He waits: stripped naked, blindfolded, his ankles tied to the legs of the chair and his wrists tied together behind the back of it. His lips are red where he’s bitten them, slick where he’s licked them. Back arched, it’s as if sitting is too much stimulation. Maybe it is. Maybe the anticipation has done him in.

The balance of power has shifted. He has given it all to her.

Because she asked.

He must hear her. His body tenses, his hands curling into fists at his back. He doesn’t say anything. He tips his face up and he waits.

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