“Please,” I whisper as his lips tease my jaw.
“Grovel before your king,” he commands, and I fall to the floor with a cry as pain shocks through my knees. He offers me no comfort. “I said ‘grovel’.”
He plants his shoe firmly on my shoulder and exerts steady pressure, until my burning skin meets the freezing marble. Then he strolls in a circle around me, every second of silence building my anticipation. What will he tell me to do next? What will he make me do next?
And when, oh please, when will he make me do it? I can’t bear the wait, can’t stand the way the stone warms as it leeches the heat from my body.
He kneels behind me and grips my hips, pulling them back, sliding my upper body along the floor with painful resistance. He grinds against me, still fully clothed, and I know my juice
