"Come here," Xavier commanded, the authority in his voice as palpable as the tension crackling between them. Cathleen's glare could have cut glass, but she stepped forward anyway, her heels clicking sharply against the cold floor. Towering over her, he reveled in the height difference, utilizing it to impose and dominate. His hand reached out, fingers grazing her jaw, demanding her gaze.
"Look at me." The words were a velvet growl.
Reluctantly, her eyes met his, defiance sparking within their depths. Even scowling, she exuded a beauty that was raw and real, stirring something predatory within him. Swiftly, he fastened the collar around her neck, meticulously adjusting it until it lay just so. The ring dangled, a silent testament to who commanded this game.
"Perfect," he murmured, stepping back to admire her. His eyes traced her form, approving yet unsatisfied. He held up a finger, a silent command punctuated by a menacing grin. "Wait one second. Don't move."
"Is that an order, sir?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm, the audacity of her challenge only stoking his desire.
With a single raised brow, he answered, "You'll know when I'm giving you an order, Cat." The blush that painted her cheeks was a victory, a splash of color that betrayed her cool exterior. He turned on his heel, striding purposefully as he entered the dungeon's shadowed embrace. Her muttered curses followed him, music to his ears.
The drawer opened with a metallic whisper, Xavier's hands found the handcuffs-cool, unforgiving steel. He brandished them before her, the implication clear as her cheeks flamed. "Since you responded so well to the restraints last time," he teased, the delight evident in his smirk.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Cathleen countered, but her voice wavered, betraying her.
"Oh, but I do," Xavier said, voice low and even. "I remember exactly how I had you: tied down, stuffed up, coming undone under my touch." He closed the distance between them, relishing the way she stiffened. "Begging, even. Or does my memory fail me?"
Her lips parted, perhaps to argue or to deny, but he cut through her intentions. "Put your hands behind your back." The directive was sharp, brooking no argument.
Cathleen hesitated-not out of fear, Xavier knew, but from the battle within herself. Pride versus desire. In the end, the clink of metal would tell him everything he needed to know.
A flicker of doubt shadowed Cathleen's features, a brief interlude in her otherwise unyielding facade. Xavier beheld the struggle, the silent war waging behind those defiant eyes. He could almost hear the internal clash of her will against the pull of dark desire.
"Hands," he commanded again, his voice laced with the certainty of gravity.
Cathleen's lips pursed, a mutinous set to her jaw as she turned slightly away, a rebellion in miniature. But then, with a toss of her head that sent her hair cascading like a challenge thrown, she complied. Her arms moved slowly, deliberately, folding behind her back in a surrender that was anything but.
"Good girl," Xavier purred, savoring the scowl that phrase carved into her porcelain features. His fingers encircled her slender wrist, pulling it back just enough to watch her flinch. The sound she made, barely audible, was like a note plucked on the strings of his intent.
Metal clicked cold against the skin as the handcuffs closed around one wrist, then the other. He adjusted them meticulously, ensuring they were snug-inescapable yet not cruel. "Try to escape," he dared, stepping back to admire the image she made: bound and beautiful, fire dancing in her eyes.
Cathleen writhed her movements a dance of frustration. Wrists twisted, pulled-a futile effort against the relentless steel. "Fuck," she spat out, the word a hiss of vexation.
Xavier's grin was slow, predatory. "So defiant," he mused aloud, stalking closer. "Yet your body sings a different tune when I take the reins." His gaze dropped pointedly lower, and her breath hitched. A lie would be pointless; he knew too well the signs of her arousal.
"Opposed?" She tried for scorn, yet the word came out wrapped in a sigh, the sharp edges blunted by need.
"Convince me," Xavier challenged, his tone velvet over steel. He watched her struggle, trapped between defiance and the undeniable truth that her body betrayed.
Xavier's eyes narrowed, a predator scenting the lie. "Wet and ready for me, aren't you?" His voice dipped low, a rumble of dark promise.
Cathleen's defiance was a brittle shield. She shook her head, denial etched onto her flushed face. Her tongue flicked out, a nervous gesture that betrayed her act.
"Whatever," she retorted, but her breath caught as his hand made contact, claiming her heat through the thin barrier of cloth.
"Fuck you, Xavier," she managed, a tremble in her voice belying her words.
"Convince me," he murmured, his thumb pressing insistently between her legs. Fabric yielded to his intrusion, her body's warmth seeping into his palm. A gasp escaped her lips, a sound of surrender.
"Thought so." Satisfaction curled his lip upward.
His fingers worked deftly at her waistband, unfastening the button and zipper with an ease born of ownership. Her pants whispered down her thighs just far enough-no need for full undress when access was all he craved.
"Xavier..." It was a whimper now, not quite protest nor plea.
"Shh," he silenced her, plunging beneath the elastic edge of her underwear. His digits found slick folds, evidence of her treacherous desire. He teased her, slow circles on her clit designed to unravel her composure.
"Still think you don't want this?" His voice was velvet-wrapped around steel; the question was rhetorical. His touch commanded response without words, each circle drawing soft moans from her reluctant lips. Her hips canted toward him, seeking more of the exquisite torture.
"Xavier, please," she breathed, the resistance crumbling from her tone.
"Please what, Cat?" He held power in his hands-the power to give or withhold. The power to drive her mad with need. He waited, prolonging the moment, savoring her capitulation.