Vedika sat perched on the edge of her velvet chaise lounge, her legs crossed and a glass of chilled white wine in her hand. She watched Kiaan with a predatory gaze. He was currently on his hands and knees in the center of the living room, scrubbing the marble floor with a brush, his muscles straining under a thin, sweat-soaked t-shirt. He didn't dare look up; he knew the rules. In this house, his only purpose was to serve her every whim, whether it was cleaning the grime from the tiles or satisfying the itch between her thighs.

Vedika took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes tracing the line of his back and the way his glutes tightened with every scrub. She felt a familiar throb of desire, a need to remind him exactly who owned him.