"I am yours to use as you please, my lord."

"Yes you are."

He rolls on top of her, pins her to the bed, and wanders her body with his mouth and hands.

She whimpers and squirms and whines helplessly.

"I want you to struggle," he murmurs against her hip. "I want to pin you down and tease you while you try to get away."

"As you command, my lord," she says, and pulls with all her strength against his iron grip. All she gets for her trouble is bruises.

He holds her down effortlessly, kisses a squirming thigh, drags his teeth over her stomach, licks and sucks and bites.

"My lord, please," she moans, but she never stops trying to run.

"My treasure." He bites the curve of her breast, drawing blood. "You know how this is going to end."

She struggles, sobbing incoherently. Tears run down her face.

"So beautiful. Ready to give in yet?"

Whimper.

"No?"

"You—you said you'd have me all day, my lord," she pants. "I wouldn't dare deprive you."

"I wonder how far I'd have to push you before you lost your sense of humour."

"I don't know, and I'm afraid to find out."

"Maybe I'll make it our next game."

"And—mm—and here I was looking forward to the one where you let me hide in the palace and touch myself."

He laughs.

She half-giggles, half-sobs.

"Such a constant temptation you are." He presses a kiss into the crease of her hip. "You can stop struggling now."

She relaxes with a whimper and a shiver, then tenses again involuntarily when his teeth close on her thigh.

He bites her hard enough to leave a bloody mark, then moves on from there in a similar vein, trailing bites and bruises over her body.

This treatment yields some pretty excellent noises.

Oh, that's lovely.

"My lord, please..."