His hands are bound above his head, arms stretched and curved so the hollows at his elbow are emptied of shadows. Naked, naturally, legs spread by my order and held by my whim. He’s hard and it has to hurt.
He’s forbidden to speak, forbidden to raise his eyes to my face, forbidden to beg, yes, even that glimpse of a possibility – that I might have mercy – is taken from him, though he must know it’s not in me to give.
And every second his body screams a message. Submission? Spike? No. Never.He’s daring me.
And that’s when I -
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