The room was dim, lit only by a single low lamp that threw long shadows across the hardwood floor. Elena knelt where he had placed her, knees spread, palms up on her thighs, the thin leather collar already snug around her throat. She did not look up. She had learned that much.
Marcus circled her once, slow and deliberate. His boots stopped just in front of her. “Eyes on me,” he said, voice low and even. She lifted her gaze. The intensity in his stare pinned her in place more firmly than any restraint. “You’re mine tonight. Every breath, every sound, every inch of skin. Say it.”
“I’m yours, Master,” she answered. The words came out steady, but heat already pooled low in her belly.
He reached down, hooked a finger through the ring on her collar, and tugged her forward until her lips brushed the front of his trousers. She could feel the hard line of him beneath the fabric. “Open.” She unzipped him with her teeth, the way he had taught her, and took him into her mouth without hesitation. He held her head with both hands, controlling the depth, the pace, the rhythm of her surrender. Each thrust pushed her further into the dark, obedient place she craved.
When he pulled her off, saliva glistened on her lips. He wiped it across her cheek with his thumb. “Good girl.” The praise landed like a stroke between her legs. He lifted her onto the bed, face down, and buckled her wrists into the leather cuffs already attached to the headboard. Her ankles followed, spread wide. The position left her completely exposed, ass raised, cunt open to the cool air.
Marcus ran a single finger down her spine, then lower, parting her folds. She was already slick. He pressed two fingers inside her without warning, curling them hard against her front wall until her hips jerked. “Stay still,” he ordered. She tried. He added a third finger and fucked her with them until her thighs trembled. Just before she could tip over, he withdrew.
She heard the sharp click of his belt. The first strike landed across both cheeks, a clean line of fire. She gasped. He gave her five more, each one precise, each one building on the last until her skin burned and her cunt clenched around nothing. Only then did he press the head of his cock against her entrance and drive in deep.
The stretch was brutal and perfect. He fucked her with long, punishing strokes, one hand gripping the collar from behind so her back arched. Every thrust shoved her forward against the cuffs. She moaned openly now, the sound raw and desperate. He reached beneath her and rubbed her clit in tight circles, never letting the pace falter.
“Come when I tell you,” he said against her ear. “Not before.”
She nodded frantically, biting the sheet.
He changed the angle, hitting the spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyes. Her whole body shook with the effort of holding back. When he finally growled the command—“Now”—she shattered, pulsing around him, crying out his title like a prayer.
He didn’t stop. He used her through the aftershocks, chasing his own release, and when he came he stayed buried deep, flooding her. Only afterward did he release the cuffs, turn her onto her back, and kiss the marks he had left on her throat and wrists. His touch turned almost gentle as he cleaned her, but the collar stayed on. She would wear it until morning.
Elena lay curled against his chest, sore and sated, already aching for the next time he would remind her exactly who she belonged to. In the dark, his hand rested possessively over the collar. She felt owned, used, and utterly content.
