The Prisoner of Silk: 3. Lessons in Obedience and Silk Bed

She woke to silk again—but this time, she wasn’t beneath it.

The sheet was gone, replaced by a gown of sheer silver silk that clung to every inch of her skin. Someone—he—had dressed her while she slept. Her pulse raced at the thought of his hands sliding fabric over her body, arranging her like a doll.

When the door opened, she didn’t need to look. She felt him. His presence filled the room like smoke.

“You look exquisite,” he said, voice low, rich, dangerous.

She sat upright, arms crossing instinctively over her chest. “Change me back.”

“No.”

She swallowed hard. “You can’t—”

“I can,” he interrupted smoothly. “And I will. But not until you learn.”

Her stomach tightened. “Learn what?”

He stepped closer. Close enough that the heat of him washed over her, close enough that she could smell his cologne—dark woods, smoke, something faintly spiced. His hand lifted, hovering inches from her cheek, not touching. Teasing.

“Obedience,