Late 21

I made sure to be late. If he wasn't going to show, I wasn't going to be the one sitting there looking desperate. That's not who I am. I walk in when I want. On my time. And when I did, I saw him.

He was already there. Waiting. Just like he said he would be.

Small table. Two glasses. One full. One untouched.

His eyes flicked up and caught me. That look--like prey spotting its predator. The way he stood up a little too fast, like he'd rehearsed this moment a thousand times and still fumbled the landing.

Cute.

He was wearing that stupid little button-up I told him to wear. The one that made him feel like he was trying. I didn't say a word. I just walked past, slow enough for my perfume to hit him, and slid into the chair like I owned the whole damn restaurant.

Because I did.

"You're late," he said, smiling. Nervous.

I crossed my legs. Leaned back. "I know."

We'd met online. He reached out with a message longer than most. Careful. Respectful. Craving. He didn't beg--not right away--but the undertone was there. That ache. The obsession. He didn't just want me. He wanted to be beneath me.

I asked the questions. I laid the rules. And he agreed to every one of them without flinching.

So this? This was the final test. Would he crumble in person? Would he still look at me like I was untouchable when I was right there in front of him?

He did.

I sipped my drink. "So. You want to be mine."

He nodded. "Yes."

"You want to serve."

"Yes."

"You want to watch while someone else takes what you'll never earn."

His throat tightened. Eyes darkened. "Yes."

That's when I smiled.

"Good boy."

God, the way his knees shifted under the table. Subtle, but I caught it. Every reaction. Every inhale. He was already starting to spiral, and I hadn't even touched him.

I leaned forward just slightly. Let my fingers graze the base of my glass. "Do you remember what I told you? About the kind of man I need?"

"Yes," he said. Voice softer now.

"And are you that man?"

He paused. Blinked. And then: "No."

Correct.

"You're not here to please me." I tilted my head. "You're here to please my life. My choices. My pleasures. My appetite."

He nodded.

I slid one heel out of my stiletto and let my foot trace his ankle under the table. He gasped "Did you bring the cage?"

He swallowed. Nodded. Pulled the small velvet pouch from his coat pocket and placed it on the table like an offering.

I picked it up, held it between two fingers. "You know this doesn't mean I'll use it tonight."

"I know."

"You might leave here with nothing but a story. A fantasy."

"I want to serve anyway."

My smile curled slow. Wicked. "Of course you do."

Dinner was an appetizer. For me. For him? It was a countdown. Watching me sip wine. Watching me glide my fingers across my own neck as I talked. Knowing every word I said was a reminder that he'd never be the one making me moan.

When we left, I let him open the car door. Let him stare at the back of my legs while I slid in. Didn't thank him. Didn't have to.

We didn't go far. Just a hotel I'd already booked. Under my name. My card. My rules.

In the room, I tossed the pouch onto the bed.

"Kneel."

He did.

"Strip."

He hesitated. Not out of disobedience. Out of shame. That twitch of embarrassment at what I was about to see. What I'd already known.

The tiny, twitching thing between his legs. Already hard. Already useless.

"Aw," I whispered, circling him. "That's what you thought you'd win me with?"

His face flushed.

I grabbed the cage and walked behind him. Let the metal drag across his back. Cold. Unforgiving. Like me.

"Put it on."

He obeyed. Clumsy. Eager.

Click.

And there it was. My favorite sound. The moment a man realizes he's no longer a man in my world--just a locked-up toy built to worship and wait.

I sat on the bed, spread my legs slightly. Enough to tease. Not enough to offer.

"You wanted to be close to me?" I purred. "Get closer. Right there. On the floor."

He crawled.

I took my phone and started texting.

He tilted his head. Curious.

"My bull's on his way."

I met his eyes. Watched the panic. The arousal. The helpless need.

"You're going to sit right there, locked and aching, while I let him take me apart."

He whimpered.

And I laughed.

"Welcome to your new life, cuck."