Undressed By His Arrogance

"Answer me this, Syl. What do you want me to do to you?"

Sylvia blinked up at him. "Isn’t it obvious?" she whispered. "I want you to make love to me. God! I sound pathetic!"

She covered her face for a moment.

His eyes held hers, intense, unblinking.

"And there in lies the problem," he said. "I don’t want to make love to you, Syl. I want to discipline you."

"You mean like a submissive?"

"Now you’re getting it."

Sylvia’s pulse drummed at her throat.

Reese took a step back, reclaiming his boundaries.

"Good night, Syl."

"Since when?"

Reese stopped mid-step.

Finally, he pivoted slowly. "Excuse me?"

Sylvia walked toward him. She stopped barely a foot away.

"When did you first feel this way?" she demanded, softer now.

Reese took his time answering. His gaze flicked over her face—her flushed cheeks, her swollen eyes, her trembling lip, the bare vulnerability written all over her.

"A long time ago," he finally said. "You used to sneak out a lot to drink."

Sylvia inhaled sharply, shame hitting her.

"And everyone was tiptoeing around you," he continued. "Sheltering you. Refusing to see that you were an alcoholic until it was too late. But I saw you."

"I wanted to spank your ass raw," Reese went on bluntly—because he’d never been a man to sugarcoat anything. "Give you something else to focus on besides the bottle you used to dull your pain."

Sylvia’s breath stuttered.

"But you were my boss’s sister," Reese continued. "I had to call you ma’am when all I wanted to hear you scream in my ear was ’sir, please’—over and over and over again—begging me for the tiniest of pleasure, grovelling for it."

Sylvia felt heat crawl up her neck, down her spine, straight between her legs—humiliation, desire, disbelief all tangled together.

"You want me to grovel?" she whispered, horrified and fascinated and breathless all at once.

Reese tilted his head, assessing her.

"Can you, princess?" he asked.

Sylvia’s mouth fell open, lips parted in shock, her eyes wide. But no sound came out. Not a denial. Not a protest. Not even a whisper.

She froze completely—caught between who she saw herself as and who Reese saw beneath that, buried deep and aching to be acknowledged.

"I didn’t think so." His voice was final.

A clean cut to end the conversation.

He reached behind him, fingers brushing the door handle.

"Have a good night, Miss Kane."

He headed to his bedroom and sighed heavily, dropping onto the edge of the mattress. "Well fuck!" he muttered, dragging both hands down his face.

Reese grabbed his phone and set his alarm for earlier than usual. He needed to be up before Winn, needed to check on him. He pressed the button, tossed the phone aside, and had barely leaned back when—

His door opened without warning.

Reese sat up instantly, posture straightening.

"Syl—"

"Reese?" she whispered.

Reese stood staring at her. He didn’t move.

"Is there something you need?"

Even hearing himself say it felt dangerous. One wrong word and everything would tip over the edge.

Sylvia took a shaky step closer, the soft padding of her feet on the carpet sounding louder than the pounding in her chest. "Please... please I need this. I need you."

Reese narrowed his eyes, studying her. "Why?"

She swallowed hard. "I need to feel... and at the same time to forget."

Her throat bobbed as she forced the words out. "Just... please."

Reese stepped toward her, his shadow swallowing hers, and lowered his voice.

"Then beg, Miss Kane."

For a moment pride battled need—her chin lifted, then dropped, lifted again, trembling. And then she let go. All of it.

She sank to her knees.

The movement was slow, a surrender.

"Please, Reese."

Reese inhaled sharply.

"Not good enough."

A faint smile—dangerous, satisfied, and maddeningly calm—curved his lips as he turned away from her, moving toward his closet. He opened the dark wooden door, reached inside, and pulled out a flogger.

Sylvia’s mouth went dry.

"Please, sir." she whispered.

Reese exhaled slowly, controlling himself, then glanced over his shoulder.

"You’re going to both love and hate how this feels."

Sylvia swallowed, shame crawling across her skin in hot waves. Stripped of pride, stripped of control—maybe this was what she deserved. After everything she had done to her brother. To herself. To her own life.

"I... I know."

Reese walked toward her. "First rule," he said calmly, "you will cum only when I tell you to."

