitched. His muscles were tight like he wanted to grab the boy, flip him, take control—but he didn't. He couldn't. That was the rule.
"You want to punish me, don't you?" the boy whispered, grinding slowly against him. "But you won't. Because you're addicted to me."
The man shut his eyes, groaning.
"Say it."
"I'm… addicted to you."
"Louder."
"I'm f**king addicted to you," he growled.
The boy laughed. "Good Daddy."
He pulled a chain from his pocket. Not the soft, velvet collar from earlier—this one was cold, metallic. The kind that left bruises if you tugged too hard.
"I think it's time we try this one."
"Wh-what are you planning?"
The boy snapped the chain to the collar, yanked it back hard, forcing the man's head up. "Tonight, Daddy, I'm going to push you till you break. You wanted me to take control?" He leaned in, licking his ear. "Then I'm not stopping till you beg me to stop."
The man gasped as the chain tightened. But his eyes—those dangerous, fire-filled eyes—shone with hunger.
"I won't stop you," he whispered.
The boy's smile widened.
"Good. Because I was never planning to stop."
To be continue..