I haven't begun... but you're my first

Lady Ada leaned against the opulent mahogany table, her eyes glinting with a mixture of disdain and curiosity as she directed her venomous words toward Dallion. "What assistance can I provide, Mr. Cross? Don’t mind the maid’s foolishness; the help rarely knows their place or who they’re speaking to."

Sherry, still reeling from the earlier insults, kicks and multreatment of the maid, glanced at the maid and felt a surge of empathy for her plight. But anger swelled within her, directed at both Lady Ada and Dallion for allowing this abuse to unfold. She didn’t regret her boldness; if anything, she felt a strange satisfaction in defying the lady's dress. Dallion could punish her later; the lady deserved every bit of humiliation.

"I share your sentiments," Dallion replied smoothly, his voice dripping with condescension. "People of a lesser status often fail to comprehend the weight of their actions."

"What drink were you expecting, Mr. Cross? I will fetch it myself from the cellar," Lady Ada offered, her tone patronizing. As she turned her back to Sherry, tension crackled in the air.

"I asked for her presence," Dallion said, his voice steady, betraying no emotion. The declaration hung heavy in the room, and Lady Ada’s expression faltered.

"Her presence?"

Dallion’s gaze bore into Ada, unimpressed. "It’s clear where the maid inherits her lack of grace."

"Of course, she’s all yours," Lady Ada gestured toward the bitten maid, her words dripping with bitterness, though a glimmer of confusion clouded her haughty expression.

Dallion’s eyes swept over Sherry before returning to Lady Ada, cold and calculating he didn't even spare a glance at the so called maid. "But I’ve lost interest in her and in this public display. Surely, you wouldn’t mind offering something more... private, would you, milady?"

A glint of excitement sparked in Ada’s eyes, unaware of the shift in his intentions. "Of course," she cooed, her bravado clouding her judgment. "Shall we retire?"

Sherry watched, her heart pounding in her chest as Lady Ada approached Dallion, who extended his hand. He took hers with practiced ease, but his eyes never left Sherry’s. "I think we’ll continue this elsewhere," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, the tension in the room thickening.

Without a word, Dallion guided Ada to a side room, the heavy door closing behind them. Sherry stood frozen, listening as the night deepened into something darker, her heart still racing. What was happening behind those walls? Was this some twisted game, or something far more intimate?

Moments later, muffled sounds began to escape the room—low murmurs, followed by gasps and moans. Sherry’s breath hitched as realization set in. This wasn’t an act of violence—it was something far more primal. Her mind reeled, imagining the scene beyond the door.

In the private quarters, Dallion’s lips hovered over Lady Ada’s skin, their bodies intertwined in the glow of candlelight. His hands trailed down her back, leaving a path of fire in their wake. He was gentle at first, his touch deliberate, drawing out the tension in every movement.

Ada gasped, arching into him, her breath coming in shallow bursts. "I haven’t felt like this in days," she whispered, her voice laced with desire.

Dallion’s response was a low, rumbling laugh as he pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was both rough and commanding. Their bodies moved in rhythm, a sensual dance of control and surrender, each moment building upon the last. His hands roamed her body, possessive yet patient, exploring every curve, every inch of exposed skin.

Outside, Sherry's knees weakened as she struggled to make sense of her emotions. She had no reason to feel jealous, yet the air was thick with an intimacy she had never experienced, let alone witnessed. She wondered if Dallion was always like this, with every woman he encountered. Did he always leave them breathless and wanting more, or was this different?

The door creaked open, and Dallion emerged, adjusting his shirt, his demeanor calm and collected as though nothing had happened. He cast a glance at Sherry, who was still rooted to the spot, her face flushed with emotions she didn’t dare name.

"We’re leaving," he said simply, his voice breaking the silence.

Unable to contain herself, Sherry asked, "Did you...?"

"Did I what?" Dallion turned to her, his gaze locking onto hers, a trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Indulge her? It wasn’t much of a challenge."

Sherry swallowed hard, unable to hide her curiosity. "And what about me? Would you also sleep with me wherever you want?"

Dallion’s lips curved into a sly smile. "Ah, Sherry. I haven't even begun with you."

Unable to contain her fear, she asked, "Did you really sleep with her? Is she dead?" Dallion looked at her amused, while Sherry asked him again.

"Why did you sleep with her?" Sherry pressed, her voice trembling at the thought of the Ada's muffled moaning sounds.

"What do you think I am? A saint?" Dallion replied, rolling his eyes as she faltered under his gaze. "I didn’t sleep with her. I simply fucked her, which left her a tad... incapacitated. She’ll wake in a few hours," he continued, stifling a yawn, clearly unfazed.

"It seems someone forgot their place and disobeyed their master," he replied, a sinister smile creeping across his face. "Be careful, or I might just lose my temper again."

A car pulled up to the mansion, and Dallion climbed in first, his demeanor as relaxed as if he had just finished a leisurely meal. Sherry hesitated at the door, contemplating escape, but knew all too well the futility of such a thought. He had made it clear—he’d punish her without a second thought.

As she settled into the car beside him, silence enveloped them. "Why so quiet?" Dallion's voice sliced through her thoughts.

Sherry stared at him, incredulous. "You just—" she stammered, trying to make sense of the night’s events.

"You have a question?" he prodded, his interest piqued.

"If you don’t mind, may I ask... is this your first time acquiring a captive from the black market?" she ventured.

"You’re my first," he mused, his gaze locking onto hers, a predatory glimmer in his eyes.

Taken aback, she stammered, "You bought me for that?"

"Isn’t that reason enough?" His proximity intensified, his voice low and inviting.

"There are plenty of girls who have crossed paths with you. I’m just another face," she reminded him, though her heart raced at his unwavering attention.

"There are many, but none quite like you," he replied, leaning closer, his breath warm against her skin. "What do you think?"

"What do I think about what?" Panic surged through her, and she instinctively edged away from him, toward the window.

With a sly grin, Dallion leaned back, his arms crossed around his torso, staring out at the passing scenery as if he hadn’t just left her in a state of confusion.