His scarlet throb traces my lips, slickens them in a honeyed froth. Though blinded by silk noir haze, I divine its hue from its hardness. 

It probes, a plum brimming with the taste of his control, the first breach of unclothed submission.

I open for the deepest kiss I can bestow, all its flickering wiles unleashed to swipe desire's tears until his swollen rage strains as one with my bindings. 

Heat withdraws. I breathe frustration. 

"Bet she doesn't do this." 

His girth wedges my throat; his tongue flashes sweet payback. 

All night, each rope brands my flesh with his denial.