Page 24 of His to Command

She rests her head on my chest, finger tracing idle patterns through the light dusting of hair there. "What happens now?"

"Now?" I press a kiss to the top of her head. "Now we begin."

Robin tilts her face up to mine, and I see in her eyes that she understands the magnitude of what I'm offering. Not just my body. Not just my wealth or power or protection. But myself. The core that no one has ever reached. The vulnerability I've never shown.

When she kisses me, soft and certain, I know I've won. Know she's finally mine in all the ways that matter.

For the first time in my life, surrender feels like victory.

nine

. . .

Robin

I wakein Hudson's bed, morning light spilling across sheets that cost more than my monthly rent. His arm lies heavy across my waist, his breathing deep and even against my neck. It's been a week since that night in my apartment—a week of living in this penthouse, sleeping in this bed, surrendering to the inevitable gravity between us. I should feel trapped. Should feel consumed by his overwhelming presence. Instead, I feel... found. Like I've spent my whole life scattered in pieces, and Hudson is finally putting me back together.

His grip tightens reflexively as I shift, even in sleep unwilling to let me go. The possessiveness that once terrified me now feels like safety. Like certainty in a world of maybes.

"You're thinking too loudly," he murmurs against my hair, voice rough with sleep.

I smile, pressing back against the solid warmth of him. "Just processing."

"Regrets?" The question holds a vulnerability that still surprises me coming from him.

"No." I turn in his arms to face him, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with my fingertip. "The opposite."

His eyes, heavy-lidded and intent, search mine. Whatever he finds there satisfies him. He captures my wandering finger, brings it to his mouth, bites gently. The small pain shoots straight to my core, igniting the constant simmer of desire that exists between us.

"I want to try something," he says, releasing my finger.

"Okay." My agreement comes without hesitation. This, too, is new—this immediate trust, this certainty that whatever he wants will be what I need.

He sits up, sheet pooling at his waist, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen. I follow the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the fabric, remembering how it feels against my skin.

"I want to tie you up," he says, eyes never leaving mine. "Spread you out on my bed. Make you completely mine."

My breath catches. We've been wild together—bent over desks, pressed against windows, taken hard against walls—but this is different. This is deliberate surrender.

"You're afraid," he observes, reading my expression with unnerving accuracy.

"Not afraid." I sit up too, letting the sheet fall away, baring my breasts to his gaze. His eyes darken appreciatively. "Just... it's a lot of trust."

"Yes." He cups my cheek. "It is."

That he acknowledges it, understands it, makes the decision easy. "Yes," I say simply.

His smile is wolfish, triumphant. "Now?"

I nod, pulse quickening with anticipation rather than fear.

He kisses me once, hard and possessive, then rises from the bed in all his naked glory. I watch hungrily as he moves to a dresser, retrieves something from a drawer. When he turns back, he holds four long strips of black silk.

"Lie back," he instructs. "Arms above your head."

I comply, arranging myself in the center of his massive bed. The position makes me feel exposed, vulnerable. My generous hips, soft belly, full breasts—all on display with nowhere to hide.

"Beautiful," he breathes, returning to the bed. "My beautiful Robin."

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