Sylvia nodded quickly.

Reese came to stand behind her.

He bent over her, his chest brushing her back, his breath warm against her ear.

He wrapped his hand around her neck roughly. He pulled her face up to look at him, forcing her eyes to meet his. The authority in his gaze stole the air from her lungs.

And with his other hand, he landed the flogger on her ass.

Pain bloomed.

Heat followed.

Sylvia whimpered.

"Don’t nod at me, princess." He ordered.

"Yes sir!" she cried. At this point, she was beginning to wonder what the fuck she had just gotten herself into. Her mind ran in frantic little circles.

"Touch yourself, Syl." He ordered.

Her eyes flew wide. "What?!"

Before her protest even finished, he landed the flogger on her ass once more.

"Imagine me touching you," Reese said. "I want to watch how much you really want me. Because I need you to be sure before I cross a line, Miss Kane."

Even now, when she was on her knees for him, even now as desire threaded through his voice, he needed her consent.

"Yes sir." She trembled.

The way he spoke—dark, commanding, stripped of gentleness—sounded different from the man she had always known. Familiar and yet not. She reached her fingers down her thigh and pushed her finger inside herself, her breath hitching at the sudden intimacy. She felt exposed, vulnerable... seen.

Reese moved in front of her and watched her. His eyes tracked her movement, her face, the small flinch of embarrassment, the flush spreading down her neck. His breathing deepened.

He picked up a feather tickler from the bedside table.

"Strip." He ordered.

Sylvia reached for the hem of her dress, fingers trembling. She tugged it over her head, feeling the fabric slide up her body and fall behind her. She was left in her underwear—lacy, delicate.

He ran the feather tickler along her shoulders—light, teasing, maddening. A shiver rolled down her back; she bit her lip to stop the helpless gasp crawling up her throat.

The feather drifted across her cheek, then down the top of her breasts where they stood out from her bra. She could feel him looking.

Her chest rose and fell faster. His presence felt overwhelming now.

"Reese..." she whispered.

"Not Reese," he corrected quietly, the feather tracing her collarbone.

Her stomach clenched.

"Sir," she whispered.

"That’s better," he murmured, and the tiny praise sent a hot ripple straight through her.

At this point, Sylvia was breathing heavily. She couldn’t stand the build up. Was he or was he not? Was he finally going to give her what she’d begged for—or was he just going to torture her all night with mind-melting commands?

She couldn’t predict what was next, and that was the problem.

"Please...." she whispered.

"Feeling greedy?" Reese raised a brow. He sat on the bed with the ease of a man fully aware he was in control. "Crawl here."

Sylvia’s breath stilled.

Crawl?

Crawl??

Her mind screeched. She, Sylvia Kane—crawl?

Reese saw the war behind her eyes, the panic, the indignation, the reluctant heat. His lips quirked up a bit. There it was—that sadistic amusement she’d always suspected he hid under all that soldier-like discipline.

He half hoped she would give up, run, call him insane, throw a tantrum. Anything to prove she was still the princess he’d once been tasked with protecting.

But when he saw the slightest movement—her hands pressing into the floor, the tremble of her knees shifting—he paused. His chest rose quietly.

Who would believe?

The princess did have it in her.

Sylvia moved across the floor slowly, each step burning through her dignity. She crawled until she was kneeling in front of him again, feeling small and powerful all at once—a contradiction she never knew could coexist so beautifully.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed, hoping—needing—that he was going to kiss her. She had earned it, right? She’d swallowed her pride, her ego. Surely, she deserved at least a taste of him.

Reese reached down, holding her gaze. His eyes were a molten, controlled wildfire. Sylvia’s lips parted slightly, ready to feel his mouth finally crash against hers.

But instead...

He reached behind her.

One click.

He snapped her bra open.

With the bottom of the feather tickler, he tapped downward, letting her bra slide slowly down her arms until it dropped to the floor.

(I was so embarrassed writing this Chapter. But we will get a bit of read time with Sylvia as she will be leaving for Canada. Her time in this book is finally coming to an end.)

Also, anyone have some time and read the free Chapters of ’Inside The True Heiress’. I need to know what it’s lacking.