Cassian lit a cigarette with a flick of his silver lighter, the flame dancing in his unreadable gray eyes. Smoke curled between them as Riven sat sprawled across the velvet chaise, shirtless, pants barely buttoned, still flushed from the previous hour's sinful encounter.
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
Then: "So," Cassian said, exhaling a slow drag, "you're really going to try to pretend you didn't enjoy that?"
Riven cocked an eyebrow. "Enjoying doesn't mean surrendering."
Cassian chuckled low in his throat, his gaze fixed on Riven's bare chest. "You will. I always win."
Riven stood, stalking across the room like a predator in his own right. He leaned in until his breath stirred Cassian's collar. "Careful, Velthorne. Bet on the wrong horse, and it might kick you in the face."
Cassian smirked, then crushed out the cigarette. "Let's make it interesting, then. I bet I can make you beg within a week."
Riven's lips curled. "What do I get when you fail?"
Cassian's voice was silk and promise. "Your freedom."
Riven stilled. "What?"
Cassian stood, towering, stepping into Riven's space. "I already know you're in trouble. You wouldn't be fencing your own work unless you were desperate. I'll clear your debts. All of them. No strings. One week. You don't beg, you walk."
"And if I do?"
Cassian's smile turned wicked. "You're mine. Collared. Owned. Fucked exactly how I want."
Riven swallowed. His cock stirred at the idea, despite every warning in his head.
"You're on."
---
The next night, Riven arrived at Cassian's penthouse. Tall glass windows overlooked the city skyline, lights flickering like stars. Music drifted from a sleek speaker—low, sensual bass. The scent of aged whiskey and something darker curled in the air.
Cassian appeared from the shadows like a fantasy made flesh. Shirtless, pants low on his hips, the ink on his torso shimmering faintly under warm light.
"Rule one," he said. "You don't come unless I say."
Riven's pulse raced. "Is that a command or a challenge?"
Cassian just smiled.
Then he tied Riven to the chaise. Silk ropes, tight but not cruel. Riven's arms above his head, legs spread. Helpless. Exposed. Every inch of him tingling.
Cassian kissed him softly—then bit down hard enough to mark. "I'm going to play your body like a fucking instrument."
He kept his promise.
Ice on nipples. Hot wax on thighs. Tongue everywhere. Fingers slick and skilled, teasing his rim, not penetrating—yet. Cassian edged him over and over, stroking his cock just enough to bring him close—then backing off. Riven whimpered, twisted in his bonds.
"You like the game, don't you?" Cassian murmured into his ear. "The heat. The ache."
"F-Fuck you," Riven gasped.
Cassian grinned. "Soon."
When Riven was shaking, desperate, sweating and breathless, Cassian finally slid a thick finger inside. Then another. Stretching him slow, making him beg with his body even as his lips stayed shut.
Riven moaned, deep and wrecked, as Cassian whispered filth into his ear: how he'd fuck him open, make him scream, keep him caged in silk and chained to pleasure.
But Cassian didn't let him come.
He untied him, kissed him gently, and whispered, "Three more days."
Riven collapsed onto the chaise, dazed and furious—and harder than he'd ever been.