You gaze up at me in the velvet darkness, and though we are lit only by glimmering candles, you see me.
You see the curve of my smile, a slow, deliberate bloom that barely lifts the corners of my lips. You see the contours of my body draped by my silk robe, the way the deep sapphire fabric pools around my silken feet. You see the gleam of the single, heavy emerald nestled at the hollow of my throat.
The air is thick with the scent of beeswax and old wood.
Rare incense and something else . . . my perfume, perhaps, or the metallic tang of your surrender. You are still. No tremor disturbs your shoulders, no gasp escapes your lips, but I see the silent quake that echoes through you. Every fibre of defiance unravels and reweaves itself into something new, something pliant and profound.
I let the silence stretch, a taut cord between us, testing its strength, testing yours. It hums with unspoken power, a current flowing between us.
My voice, when it comes, is a soft whisper, barely disturbing the stillness.
"Tell me," I murmur, the words drifting down like a feather.
"Tell me what you see.”
The flickering light deepens the shadows beneath your cheekbones, making your eyes seem impossibly wide, like a cornered animal. I see the war waging within you — the last vestiges of your will against the inevitable tide of mine. But then, slowly, a different light enters your gaze. Not just simple fear, but stark reverence. Devotion.
You open your mouth, and the first word is a broken whisper, the sound so fragile I almost miss it.
The world narrows to the sight of my legs and feet, encased in sheer black stockings, shimmering in the soft light. The silk is a second skin, a whisper of desire made tangible. It clings to the elegant curve of my calves, stretches taut over the delicate bones of my ankles, and pools into the shadow of my arches.
Your gaze traces the fine line of each back seam.
A perfect, unwavering ascent.
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