Page 205 of The Sin Binder's Chains

I laugh. Or try to.

It comes out strangled.

“If I say yes, do I get extra credit?”

She smiles then. Just a flicker. Dangerous and pleased.

“Only if you beg.”

And fuck, I might.

She tips me backward.

No hesitation. No question. Just her hand on my chest and enough pressure to send me down onto the mattress like I belong there, flat on my back, heartbeat in my throat, mouth parted like I’m ready to beg without even knowing what for.

And let’s be honest, I am about two seconds away from going feral.

Because she’s looking at me like I’m not real. Like I’m something she conjured, something she earned.

Her leg slides over mine as she straddles me, slow and controlled, like every movement is a deliberate act of domination. And gods, it works. My blood spikes. My mind blanks.

I reach for her hips, but she slaps my hands away without a word.

Just a sharp look.

A warning.

And fuck, that does something to me I’m not proud of.

She leans down, mouth hovering just above mine, her hair curtaining our faces like the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore, and maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just her and me and this bed and the bond crackling under my skin like wildfire.

“You want to touch me?” she asks, voice like a dare.

“Yes,” I say, hoarse.

“Earn it.”

Fuck.

My laugh comes out choked. “Okay, yeah, noted. We’re doing the villainous goddess act now. Cool. Sexy. Slightly terrifying.”

She smiles.

“Terrifying?” she echoes, dragging her fingers down my chest with maddening slowness.

“I mean,” I breathe, “in a deeply erotic, please-ruin-me kind of way.”

And then she does.

Not all at once. Just enough to remind me that I said yes. That I gave her this. That I wanted the bond, the magic, the madness that comes with her touch.

Because now I’m not just Elias Dain, sarcasm merchant and reluctant lover.

Now I’m hers.

And I want her to prove it.

She doesn’t kiss me again. Not right away. Instead, she hovers, her body straddling mine, eyes burning with something that feels like prophecy. Her mouth hovers just above mine, her breath brushing against my lips, not soft, not teasing, but loaded. Every inch of her is coiled with purpose. She’s not here to ask for permission. She’s here to remind me who I just gave myself to. The air between us simmers, full of unspoken heat, and I realize she’s waiting. For words. For surrender. For confirmation.

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