Arielle’s pulse thrummed in her ears as she wove through the dimly lit corridors, the scent of books and burning candle wax thick in the air. The masquerade’s distant laughter and music faded behind her, swallowed by the quiet hush of this hidden part of the Vault. She hadn’t planned on running this deep into the club, but her feet carried her forward, driven by something more than just the thrill of the chase.
Then— she found it.
A golden lantern flickered beside an arched doorway, casting a warm glow over the entrance. It was different from the other rooms she had passed— more intimate, more secret.
Arielle slipped inside, her breath catching at the sight before her.
The gallery was nothing like she had expected.
Dimly lit sconces lined the walls, their golden flames illuminating large, ornate frames. Within them were paintings— each one a study of flesh and pleasure, bodies entwined in passion, limbs tangled in ecstasy. Some were subtle, draped in soft linens that barely concealed the subjects’ nudity, while others were brazen, unabashed in their portrayal of desire.
A woman reclined against dark sheets, her head thrown back, her lips parted in a silent moan as a faceless lover traced a path down her stomach.
Another was caught mid-seduction, one arm lifted, her fingers tangled in her own hair as she arched forward, her full breasts bared to the unseen artist.
Arielle exhaled, slowly, her own skin warming under the intensity of it all.
And then she sensed it— that unmistakable presence behind her.
Samir.
She didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. His presence filled the room, his energy brushing against her skin like the lightest touch.
“I told you I’d find you,” he murmured, his voice rich, dark, like a predator’s.
Arielle didn’t move right away. Instead, she let her lips curve, her gaze still lingering on the art before her. “Maybe I wanted to be found.”
Samir took a step closer. “Then why run?”
Her eyes flicked to the painting before her, watching the way the artist had captured the woman’s parted lips, the curve of her bare hip, the way she seemed utterly lost in pleasure. “Maybe I like to see how far you’ll go to catch me.”
His hand lifted, fingertips barely grazing the exposed skin of her shoulder as he reached past her, tracing the golden frame of the painting. “Do you think they were real?” he asked, his voice low. “The women in these paintings?”
Arielle tilted her head, finally turning to face him. His dark eyes flickered with the reflection of the candlelight, his expression unreadable beneath his mask.
“I think someone desired them enough to capture them forever.”
Samir held her gaze for a moment before speaking again. “Would you let me capture you like this?”
Arielle’s breath caught.
The question hung between them, heavy, electric.
Her pulse raced, her skin warming under his gaze. He wasn’t asking lightly. He wasn’t asking just to tease her.
“You want me to pose for you?” she murmured.
Samir took another step, his fingers trailing lazily down her arm, his touch barely there, but leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “I want to see you,” he said simply. “As they were seen.”
Her stomach clenched at the weight of his words.
No one had ever looked at her like this.
Like she was art.
Like she was worth being admired.
Arielle inhaled, steadying herself. Then, she lifted her chin, a slow, knowing smile curving her lips.
“Alright.”
Something dark and pleased flickered in Samir’s eyes.
Without looking away, Arielle reached behind her back, fingers finding the delicate ties of her gown. She pulled, slowly, letting the fabric loosen, feeling the cool air kiss her newly bared skin.
The midnight-blue gown slid from her shoulders, inch by inch, before slipping down her body in a whisper, pooling in a rich heap at her feet.
Samir’s breath visibly slowed.
Arielle stood in nothing but lace, the delicate black fabric clinging to her curves, framing the soft swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the smooth expanse of her thighs.
She let him look.
The candlelight flickered against her skin, painting golden highlights along her collarbones, the soft curve of her stomach, the elegant length of her legs.
Samir’s eyes followed her as she peeled the first lace off her lower body, revealing a clear sight of her thighs, slightly hairy pussy, as well as her plump ass.
Then, with deliberate slowness, she reached behind her back, unclasping the final barrier between them.
The lace slipped away.
She let it fall.
And she was bare.
Her skin was smooth beneath the candle’s glow, her breasts soft and full, her nipples tightening under the cool air. Her stomach curved gently, her hips flaring into a shape that had always been hers— feminine, unashamed.
Samir didn’t speak.
He simply looked.
Looked at her as if she were something sacred.
A curse slipped from his lips, low and rough, his restraint visible in the way his fingers twitched at his sides.
Arielle swallowed, her own breath shaky. Then, she turned slightly, mirroring the pose of the woman in the painting before them— the one draped across dark sheets, her body offered without shame, her arm lifted above her head, lips parted in silent pleasure.
Samir let out a slow exhale, his control slipping at the edges.
“You’re fucking breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.
