Bared teeth grazed tender flesh, a wicked drag that held just shy of pressure, of puncture. Not feral, not animal. But decadent. Salacious. A gesture crafted not for dominance but for delight. For mine.

I was a tempest queen, sullen and sovereign, unwilling to yield.

The knights remained resolute in their sacred mission—like titans bound to the trembling altar of womanhood. Mighty hands, scarred by a thousand battles, encircled the delicate ivory column of her neck, caressed her breasts, and slipped inside, lifting her—not to harm, never to harm—but to exalt.

My fingers hovering just above hers—close enough to feel the heat of her skin, the pulse that leapt at my proximity. The Queen’s hand was steady, but the way her throat bobbed in a slow, measured swallow betrayed her. A temptation resisted. Or was it considered?

I became a mere plaything. I became a queen commanding her generals. I became the dark moon, waxing in forbidden rites. As the stars looked down from their lofty perches, my small form was contorted between them, tangled in a maze of flesh and desire.

Like Eve’s brush with temptation, the rope wound around me—satin, seductive, and inevitable. It slid over my collarbone, its touch gentle yet unmistakably deliberate, like the serpent’s velvety murmurs in the Garden of Eden. The binding curled from one shoulder to the other, tracing the soft curve of my neck, a caress both dangerous and…