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This, this thing between them, was something that was hers and hers alone.
His.
Theirs.
Two people who belonged to a nation. But belonged to each other first.
She understood it.
He shrugged his shirt off his powerful shoulders and cast it onto the ground. Then, he wrapped his hand around the chain again and began to tug downward. “Kneel before royalty,” he said, his voice rough.
And she did. Going down to her knees, the cuffs pressing against her ankles, the chain from her wrists pooling in her lap.
She looked up at him and watched, her mouth going dry as he undid his belt, slid it through the loops on his pants. She was captivated as the leather slid over his palm before he unclasped his pants, lowered the zipper.
And revealed himself, hot and hard and masculine. Hard for her.
A choice.
This was her choice. No matter the position of submission.
Just as when he had knelt before her, fastening the cuffs, it had appeared that he was the one submitting, but he had been in power. It was the same for her.
She reached up and circled her fingers around his length, stroked him up and down.
It was amazing to her that she had never been overcome by desire for a man in her life before, but everything about him filled her with need. He was beautiful. Every masculine inch of him. She stretched up, still on her knees, and took him into her mouth. He growled, the beast coming forward, and she reveled in that.
Because here was the power. Here was the mutual submission. That belonging that he had spoken of. She in chains, on her knees, but with the most vulnerable part of him to do with as she pleased. His pleasure at her command. His body at her mercy.
She was lost in this. In the magic created between the two of them. Even more powerful tha
n it had been the first time.
Because she had all these physical markers of who she belonged to. And everything about his surrender proved that he belonged to her.
She kept on pleasuring him until he shook. Until his muscles, the very foundation of all that he was began to tremble. Until his hands went to her hair and tugged tightly, moving her away from his body.
“That is not how we will finish,” he growled.
He lifted her up from the ground, setting her on the edge of the settee. Then he kissed her, claiming her mouth with ferocity. He moved his hand to her thigh and lifted it to his shoulders, looping the chain so that it was around the back of his neck. Then he did the same with the other, so that he was between her legs, secured there.
Holding her tightly, he lowered his head, placing his mouth between her legs and lapping at her with the flat of his tongue. Giving her everything she had given to him, and then some. He feasted on her until she was shivering. Until she was screaming with her desire for release. Begging.
Until she no longer felt strong, but she didn’t need to. Because she felt safe. Because she felt like his, and that was every bit as good.
When she found her release, she was undone by it. The walls inside of her crumbling, every resistance destroyed. Defeated. And then, the blunt head of his arousal was pressing against the entrance to her body, and she received him willingly.
He thrust hard inside of her, her legs still draped over his shoulders, the angle making it impossibly deep. Taking her breath away.
Their coming together was a storm. And she didn’t seek shelter from it. Instead, she flung her arms wide and let the rain pour down on her. Let it all overtake her. Consume her.
She held on to his shoulders, dug her fingernails into his skin as her pleasure built inside of her again. Impossibly so.
And when they broke, they broke together. But when they came back to earth, they were together as well.
And she realized that he was circled by the chains as well. As bound to her as she was to him.
And they lay there in the library, neither of them moving.