Arielle smirked, heat simmering in her gaze. “Do you like what you see?”
Samir’s jaw tightened. “You have no idea.”
Arielle’s fingers trailed idly over her stomach, teasing down toward her pussy, then her hip, mirroring the soft, sensual lines of the painting’s subject. “And if I let you touch?”
Samir’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“Then you might never escape me again.”
A delicious shiver ran through her.
She was playing with fire.
And she had never felt more alive.
~
The air in the secret gallery was thick with something unspoken— an intoxicating blend of desire, power, and surrender. Arielle stood before Samir, the warm glow of candlelight flickering over her bare skin.
She had stripped him first, with deliberate slowness, peeling away each layer of fabric as if unwrapping something precious. His jacket slid from his shoulders, the silk of his shirt unbuttoned with teasing fingers, exposing the taut lines of his chest. She let her lips brush over his skin, tasting the salt of his desire before stepping back to admire her work.
Samir sat on the plush, high-backed chair she had led him to, his body a study of restraint and hunger. His dark eyes burned through the mask he still wore, his jaw tight, his hands gripping the armrests. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her as she straddled him, her thighs pressing against the heat of his body, the ache between her own deepening.
She grabbed his length, bringing it to her wetness, circling it. Teasing.
The first press of his length inside her stole her breath, and for a moment, neither of them moved. A shared sigh, a fleeting second of stillness where their bodies adjusted, stretched, fit together as if molded by fate.
“Fuck,” Samir cursed under his breath, feeling himself going crazy over her tightness.
But the single word had Arielle lifting herself off his cock, looking down at him with a frown.
“You weren’t supposed to speak,” she reminded him.
And he knew. They’d made an agreement. Arielle was in charge. She had full control, and she didn’t want him to speak.
“It’s always been my wish to get a man to cum inside me without a sound.”
Those were her exact words, and of course, Samir had agreed to not say a word until he orgasmed. He’d promised.
“Apologize,” she ordered, pussy hovering over the man’s hard cock, controlling his thoughts as well as every other thing concerning him.
Samir was lost. He found his lips moving before he could even think.
“I’m sorry. Deeply. I truly am. Put it back in, please,” he begged, shamelessly. He was only a man.
“You needy thing,” she teased under her breath, smirking at the way his breath hitched when the tip went back into her hotness.
“Fuck. Take it all. I beg of you. Don’t tease me like this. Please.”
Arielle bit down on her lower lip, seeing the tears gathering in his eyes. Something sparked inside of her. Having him under her like that, begging for her to take his cock inside of her, completely at her mercy. It was doing things to her, making her sink even further onto his length until her skin slapped against the skin of his thighs, both of them letting out sighs of content.
She let herself adjust to the size and feeling again. Just until she had pleas swimming out of his lips, begging her to move. Then, and only then, did she move.
Arielle set the rhythm, rolling her hips in slow, unhurried waves, drawing out every sensation, every shudder that rippled through his frame. His breath hitched, his fingers digging into the fabric of the chair as if holding himself back from seizing control.
“You like watching me like this, don’t you?” she whispered, trailing her hands down her own body, over the swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist, until they rested against his chest.
Samir exhaled sharply, his eyes dark with something raw. “You’re a fucking work of art, Arielle,” he murmured. “But don’t mistake my patience for weakness.”
She smiled, teasing him with another slow roll of her hips. “I wouldn’t dare. You’re not generally weak, just specifically for me.”
The pleasure built in steady waves, each movement bringing her closer, pushing him further. His body tensed beneath her, his control slipping with every squeeze, every moan that left her lips. She could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands twitched, aching to grip her, to take over.
But she wasn’t ready to give up control. Not yet.
She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “You’re not touching me. Does it drive you mad?”
A growl rumbled in his throat, his head tilting back against the chair. “Arielle.” A warning. No. Not a warning. A plea.
She reveled in it, in the power of making him come undone beneath her, of watching the careful restraint he always carried begin to crack.
But the pleasure was starting to overwhelm her, her thighs trembling, her rhythm faltering as the fire inside her grew too wild to contain. She bit her lip, frustration blooming at her body’s betrayal.
Samir caught it instantly. His hands, which had remained clenched at his sides, finally moved. He traced slow circles over her thighs, his voice a velvet rasp. “Tired already, little temptress?”
Arielle shuddered at the touch, a needy whimper escaping her lips. “No.”
“Liar,” he murmured, his fingers pressing just a little harder. “You wanted control, but you can’t even keep up. Look at you.”
