From Alpha to Owned

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fantasy erotica intended for adult audiences only. All characters depicted are 18 years of age or older. Themes of dominance, submission, and transformation are explored consensually and fictionally.

Rachel was humming in the kitchen again.

I could hear her from the bedroom, the soft clink of mugs and the low sizzle of eggs in the pan. She always woke up earlier than me, said she liked the quiet. It didn’t hurt that she looked absolutely stunning in the morning light—golden hair down her back, legs for days, and that cute little tank top she wore to bed that barely covered anything.

I rolled over and let out a yawn, flexing out the sleep from my shoulders. My body still had that swimmer’s cut—broad chest, narrow waist, toned arms—but I’d let go of the pool years ago. Didn’t matter though. I kept in shape, hit the gym, and it showed. Rachel loved it. Couldn’t keep her hands off me.

And I loved how she looked at me—like I was the man of the house. Which, to be fair, I was.

I stretched again and got up, throwing on a pair of shorts before stepping into the hall. The smell of breakfast hit me immediately. Bacon, coffee, eggs—hell yeah.

“There you are,” Rachel said without turning, her voice light. “Lazy boy.”

I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her neck. “You love it.”

She smirked and leaned into me. “I do. Doesn’t mean you’re not lazy.”

She handed me a plate without asking—two eggs, four slices of bacon, and a stack of toast. Hers was more modest, but she still ate like a champ. Girl had energy. And damn if she didn’t look good doing it.

We sat at the kitchen island, legs brushing. I rested a hand on her thigh under the counter, fingers teasing softly. She gave me that look—half annoyed, half turned on. Typical.

“I’ve got a meeting at noon,” she said. “You gonna behave today?”

“Depends. You coming home in that black dress again?”

“Maybe.”

I grinned. “Then probably not.”

She rolled her eyes and nudged me with her foot. I loved this. Loved her. We’d been living together for two years now, and even though she had a busy schedule and I was freelancing most days, it worked. We had sex whenever we wanted, teased each other constantly, and made it through the highs and lows like a damn team.

I leaned in and kissed her again—slow, deep.

She melted into it for a second, then pulled back. “You keep doing that, I’m gonna be late.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She laughed and got up, heading toward the bedroom to get dressed. I watched her go, my eyes dragging over the curve of her hips, her toned little butt bouncing with each step.

Yeah. Life was good.

I had everything I wanted.

I just didn’t know how much was about to change.