Wine affects me in a very particular way.
It doesn’t intoxicate — it switches me on.
As if a toggle flips somewhere it really shouldn’t.
A Georgian red.
It doesn’t relax.
It loosens the dark — pulls out what I usually keep locked away.
That’s my little secret.
But tonight there was no choice.
— Wine?
— Go on.
— Miss?
— Pour.
— Darling…
— Pour.
With every glass I grow rougher.
More dominant.
The demand inside me swells until it’s almost unbearable —
for me, and for everyone around me.
By the second bottle, the personality is completely erased.
Name, role, outlines — all of it falls away.
What remains is the Mode.
We’re in a restaurant.
A respectable place. Warm light. Well-mannered people.
But the bottle keeps emptying, relentlessly,
and I don’t care about context anymore.
I keep myself on a leash through the first bottle.
I move closer to Nate — closer than is acceptable.
Too close.
My palm slides under his shirt — calm, deliberate, assured.
He smiles.
— Kitten…
— Don’t call me that.
He’s surprised — just slightly.
But he doesn’t pull away.
He stays.
Conversation flows. Wine disappears quickly.
One and a half bottles — and there’s no longer enough space for me.
I tilt my head back, feel everything inside burning —
not chaotically, but tightly gathered, sharp.
I intend to take what’s mine.
— Nate.
— Mm?
— You’re coming with me.
He hesitates for a second.
Exactly one second.
— Of course.
I’ll call a taxi.
— Darling, are we going home?
— Mm-hmm.
— Kitten…
— Don’t call me that, — I bite my lip. This isn’t a request.
The taxi arrives quickly.
But I need faster.
— I’ll pay double if you get us there in seven minutes.
— Triple if it’s four minutes.
The driver is stunned.
But he agrees.
I bite my nails — not from nerves, but from excess.
Too much fire. Too little time.
— Darling, it’s okay.
— Yes.
I stare out the window.
The city blurs like frames on fast-forward.
The Mode is on.
There’s no way back.
Nate’s scent drives me insane.
Damn… he’s so hot.
Finally the taxi stops.
I don’t look at the driver — just throw the money, sharply, no change.
I have no time for manners.
We head toward the building.
I don’t greet anyone.
Everything inside me is craving release —
not words, not gestures.
A discharge.
Nate rushes upstairs with me — we both know: there’s no time left.
The door slams shut.
— Nate, darling… it’s your turn to take my darkness.
— As you say. I’m ready.
— Of course you are… — I smirk. — So brave.
I slowly work my neck, switching my body on while shutting control down.
The movement is lazy, almost feline —
but there’s a warning in it.
The silk mini slips off as if it was never holding on.
The top follows.
I’m left in lingerie.
An emerald set.
Indecent beyond propriety.
Lace, mesh — almost everything sheer,
but the necessary parts covered just enough to drive you mad.
A cutout over my curves — an invitation.
Not a request.
A fact.
Stockings — black, with a delicate polka dot.
The garter belt cinches my narrow waist — temporary support,
until Nate is holding it himself.
I stand in front of him calmly.
Confidently.
Collected.
— Darling…
I lift his chin with my fingers — not with force, but with intent.
Slowly. Precisely.
— God, you’re so hot.
He takes off his shirt.
Stays in his jeans.
I’m still in lingerie.
He licks his lips.
Nervously.
Caught.
And I slap him across the face.
I step too close — breaking his space, erasing distance.
My breath knocks his rhythm off.
I tilt my head back, losing control for a second —
not over him, over myself.
I like feeling his strength,
his restraint,
his struggle.
I like provoking him,
pushing him to the edge where the darkness starts asking to come out.
I see it in his eyes.
The way his fists clench.
The way he holds himself — too correctly, too long.
And I hit him again.
He spits blood without blinking.
He reaches for me.
— Don’t touch me.
One word — and he freezes.
Head slightly thrown back, breath broken.
