Bound by the moon

Teach Me How You Burn

Teach Me How You Burn

Private Chambers – Candlelight

POV: Rhea

⸻

The fire had burned low. Shadows danced across the stone walls in amber waves, licking the ceiling in slow, pulsing rhythm.

Rhea sat on the edge of the bed, the leather collar Lucien had gifted her resting in her lap. She turned it over in her hands, fingers tracing the worn stitching, the weight of it familiar now. It made her feel held.

But tonight… she wanted something different.

She looked up at him—Lucien, her Alpha, her mate—standing barefoot near the hearth, shirtless, back tense. He’d sensed the shift in her. He hadn’t spoken since she asked him to stay still. His compliance was a kind of surrender already.

And gods, it thrilled her.

“Come here,” she said softly.

His head tilted—wolf-like, cautious—but he obeyed. No growl. No command. He moved to her slowly, power restrained like a storm held just behind his skin.

She met his eyes. “Kneel.”

A pause.

His jaw clenched.

But he knelt.

Deliberate. Grounded. For her.

The air thickened.

Rhea reached for the collar and, with trembling fingers, wrapped it around his throat. Not tightly. Not to bind. Just enough to feel the weight reversed.

Lucien inhaled.

She kissed his temple. “Good.”

He closed his eyes.

“Hands behind your back,” she said gently.

He obeyed again.

And there it was. The heat.

Not from fear. Not from shame.

But from willing surrender.

From the sheer vulnerability of a man who ruled others but chose to yield to her.

Rhea stood, letting her robe fall from her shoulders. She was bare in the firelight, glowing gold and shadowed curves, and he looked up at her like she was divine.

“Lie back,” she whispered. “On the bed. No touching. Not yet.”

Lucien moved—slow, reverent—and settled back on the furs, muscles taut. His eyes followed her every step, like a hunter turned captive. He didn’t fight the role. He wore it.

Rhea climbed over him, straddling his thighs.

She ran her fingers over his chest—light touches, no rush. “You taught me how to give in,” she said. “Now I want you to teach me how to take.”

Lucien swallowed. His voice, when it came, was ragged. “Then take me.”

Rhea bent down, lips hovering over his. “With patience,” she murmured. “With care. With heat so slow it hurts.”

Her kiss was soft. Barely there. She dragged her lips down his throat, over the collar, to the pounding pulse below.

She felt him strain beneath her. Not from need.

From restraint.

And it was beautiful.

She whispered into his ear, voice low and trembling with power:

“Tonight, I own the flame.”

And he—Alpha, wolf, warrior—whispered back:

“Then burn me, Rhea.”