His eyes narrow, curiosity and arousal warring in their depths. "What?—"
"Bind yourself." The words come easier now, power singing through my veins. "Wrap them around your throat. Show me you mean it when you say I can take what I need."
For a moment, he's utterly still. Then understanding dawns, dark and hungry, and his lips curve into something that's almost pride.
"You want me helpless," he murmurs.
"I want you reminded," I correct, stepping closer, "that tonight, I own you."
The shadows respond before he even speaks a command—rising from his skin like living smoke, serpentine and eager. They coil around his throat in thick bands, tightening just enough that I see his breath catch, see the strain in his neck as they constrict.
Not enough to truly hurt. But enough to remind him he's given me this power.
"Tighter," I demand.
His eyes flash with something wild, but he obeys. The shadows constrict further, and I watch his throat work against them, watch the way his chest rises and falls with more effort now. He could dispel them with a thought. Could overpower me in seconds.
But he doesn't.
He kneels before me, shadows wrapped around his own throat, and looks up at me like I'm both salvation and damnation.
"Better?" His voice comes out rougher, strained by the pressure at his throat.
"Much." I tangle my fingers in his hair and wrench his head back, exposing the long line of his neck where shadows bite into flesh. The sight is intoxicating—this powerful, ancient creature, bound by his own darkness at my command.
My body responds with a rush of heat that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the raw, primal satisfaction of control reclaimed.
"What else do you want?" he rasps, and even with shadows choking him, his voice drips with dark promise.
"Open your mouth."
He bares his teeth as he obeys, the expression feral. When I crash my mouth against his, it isn't a kiss—it's war. Teeth. Blood.Rage. I pour months of violation and helplessness into him, and he takes it all, giving back tenfold even as the shadows around his throat tighten with each movement.
I pull away, breathless. His lip bleeds where I bit too hard. He licks the blood like he enjoys the taste of his own pain, eyes glazed with hunger.
"More," he growls, the word strangled. "Take what you want."
The restraint in his body is visible, trembling. He's holding back a monster he's spent centuries perfecting. The shadows at his throat pulse with his barely leashed control—one command from him and they'd release, and whatever thin veneer of submission he's maintaining would shatter.
But he doesn't give that command.
He's choosing this. Choosing me. Choosing to let me feel powerful again.
"Strip," I order, my voice low and dark. "Everything. But the shadows stay exactly where they are."
This time, he doesn't obey immediately. He tilts his head—as much as the restraints allow—eyes narrowing as if deciding whether to indulge me or remind me just how quickly he could reverse our positions.
A long, tense beat.
Then—slowly, deliberately—he begins shedding clothing. Not the smooth obedience from before. This is ritualistic. Hunting. A dark king disarming not in surrender but in patience, while shadows continue to bind his throat in a chokehold of his own making.
By the time he stands bare before me, the air itself vibrates with violence barely contained.
"On the bed. On your back."
He goes. But the way he moves—iron sinew, coiled power, darkness bleeding at his throat—makes it clear: he is allowingthis only because he wants to see how far I'll dare push him before he breaks.
I straddle him, my clothed body against his naked one, another reminder of the power imbalance I'm creating. My hands carve more red lines across his chest, and this time when his blood wells up, I feel something dark and satisfied uncoil in my chest.
