Page 25 of Bound in Silk

For a moment, hesitation—the independent woman who has fought my control since the beginning warring with the woman who responds so beautifully to my dominance. Then, slowly, her arms raise, wrists crossing above her head in unconscious submission that sends a surge of pure male satisfaction through me.

From the nightstand drawer, I retrieve what I've been saving for this moment—black silk ties, soft enough not to mark her delicate skin but strong enough to hold her exactly where I want her. Her eyes widen as she realizes my intent, a flash of panic followed by something darker, more primal.

"Knox, we never discussed?—"

"Consider this our discussion," I interrupt, securing one wrist to the headboard with practiced efficiency. "I told you whatwould happen if you ran again. If you tested my resolve." The second wrist joins the first, bound securely but not painfully. "I told you I would tie you to this bed if that's what it took to keep you safe. To keep you here. To keep you mine."

The sight of her bound to our bed, completely at my mercy, triggers something almost painful in its intensity—not just desire, though that burns hot enough, but a deeper emotion that encompasses protection, possession, and a vulnerability I show to no one but her.

"This is not patience," she points out, testing the restraints with a gentle tug. "This is not the understanding you promised in the hotel room."

"No," I agree, my hands tracing the contours of her body with deliberate thoroughness, relearning every curve, every sensitive spot, every place that makes her breath catch. "This is consequence. This is what happens when you run from what's meant to be. When you hide from what's inevitable. When you lie to my face and disappear for hours, leaving me to imagine the worst."

My mouth follows where my hands have mapped, tasting her skin, marking her with deliberate intent at the places only I know drive her wild—the hollow of her throat, the undersides of her breasts, the sensitive juncture where thigh meets torso. Her body responds instantly, honestly, arching into my touch despite the restraints, despite her continued verbal resistance.

"I wasn't rejecting you," she gasps as my mouth closes over one nipple, my teeth grazing the sensitive peak. "Just needed space?—"

"No more space," I murmur against her skin, moving lower, my hands spreading her thighs to expose her completely. "No more distance. No more running."

When my mouth finds her center, her protests dissolve into incoherent sounds of pleasure, her hips rising to meetme despite her mind's continued resistance. I take my time, using every skill, every knowledge of her body I've accumulated through our time together. Not rushing, not allowing her to retreat into the quick release her body is already building toward, but drawing out her pleasure until she's mindless with it, until all thoughts of resistance or independence or space are incinerated by pure sensation.

"Knox," she finally begs, my name a broken plea on her lips. "Please?—"

"Please what?" I demand, lifting my head to meet her eyes, now glazed with desperate need. "Tell me exactly what you want, Seraphina. What you need."

"You," she admits, the single syllable a victory more significant than she realizes. "Inside me. Now."

I move up her body, positioning myself between her spread thighs, the head of my cock notching at her entrance but not yet pushing forward. "Say you're mine," I demand, needing to hear the words, needing her verbal surrender to match her body's. "Say you won't run again."

Rebellion flashes in her eyes—the final stand of her pride, her independence, her resistance to the inevitability of what's between us. For a moment, I think she'll refuse, will maintain this last barrier despite her body's desperate need for completion.

Then surrender, as beautiful in its completeness as it is in its rarity.

"Yours," she whispers, the admission clearly costing her something but no less genuine for that. "I'm yours, Knox. I won't run again."

With one powerful thrust, I bury myself inside her, both of us groaning at the exquisite sensation of reconnection. She's tight, hot, perfect—her body welcoming me home even as her boundwrists remind us both of the consequence of her attempted escape.

"Mine," I growl against her throat as I establish a rhythm designed to break through any remaining resistance. "Say it again, Seraphina. Tell me who you belong to."

"Yours," she gasps, her legs wrapping around my waist to draw me deeper. "Only yours, Knox. Always."

The admission drives me to a near frenzy of possession, my movements becoming more forceful, more demanding, more primal in their intent to claim, to mark, to own. One hand slides beneath her hips, changing the angle to hit the spot that always makes her wild, while the other tangles in her hair, holding her steady for my driving thrusts.

"Who makes you feel like this?" I demand, my voice rough with exertion and emotion. "Who knows your body better than you know it yourself? Who owns every part of you, inside and out?"

"You," she sobs, her inner muscles beginning to flutter around me as her climax approaches. "Only you, Knox. Never anyone else."

"That's right," I confirm, my thumb finding her clit, circling with precise pressure that I know will send her over the edge. "And don't you ever forget it again. Don't you ever try to run from this. From us."

Her release hits with stunning intensity, her body arching beneath mine despite the restraints, my name a broken cry on her lips as pleasure overwhelms her. The sight of her coming undone, completely surrendered to the connection between us, triggers my own climax. I drive into her once more, emptying myself deep inside her, marking her in the most primal way possible.

In the aftermath, I untie her wrists, gathering her against me as we both struggle to regulate our breathing. Her armswrap around me without hesitation, all resistance temporarily incinerated by the intensity of what we've just shared.

"That was..." she begins, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Necessary," I supply, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Overdue. Inevitable."

She makes a sound that might be agreement or protest, her body boneless with satisfaction against mine. I trace idle patterns on her skin, savoring the moment of complete surrender that I know won't last once her mind reasserts control over her body's response.

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