This grip he holds, presses me down and yet I find I’m not inclined to fight. I yield to his superior strength instead, reveling in his mastery. Tight sinew squeezes around my wrists, pinching, and eliciting a whimper of pain from my lips. He loves this sound…I know this, and I use it. It drives him and fuels his lust. Something I desperately desire to incite.
I twist fractionally, but not too much. I can’t show my hand. I’ve been told not to move, but the tiny tremor reminds him there is struggle still within me.
The responsive growl in his throat, low, ominous, building to something more, sends shocks of fear zinging through my body. He is ready, and I am so very willing. In the space of a moment, he flips me to my stomach. The leather of his belt makes that most delicious sound as he draws it out of his belt loops. The buckle jangles while he folds it over.
“Don’t make a sound, baby,” he says.
I smile into the pillow. Oh, no. I’ve been waiting for this all day.