This is a new feeling entirely.
I select a grape from the platter, rolling it between my fingers the same way he did hours ago. He watches every movement, his chest rising and falling with quickened breaths. The mighty Luke Morrison, reduced to tracking fruit with hungry eyes.
I could get used to this.
"Open," I command, and the word feels strange in my mouth. I've never been the one giving orders.
He hesitates for a short second, a flash of his usual dominance surfacing, and I raise an eyebrow.
"I said open."
His jaw unclenches, and his lips part. The sight of my husband obeying me sends a rush of heat straight between my thighs.
I trace the grape across his lower lip, slow and teasing, watching his tongue twitch with the urge to chase it. But he doesn't. He waits, letting me control the pace, and the submission in that small act makes me want to devour him.
I press the grape between his lips, and he bites down. Juice runs down his chin—just like it ran down mine—and I lean in to lick it away.
He groans at the contact, his hips jerking up involuntarily. His cock is fully hard now, straining toward me, and I deliberately don't touch it. Not yet.
"Patience," I murmur against his jaw. "Isn't that what you told me?"
"Seraphina." My name comes out a strangled growl.
"Yes, husband?" I pull back, reaching for another grape. "Did you want something?"
"You know what I want."
"Do I?" I circle the grape around his mouth, watching his lips try to follow it. "Why don't you tell me? Use your words, like you always make me do."
The look he gives me is equal parts frustration and admiration. He's not used to this—being the one who has to ask, to articulate, to beg. It's a language he's made me fluent in, but he's barely a beginner.
"Touch me," he finally says. "Please."
"Touch you where?" I let the grape drift down his neck, across his collarbone. "Here?"
"Lower."
I trail it down his chest, circling one nipple, then the other. "Here?"
"Seraphina." There's a warning in his voice, but it's toothless. He can't do anything to back it up.
"That's not an answer." I continue my slow path downward, tracing the lines of his abs. "Be specific, Luke. Tell me exactly what you want."
I watch him wrestle with the pride that doesn't want to submit, the need that's demanding he give in. It's the same battle I've fought every time he's had me tied up and begging. I know exactly how it feels to want something so badly that dignity becomes irrelevant.
"I want you to touch my cock." The words come out rough, almost defiant. "I want your hands on me. Your mouth. Anything. Please, Seraphina."
There it is.Please.
"Good boy," I say, and his eyes flare with something between shock and arousal.
I've never called him that before. It's always been good girl on his lips, not the other way around. But the way his cock stiffens at the words tells me he doesn't mind the reversal.
I set the grape aside and wrap my hand around him.
He hisses through his teeth, his whole body going taut. He's so hard it has to be painful.
"Is this what you wanted?" I stroke him slowly, watching his face contort with pleasure. "My hand on your cock?"
