Sun bathes him as it fully rises above the mountains in the distance, and my breath catches in response to how it illuminates the picture before me.
He is so beautiful.
Down there.
On hisknees.
For reasons unknown, I pull my bare foot from his grasp.
His head lifts, and I do wish he weren’t blindfolded. I am near desperate to see the look in his eyes right now. I wonder, sadistically, if it might be begging, or pleading, oragonizingoversome twisted want of me that he’s not giving in to. I can hardly comprehend how lovely that might be—to see desire tempered by self-control.
When I curl my toes beneath his chin, he swallows, and I watch the muscles in his throat and jaw tense. Lips parting, he takes in short breaths. Desperation sparks, setting fire to a lust so deep I cannot imagine his self-control will hold.
I jolt my foot away from him. “What is wrong with you?” I ask, heart panicking.
“Does my queen petition a list? Shall I write it in my blood?” He grips my ankle, presses the bottom of my foot to his chest, and teeters on the edge of this cliff. “If I do not suit you at any moment, remove me from your sight. There is no part of me you should fear. No reason you should ever hold your tongue or worry I might act against your will. I am your slave. Treat me with confidence.”
I am your slave.
My heartthuds.
This should not be the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. It shouldn’t. I’ve been made to kiss models in their underwear while people take pictures from every angle. In full view of the public, I’ve touched abs shredded from dehydration. My entire life, I’ve overheard lewd, mature comments about me when I was too young to understand what they even meant.
This is nothing.
This should be nothing.
My heart should be quiet and numb to all sorts of advances.
What is going on?
Eerily, liquid calm flows through my veins.
I relax.
“You…aren’t going to hurt me?” I ask.
“It is not my desire to push you away from me.”
I wet my lips. “And…you aren’t going to force me to do anything?”
“Not if you aren’t well enough to defend yourself.”
“That’s…not a comfort, exactly, is it?”
“I dislike constraints.”
“You keep me in a cage.”
“For your safety. Like in the Eros and Psyche retelling.”
My brow furrows. “What?”
“He’s monstrous. She doesn’t know. He keeps her locked up, so she won’t find out. Then, when she gets him to trust her enough to give her freedom, it third-acts.”
“Third…act break up?”
“Yes.”
