A part 2 to that Miller age gap blurb would be just the right thing to—lighten the mood abt…him…
nsfw blurb below
the ropes bite into your wrists, snug and unyielding against the carved mahogany of the bedposts. they hold you open, arms stretched above your head, leaving you exposed beneath him. the room is dim, only the slatted light of the city beyond spilling through the blinds, striping your skin in alternating bands of gold and shadow.
he watches you. unmoving. broad hands braced on either side of your hips, his expression carved from stone. those dark, weary eyes drink you in—your flushed chest rising and falling, the slow twitch of your stomach each time the cool air ghosts across your skin. you feel like prey beneath him, trembling, waiting, anticipation writhing in your gut like something alive.
his hands move. slow. deliberate. they skim up your thighs, dragging over the heat of your skin, teasing the places that ache for his attention. his fingers brush the inside of your knee, the dip of your hip, and then pause—hovering over the thin fabric still covering you.
"you wanted this," he says, voice low, rough around the edges. it isn't a question.
you bite your lip. nod.
his hand cups you through the fabric, and you shudder. his touch is firm, teasing, but frustratingly light. he watches every reaction, eyes tracking each twitch, each sharp inhale.
"say it," he murmurs.
heat coils in your stomach, a desperate little pulse. "i wanted this," you breathe.
"mm." his thumb presses down, slow, insistent. "louder."
"i wanted this," you say again, voice a little more unsteady now.
his fingers curl around the waistband of your underwear. with one sharp tug, the fabric gives way, the sound of tearing filling the room. you gasp, eyes widening, but he only tilts his head, holding up the ruined scrap like a trophy before tossing it aside.
"then you're going to take it," he tells you, voice dark, rich with something dangerous.
his mouth finds your throat, sharp stubble scraping against the sensitive skin as his teeth sink in—not enough to break, but enough to claim. enough to mark. you squirm, testing the bonds around your wrists, but they don’t give. you’re stuck here, at his mercy, and he knows it.
he trails lower, lips and teeth and tongue mapping every inch of you, his hands pressing your thighs apart further, pinning you down with nothing but his weight and the absolute, unshakable control he exudes.
“you beg so pretty, doll,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "let's see how long you last before you break."
