Leather.
Black.
Anchored into the stone tub.
What are we going to do?
Fear and want both coated my tongue.
I let the taste sit there, bitter and sweet at once.
Another knee forward.
The left one found a warm patch where steam had settled heavier, and a slick heat kissed the skin below my kneecap. My palms pressed on, fingers spread, the pads of them finding tiny imperfections—a chip in the marble, a seam that rose at a ridge, a grain of gold lodged in the grout. Every small flaw became part of the journey.
“Head up,” she said.
I lifted my gaze. The world widened by inches: the low, wide expanse of the tub, the lavender mist, the glass wand laying to the side, catching candlelight.
My breathing picked up.
Her voice remained steady. “Keep coming.”
The tub grew close.
Time lost its edges. I couldn’t tell if I’d been on all fours for seconds or hours.
I crawled over my own reflection where water had spilled and glassed the floor. The man in the watery mirror looked like a ferocious creature half-formed by heat and shadow where every movement broke and remade him.
Knees.
Hands.
Knees.
Hands.
The rhythm was just as soothing as the movement.
My Queen spoke, “Stop there.”
I obliged. . .for now.
My cock wanted her badly.
“Look at me.”
I lifted my view.
Our eyes met.
In that connection, I saw the depths of her power and my submission. Her command was a living thing, binding me to her, pulling me closer. Her power was not an illusion, it was the very fabric of her being, and I was woven into it.
Even the fullness of her gaze reminded me of the first time I'd seen her, the way she'd anchored herself in my world without even knowing it.
She studied me. “How do you feel?”
“At peace and somewhat in a daze.”