Her breath hitched as he bucked his hips upward, the sudden shift making pleasure spark along every nerve ending. She clutched at his shoulders, her confidence flickering beneath the weight of his dominance.
“Say it,” he coaxed, his hands sliding up her spine, sending shivers down her back. *Tell me what you want.”
She swallowed, her pride warring with her need. “Samir—”
*Try again,” he interrupted, his lips ghosting over her collarbone. “Beg me.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, her body clenching in response. She hated how easily he unraveled her, how quickly he turned the game against her. But she wanted this— wanted him.
“Please,” she finally breathed, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging. “Take control.”
Samir exhaled, a dark smile curving his lips. *That’s all I needed to hear.”
And then, just like that, the game shifted.
Arielle wasn’t leading anymore.
She was being claimed.
Samir wasted no time.
With a firm grip on her waist, he stood, lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing. Arielle gasped, clutching onto his shoulders as her feet met the floor. But before she could fully regain her balance, he turned her, guiding her toward the back of the chair.
“Hands here,” he instructed, his voice a low growl as he nudged her forward.
Arielle obeyed, resting her palms against the smooth, carved wood. The position made her arch naturally, her back curving, her bare skin flushed with heat. She barely had time to steady herself before Samir’s hands trailed down her spine, his touch both possessive and teasing.
*You wanted me to take control,” he murmured, his breath hot against her shoulder. “Now you’ll take what I give you.”
Arielle moaned softly, anticipation buzzing under her skin like lightning before a storm. She felt him behind her, the hard length of him pressing insistently against her slick heat. He traced his fingers down her sides, down to her hips, before gripping them firmly.
And then—
He drove into her in one deep thrust.
Arielle gasped, pleasure shattering through her like wildfire. Her fingers curled against the chair as her body stretched around him again, this time with no slowness, no hesitation— only raw, unfiltered desire.
“Fuck,” Samir groaned, his hands tightening on her waist. “You feel so fucking good wrapped around me like this.”
She couldn’t form words, only a breathy moan in response. He pulled back, then slammed into her again, setting a rhythm that was punishing and perfect all at once. Every stroke sent pleasure sparking up her spine, making her knees weak, her body trembling.
Then— she saw it.
The mirror.
From our workshop
A large, ornate thing, positioned directly in front of them, its reflection capturing everything— the way her body bowed under his, the way his dark hands contrasted against her skin as he held her in place, the way his face twisted in hunger and pleasure as he took her.
“Look at yourself, Arielle,” Samir rasped, one hand leaving her hip to slide up her back, tangling into her hair. “Watch as I unravel you.”
He pulled her head up just enough so she had no choice but to meet her own gaze in the mirror.
Her lips were parted, her eyes dark with pleasure, her body moving helplessly under his control. Samir stood behind her, towering and powerful, his expression molten with dominance and need.
Arielle whimpered, her stomach tightening at the sight.
“You like that, don’t you?” Samir smirked against her ear, his thrusts never faltering. “Watching yourself come apart while I fuck you.”
Her breath stuttered. “Y- yes.”
“Good girl,” he purred.
The praise sent heat spiraling through her, making her clench around him. Samir groaned, his pace growing rougher, more insistent. His free hand slid down, slipping between her thighs, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with merciless precision.
Arielle jerked, a choked moan escaping her lips. “Oh— fuck—”
“Look at you,” Samir murmured, watching her expression shift in the mirror as pleasure overtook her. “So beautiful like this. So desperate. So fucking mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice sent a new wave of heat crashing through her.
He tugged her hair again, forcing her to keep her gaze locked on the reflection. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, kitten,” he warned, his voice thick with command. “I want you to see exactly how wrecked you are for me.”
Arielle couldn’t think— could barely breathe. Her body was a live wire, every thrust sending sparks through her, every flick of his fingers on her clit pushing her closer to the edge.
“I— Samir— I can’t—”
“You can,” he growled. “You will.”
Her legs trembled, her fingers digging into the chair as the tension coiled tighter, tighter—
And then it snapped.
Arielle cried out as pleasure overtook her, her body shuddering around him, waves of ecstasy crashing over her so intensely that for a moment, she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Samir groaned, his rhythm stuttering as he chased his own release. “That’s my girl— taking every bit of me.”
A few more thrusts, deep and consuming, and then he followed, his grip tightening, his head dropping to her shoulder as he groaned her name like a prayer.
For a long moment, they stayed like that, both of them panting, bodies trembling in the aftermath.
Then, Samir chuckled, his lips grazing her ear.
“That,” he murmured, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to the nape of her neck, “was only the beginning.”
Arielle shivered.
The game was far from over.
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