Page 57 of Her Soul to Own

She moves toward me, slow and sure, the sound of her bare feet a whisper against stone. When she stops in front of me, I lift the sash between us like an offering. My gaze never leaves hers.

“I’m going to tie you up.” It’s more of a declaration than a request.

Her breath hitches, and she nods once. No words. Just quiet, trusting consent.

I take her wrists in my hands so gently that it almost feels like reverence. Then slowly, I begin to loop the fabric around them. The fabric glides, binding her wrists in a simple knot that rests light and loose. No tightness. No threat. Only promise.

Her lips part slightly. Her cheeks are flushed, glowing.

“You trust me?” I ask.

She doesn’t speak. But she doesn’t have to. Her silence is devotion.

I guide her to the garden bench, iron-framed and padded, surrounded by vines curling like silent sentinels. She lowers herself onto it without resistance, the silk knot resting between her thighs as her arms stay bound.

The moonlight washes over her like water. She looks like something sacred. Truly like sin wrapped in silk.

“You’re perfect like this,” I whisper, my voice a slow burn. “So good. So quiet. So… mine.”

She shudders. Her legs shift slightly, her thighs pressing together as though to hold something in. Still, she says nothing.

My fingers trail down her calf, grazing her ankle and drawing a line of heat up the back of her knee. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t move away, doesn’t stop me. My knuckles continue to brush her bare skin.

She gasps.

I lean in, close enough that my breath fans over her lips. But I don’t kiss her. Not yet.

“Look at me,” I say.

Her eyes lift, wide and luminous, locking onto mine.

My hand drifts higher, up over her abdomen, before resting softly just beneath her navel. A grounding touch. Protective. Possessive in its stillness.

“No one,” I say quietly, “will ever touch you like I do. Because they won’t earn it.”

Her body arches, quiet and pleading. That beautiful nervousness returns, threaded between reverence and ruin.

I lower my forehead to hers, exhaling slowly. She trembles beneath me, open and vulnerable, her wrists still bound in silk, her every breath a wordless yes.

But still, I wait.

Because the real power is in the pause.

And she deserves every second of it.

“On your knees,” I command, my voice deep and raw.

She obeys instantly, kneeling between my legs, her wrists bound and resting just above her thighs. Moonlight spills through the glass walls of the sunroom, painting gold across her skin. She looks up at me through those dark lashes that have lived in the back of my mind for far too long, her mouth slightly parted, waiting. Willing.

Her body is flushed and glowing, her pale skin kissed pink, her nipples tight and begging for my mouth. It’s small enough to cup fully in one hand, but full enough that I can already imagine how they’ll feel sliding against my chest… or around my cock.

I push my pants down just enough to free myself, leaving everything else on. I have always preferred it that way, clothed and composed, while she’s naked and unraveling at my feet. There’s something brutally intoxicating about it. Like power stripped bare. She’s the conundrum. I’m the control.

She shifts, her thighs trembling slightly as she squeezes them together. Even with her hands tied, she finds a way to touch herself, the friction enough to keep her trembling.

“You’re leaking on me already,” I murmur, glancing at the dark stain soaking through my pants. “Is that what you wanted?”

“I want to come,” she whispers, her eyes still locked on mine.

---