Chapter 4: The Bedroom Bargain

The comments in my mind screamed:

[Retreat! Sweet baby heroine hasn’t even gotten a chance—villain queen about to steal the first kiss!]

[Does the lead even have anything left after all that whipping?]

[He’s fine! Didn’t you see him shudder? He loves it.]

I glanced at the crop in my hand, suddenly self-conscious. The handle felt heavy, almost embarrassing. My cheeks flushed hot. I cleared my throat, refusing to show it.

Maybe next time I’d use my words. Or maybe not.

[This is so wrong it’s right—villain queen’s got the juice!]

[These two are a shipwreck and I can’t look away.]

My bedroom was a world away from the jail—navy blue walls, gold trim, city lights gleaming through the windows. The air smelled faintly of leather and vanilla from the old money furniture polish, a world away from the jail’s bleach and sweat.

Marcus was cleaned up and brought in. He looked less wild now, but more dangerous. They’d left the muzzle on, just in case. It bit into the stubble along his jaw, a cruel mark of control.

His hands were chained, and he knelt at the foot of my bed. The plush rug under him was a reminder—he didn’t belong here, but I’d brought him anyway.

He hadn’t eaten or drunk all day. His lips were cracked, eyes hollow with exhaustion and something more. When water dripped down his cheek, he licked it away, desperate.

Even on his knees, Marcus looked proud. That arrogance made my blood hum.

He turned away, but his skin couldn’t hide the flush rising up his neck. Anger, shame, something deeper.

When he looked back, his amber eyes were full of contempt. He sneered, voice rough:

"So, princess—wasn’t this what you wanted? Why so shy now?"

"Afraid I’ll get my shot at revenge? Afraid I’ll kill you in your sleep?"

The room shrank, charged with threat and something darker.

[She’s not scared of dying, she’s scared he’ll rock her world.]

I stood, grabbed the chain on his wrists, and yanked hard. He crashed onto the carpet, the wound on his chest splitting open, blood seeping into the navy pattern.

I stared at the spreading stain, a guilty thrill flickering through me.

I pressed my heel between his shoulder blades, voice cold:

"This is the proper way to address the governor’s daughter."

Marcus’s face paled, chest trembling, but he laughed, sharp:

"That all you got, princess? Weak."

[LMAO, let him enjoy it—he’s eating this up.]

[Villain queen, you’re just making him want it more.]

[She’s gonna get wrecked when he gets out.]

He’ll destroy my family, raze the city—those words echoed in my mind. Maybe this was how my father felt, ruling a city he could never truly control.

My smile iced over. I bent down, one hand gripping Marcus’s neck, the other unclipping his muzzle. His breath burned my skin, eyes meeting mine—pure hate, pure hunger.

A wary sneer flickered across his face:

"What now, governor’s daughter? Got a new way to humiliate me?"

His words shook, but I could tell I’d gotten under his skin.

"Whatever you do, I’ll remember."

"Then remember," I shot back, cold. I wasn’t afraid of being remembered. I was terrified of being forgotten.

My fingers brushed his parched lips, cracked and bleeding. A single drop stained my finger, the world shrinking to that bright red line.

I lowered my head, hair brushing his cheek. I caught the scent of sweat, blood, and something I couldn’t name.

His jaw flexed beneath my fingers. I could feel his breath—fast, ragged, not just from pain. In his trembling eyes, I kissed him.

The kiss was rough, desperate—a clash of pride and pain. He didn’t resist, didn’t yield. For a moment, we were both lost.

[Dang, villain queen’s got more game than Tinder. Marcus is done for.]

I looked up and gave a defiant smile at the invisible crowd. If everyone expected me to be the villain, I’d give them a show.

I wasn’t born to be anyone’s stepping stone. I’d rather go out with blood on my hands than tears on my face.

I grabbed Marcus’s chained wrists, deepening the kiss, demanding, relentless. He resisted at first, then melted—anger, desire, exhaustion mixing in the heat between us.

A long time later—

When I finally pulled back, my lips tingled, his eyes wide and wild. He looked like he’d survived a storm.

I straightened, voice low:

"That’s enough."

Chin raised: "Lie on the bed—and serve me."

He hesitated, eyes burning holes in me. For a second, I wondered who was really in control—and if I’d just unleashed something I couldn’t put back in chains.