Page 45 of His to Hunt

"A cage is still a cage, no matter how pretty the bars," she counters.

I smile slowly. "You say that like I promised you freedom. I didn't. I promised you ownership. There's a difference."

She doesn't move. Not yet. She stands there like she's weighing the last piece of pride she hasn't spent. And for a moment, I let her. Because watching her choose submission is worth more than dragging it out of her by force.

Her fingers flex at her sides, like she's weighing the price of defiance. I tilt my head.

"I gave you space to speak," I say softly. "Now you're going to show me what else that mouth is good at."

Her throat works around a breath. She doesn't argue. Doesn't make some clever retort. She just drops.

Not gracefully. Not quickly. But with intention. Controlled.

She hesitates. Not long. Not visibly. But I see it.The flex of her hands. The tightening of her jaw. The war behind her eyes as she weighs her pride against the inevitability of me.

That's what I'm enjoying most. She doesn't fall into submission. She claws her way toward it. And watching her get on her knees—slow, deliberate, like she's still pretending it's her choice—it does something to me.

Makes my cock unbearably hard.

It's not just her beauty, because even now—with no makeup and no hope—she looks like a goddess in the glow of my monitors.

It's the fire behind her hazel eyes. It's knowing what this costs her. And knowing she's giving it to me anyway.

That's the moment I feel it. Not softness. Not care. Power. That sharp, bone-deep satisfaction that comes from watching something wild lower itself—not because it's been broken, but because it's starting to understand who it belongs to.

"You're learning," I murmur, watching as she settles between my legs, her eyes never leaving mine. "Not obedient yet. But the beginnings of it."

"Don't mistake necessity for submission," she says, her voice quiet but edged. "I'm choosing battles I can win."

I laugh softly. "Still thinking there's a way to defeat me. Adorable."

"Isn't there?" she challenges, hands resting lightly on my thighs.

"No," I answer simply. "There's only the question of how long you'll fight before you realize every single piece of you belongs to me."

She's daring me to see her as weak.

I don't.

I see her exactly as she is. My Possession. On her knees. Ready to be used.

I push the waistband of my thin pants down and pull my cock free. The sight of her kneeling before me, defiance still burning in her eyes even as she prepares to take me, is more intoxicating than any fantasy.

"Open."

Her lips twitch, hesitation trembling on the edge of defiance—then they part, slow and shaky, like she knows she's about to lose this war. Those lips that argued and challenged and denied me not minutes ago, now opening for my pleasure.

And I slide into her mouth.

Her mouth is warm, lips soft and hesitant as they close around me. She starts slow, tentative.

Which tells me everything I need to know. She still thinks this is something she can control. Still thinks her pace matters. That I'll let her take her time, like this is for her, not for me.

I let it happen. Just long enough to feel her tongue slide against the underside of my cock. Long enough to hear her breathe through her nose and fight the instinct to pull back when I press in deeper.

Then I reach down. Fist my hand in her hair.

And I take the fuck over.

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