“You're touching me. I'm responsive.”
“Good. That makes this easier.” He gestured toward the bed. “Kneel. Hands behind your back.”
I crossed to the bed and sank to my knees on carpet that was softer than it looked, lacing my fingers together at the small of my back, shoulders pulled slightly, chest forward. Submissive but not broken — offering without begging.
Harrow circled me again, slower this time. “Have you done this before?”
“Yes.”
“Recently?”
“Recently enough to know what I'm doing.”
“Perfect.” He moved to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and produced a length of rope — black silk, the same quality I'd seen at Eden. Moving behind me, he bound my wrists with professional knots that were secure without being damaging, tested the tension, checked circulation, and stepped back to consider his work.
“Stand. Face the bed.”
I stood and moved where he indicated. He guided me forward until my thighs pressed against the mattress, then pushed me down so that my chest hit the bed and my arse was in the air, wrists bound uselessly behind my back.
“Perfect.” His hand traced down my spine in a long, possessive stroke. “Now let's see how well you follow instructions when you're not the one in control.”
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my boxers and dragged them down slowly. The fabric caught on my erection and pulled it down briefly before releasing it, and cool air hit heated skin as he gripped my arse and spread me open, examining me with the same clinical detachment he'd use on anything he intended to use.
“Have you been used recently?”
“Not recently.”
“Good. I prefer tight.” His thumb pressed against my hole, circling without penetrating. “Though we'll need to prepare you. I can't have you tearing. That would be inconvenient.”
A drawer opened behind me, a bottle cap flipped, and then his fingers returned slick with lubricant, pressing against my entrance with steady and deliberate pressure. One finger pushed inside, the stretch immediate, my body clenching around the intrusion before I forced my muscles to unclench.
“Breathe,” he instructed. “Relax. This goes better when you don't fight it.”
I breathed and let him add a second finger, then a third, stretching me open with clinical thoroughness until he found my prostate and pressed against it with enough precision to make my cock leak onto the expensive bedding.
“Responsive,” he observed. “Your body knows what it wants even when you're trying to pretend this is just service.”
“I'm not pretending anything.”
“No? Then why are you hard? Why is your hole clenching around my fingers trying to pull me deeper?” He thrust them harder, making my back arch off the bed. “You want this. You want to be filled and used and reminded that you're nothing more than a hole for my pleasure.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.” He withdrew his fingers completely and I heard his footsteps move around to the head of the bed. “Turn your head. Look at me.”
I twisted as much as my position allowed. Harrow stood beside the bed, his suit still perfectly in place except for his trousers — zip undone, his cock jutting through the opening, thick and long and flushed dark with arousal, a bead of precome gathering at the tip.
“Before I fuck you, I want to see that mouth put to proper use.” He gripped the base of his cock and stroked once. “Open.”
I opened my mouth. He stepped closer and guided the head between my lips, the taste of precome hitting my tongue immediately.
“Wider. I want to feel the back of your throat.”
I relaxed my jaw and let him push deeper. The angle was awkward — my face turned sideways, my body still bent over the bed with my arse in the air and my wrists bound behind my back — but that didn't concern him. He pushed until he hit the back of my throat and my body's instinct was to gag against him.
“Breathe through your nose,” he instructed. “And don't you dare bite.”
He withdrew slightly, then thrust back in, establishing a rhythm built entirely around dominance rather than any mutual pleasure, his hand fisting in my hair to hold me in place while he used my mouth with the unhurried confidence of someone who knew he wouldn't be interrupted. When he finally pulled out, his cock was glistening with my spit.
