He tightened his grip on my wrist just enough to remind me who was in control. He didn't move me yet. Instead, his other hand—cold, gloved, and utterly dominant—slid up my bare arm. He didn't bind me with silk or leather. He bound me with his touch.
His fingers traced the line of my collarbone, moving slowly, deliberately, until he rested his palm flat against my throat. Not squeezing, just resting—a terrifying promise of absolute power.
My frantic pulse fluttered helplessly beneath his cold skin.
"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dropping low enough that it bypassed my ears entirely and seemed to vibrate directly in my chest. "Sweaty. Bruised. Your little feet cut by the earth. And yet, still defying."
He nudged my hair aside with his lips, then trailed a chilling kiss down my n
