Her nails traced down my abdomen, following the rigid lines of my skin with deliberate pressure.
Teasing me. Testing me.
And fuck, I was failing her test.
“Or what?” Her question hung there, heavy with expectation.
She wanted to know how far she could push me.
How far I’d let her go.
I let my breath slow, drop by calculated drop, and wrapped my hands around her hips—my grip tight enough to earn me a gasp, as I spoke, “Or I’ll remind you who’s really in control.”
The corner of her mouth quirked up in a grin that was pure sin.
But there was a flicker of anticipation in her eyes, and I caught it.
Held it.
With a flick of my wrist, I tangled my fingers in her hair, dragging her closer.
Just enough to own.
I tugged until our mouths hovered inches apart, her breath spilling into mine, shaky and hot.
Her pulse jumping beneath my touch.
I moved her on to her back toward the bed, forcing her down onto the mattress with my weight pressing her there, my body caging hers completely.
I braced myself on my forearm as I reached for the nightstand with the other, finding exactly what I needed without looking.
The rope felt cool and familiar in my hands.
Soft but unyielding.
She watched me with wide eyes, her breathing uneven, but there was no fear there.
Just a want that was raw and exposed waiting for me.
And I would give it to her.
I pulled her wrists above her head, locking them together with practiced ease. Tying her to the metal hook embedded in the headboard.
A moan slipped from her lips when the rope tightened.
And I felt it—the tremble in her body.
The desperate arch of her back as she sought friction.
She was already breaking.
Already offering herself up on the altar of whatever we were becoming.
She writhed beneath me, every movement a plea, every desperate press of her hips an unspoken surrender.
And her face…God, her face was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Eyes dark and heavy-lidded.