With a low groan, he reached for his rigid length…only to be greeted by a sharp, painful shock from the non-con manacles.
“Fuck!” he growled. Now what was he supposed to do?
He leaned back against the door, letting the memories flood him as his cock throbbed…letting them get him where he needed to go.
He remembered the exact weight of her in his lap last night at the banquet… the hidden, forbidden pressure of his cock between her thighs. He remembered the sight of her on her knees before him in the shower, all wet and sleek.
But most of all, he remembered the feeling of her chaining him to the bed just minutes ago. The bite of the manacles on his wrists… the strain in his shoulders as he offered himself to her. The look in her eyes—not cruelty, but a dawning, powerful ownership—as she explored his body. The feel of her soft mouth on his nipple…her fingers stroking him…her hot breath bathing the most sensitive parts of him…
“Kaitlyn…Mistress,” he groaned into the empty room. He pictured her above him, riding him, taking her pleasure from his body as he’d begged her to. He imagined her keeping him chained for hours—days—servicing her with his tongue until she was satisfied, his own release perpetually denied, a willing slave to her whim.
Even though he couldn’t touch himself, the fantasy—combined with the visceral memory of her scent and her touch—pushed him over the edge. With a choked, guttural roar he muffled against his own arm, his orgasm ripped through him. Thick ropes of cum shot across the pristine marble floor, stripe after stripe, as his body convulsed with the force of it.
It was a fierce, lonely release, draining the immediate, frantic need from his body but leaving a deeper, more profound hunger untouched. He was hers. And this solo emptying was a pitiful placeholder for the Bonding he truly craved.
He cleaned up swiftly, splashing cold water on his face. When he emerged, the physical urgency had receded, banked to steady, smoldering embers. But his devotion—his need to submit—burned brighter than ever.
Kaitlyn was dressed. The sight of her made his heart skip a beat—gods, she was gorgeous!
The gown was another masterpiece of sexual provocation. It was a cascade of liquid silver—a fabric that seemed to be woven from moonlight and mist. The cut was deceptively simple—a scooped neckline in the front that plunged in a dramatic V down her back to the very base of her spine.
The sleeves were long and fitted, but the sides of the gown were open from hip to armpit, held together by delicate, criss-crossing strands of platinum chain that revealed tantalizing glimpses of the creamy skin of her waist and the curves of her breasts.
The skirt, of course, had a high slit up the middle, parting with each step to show her long, elegant legs and a flash of the silver panties that matched the dress.
She looked like a queen of some forbidden, erotic court—regal, untouchable, and utterly desirable, Braze thought. He wondered if he would ever deserve her and decided he probably wouldn’t—but as long as he kept trying and she was willing to accept his service, that would be enough.
“Gods, Mistress,” he said, letting his eyes run up and down her curves. “You look fucking amazing in that!”
Kaitlyn’s cheeks went pink with pleasure, and it occurred to him that she had no idea just how beautiful she was. And no wonder—it sounded like her ex-mate had been a real bastard who probably never paid her compliments.
“Thank you, Braze. Er, the Mistress of the Wardrobe sent new clothes for us to wear at the Morning Court,” she said, her eyes running over his still-naked body with an appreciation that made the banked coals of desire inside him flare.
“I see,” he rumbled, his gaze drinking her in. Then he noticed the hesitation in her posture, the way her fingers twisted together and the way she was nibbling her lower lip. “What is it?” he asked, stepping closer. “What do you not want to tell me?”
“Well…” She cleared her throat, another blush coloring her cheeks. She reached for a small object on the bed beside a pile of new clothing for him. “The servant who brought the clothes… he said you must be caged. Apparently, it’s proper protocol for Morning Court. All the wives cage their husbands.”
“Caged?” He frowned, unsure of what she meant.
She held it up a device of sleek, polished silver.
“This thing. Remember? The Mistress of the Wardrobe made it after I measured you. I, uh, think it has to fit around your, um, shaft.”
Understanding dawned and Braze nodded.
“Oh, right.” A strange cocktail of emotions stirred in his chest. Apprehension…curiosity…and a sharp, unexpected spike of arousal.
His old Mistress, Lovelyone, had enjoyed displaying him. She’d often locked him into cruel, constricting rings that kept him hard and aching for her amusement. But a cage…that was different. She had never used such a device on him.
Still, Braze understood instinctively that the cage wasn’t about showing off his arousal but controlling it—containing it. Once Kaitlyn slipped it on him, he would be putting the key to his very manhood in someone else’s hand.
He looked from the cold silver device to his Mistress’s uncertain face. She clearly wasn’t sure how he felt about this. Honestly, Braze didn’t know either. But he did know he wasn’t afraid.
The idea of submitting this most intimate form of control to the woman he loved didn’t frighten him. In fact, it set his blood singing. The trust required to do such a thing was absolute—the surrender, complete.
He wanted to do this, he realized—wanted to give her this power over him. It felt deeply personal…and deeply erotic.
“Do it,” he said, the words leaving him in a deep, sure rumble.
