Noah’s smiling, sweet. Not innocent.
Elliot standing, hands behind his back, waiting for inspection.
I stop in front of him.
“You,” I say, tilting my head. “Down.”
He drops to his knees without a word.
No protest. No questions.
And fuck, it does something to me.
Elliot, who only gives power when he chooses.
Giving it now.
To me.
I drag my fingers through his hair. Grip. Not gently.
“On the bed.”
He moves. Graceful. Controlled. But he obeys.
I follow.
The others gather like gravity’s rearranging them around me.
I slide the silk blindfold from the toybox and hold it out.
Elliot stiffens.
“It’s me,” I whisper, low by his ear. “Just me. Do you trust me?”
He nods once.
I bind him in black.
The fabric smooths over his eyes.
He lets out a breath that sounds like surrender.
My chest tightens in the most delicious way.
The others are watching.
Eyes on me, breath held, the room coiled.
I don’t look at them yet.
“Vitaly.” My voice slices through the hush.
He startles slightly.
I beckon with two fingers. “Behind me.”
He moves slowly. Swallows.
