Theo's POV
Her breath is warm, her lips still parted waiting for more. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t fidget. Her eyes hold mine with a quiet kind of reverence that sits low in my chest and coils there like heat rising under my ribs. There’s no fear in her. Not even hesitation. Just this steady, hungry kind of stillness that dares me to keep going.
The crop feels like an extension of my hand. The grip fits into my palm like it belongs there. The leather is warm from the light, but I want it hot from her skin.
I circle again, slow and measured, like I’m tasting the space around her. She’s on her knees still, back straight, wrists bound behind her, the red flush of the cane still blooming across her thighs like art. She breathes in shallow bursts, but she doesn’t look away.
I lift the crop a
