I could feel him trying to regain his footing, his hands twitching as if he wanted to reclaim some semblance of authority. But I was done with negotiations. It was time to move from passion to pure, unadulterated command. My hand swept across the silk sheets, snagging a slender blue ribbon that had been left lying near the pillow. It was a small, delicate thing, but in my hands, it felt like a heavy chain. I lunged forward, pinning him down with the sheer weight of my body. Before he could even utter a protest, I leaned over him, driving my breasts hard into his face. I wanted to smother him—to drown his senses in my scent and the crushing, velvet weight of my skin. He let out a muffled gasp, his world shrinking until all he could see, smell, and feel was me. He was lost in the eclipse of my curves, and that was exactly where I wanted him. While he was blinded by pleasure, I struck. I seized his wrists, pinning them against the mahogany headboard with a strength fueled by pure adrenaline. He buckled, a frantic surge of resistance rippling through his muscles, but I was too fast, too hungry. I looped the blue silk around his skin, pulling it taut, weaving it around the wood until he was tethered. The tension in the ribbon was a physical manifestation of my will. I pulled it tight, ensuring that every time he tried to pull away, the silk would bite back, reminding him that he was no longer an equal partner—he was a captive. I sat back just an inch, looking down at him. He lay there, chest heaving, face flushed from being pressed into my flesh, his wrists bound and helpless. The confusion in his eyes had finally crystallized into something deeper: total, beautiful submission. I ran a finger down the center of his chest, tracing the path where I had ripped his shirt open. "There," I whispered, my voice a dark, satisfied purr. "Now you don't have to worry about leading anything. You just have to worry about surviving me."