He groans.
I step even closer.
So close my whisper burns his skin.
I lean to his ear.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
A vicious, intentional, cruel bite.
He roars and grabs me.
I cry out in surprise.
He throws his head back,
switching the Mode.
— Hello, darling.
— Hello.
And I hit him again.
He bites my neck and I scream.
He squeezes my ribs and I moan with desire.
— Bastard. Coward. You’re weak.
He roars and pins me to the wall.
The air is knocked out of me.
— You shameless thing.
— Hm. Usually that’s your role.
His eyes widen.
I stick my tongue out at him.
— Weak and insignificant. Got it?
Adrenaline and excitement boil inside me.
I’m going to tease his masculine essence,
play with his ego —
he’s such a big boss, such a powerful man after all.
— Oh, is that how it is?
He lifts me and plants me firmly on the bed.
I was reveling in it, all the way through.
— You don’t mind if I put on a robe?
— What? No!
I swing my arm — and he catches my wrist.
I laugh.
— Nate.
— Mm… — he’s out of breath from grappling with me.
— I love you, darling.
He kisses me. Soft now.
I bite his lip.
Blood runs in a thin line.
— You’re insane.
— And?
He laughs.
— I love you, kitten.
I use his softness and strike him again.
— Damn — he curses and spits blood.
I light up.
I adore this.
No matter how much I provoke him, how much I tease him — he doesn’t break.
He’s so strong.
He doesn’t whine.
He doesn’t complain that it hurts.
That only awakens more cruelty in me,
and the desire to test his limits.
I grab the bottle and smash it against the dresser.
Shards scatter in all directions.
Nate stays calm.
— I’m crazy… aren’t you afraid I’ll cut you?
I’m bursting with happiness. I’m glowing.
Darkness isn’t feared.
It isn’t restrained.
He lunges and knocks me off my feet.
— Kitten, you won’t beat me.
— Fine.
He’s surprised.
— Oh. Oh. Get off me — suddenly my head hurts.
He’s on his feet instantly — care in his eyes, tenderness in every movement.
I laugh and hit him again.
— God, darling, you’re a monster.
— Don’t be so naïve — I stick my tongue out at him.
He shakes his head.
— Damn, darling, you’re dangerous.
I sit on the chair and spread my legs.
He rushes toward me.
— Ah-ah. No touching.
He throws his head back, as if the word struck harder than the movement.
His breathing falters.
He’s on the edge — and he knows it.
His knees give way not from weakness —
but from restraint.
— Darling…
— Darling…
— If you touch me, I’ll hit you with my heel and break your nose.
I’m dying from the pleasure of it.
He licks his lips — and lunges.
I love this. This is who he is.
Not a coward. Not a whiner.
He charges forward even when he’s forbidden to.
I strike him — the heel cuts his cheek.
He spits blood again.
— Worth it, little mouse.
With the sudden movement, my bra slips off,
and I laugh.
— Damn, how did you do that?
— Easily, baby.
He wipes his lip.
— Darling, I want you.
— As if that’s news.
He roars like an animal, a low growl tearing out of him.
I moan.
— Kitten…
— Give me permission.
— No.
— God, darling… — he’s choking on desire.
— I’ll let you — on one condition.
You let the beast out.
Nate grows serious.
— Darling, you’re drunk. I’m not sure this is a good idea.
— That’s not for you to decide.
He throws his head back — and the beast appears in an instant.
Nate comes to me and carries me to the bed.
I moan.
Nate’s darkness hits differently.
There he doesn’t shake.
There he isn’t careful.
Everything about him smells of sex and density —
thick, metallic.
He rips my panties off and tears my stockings.
I shake with pleasure.
He bites my neck.
— God, Nate — I strike back.
— That’s revenge, darling.
— You bastard!
He pins my wrists.
I can barely breathe.
He throws his head back.
The Mode switches again…
— Kitten… I love you so much.
