He steps into the room, a storm in his eyes,
Commanding the air, thick with heat, no disguise.
Leather and steel, laced with intent,
A predator’s hunger, darkly hell-bent.

He doesn’t ask—no need to plead,
He takes what’s his, plants the seed.
A whisper of warning, a growl in his throat,
Fingers like fire tracing a note.

A tilt of his head, a smirk at the chase,
Bound in his will, she falls into place.
His hands, like iron, sculpting control,
A thief in the night, devouring her whole.

Breath hitching sharp as he tightens the chain,
Her body a canvas, pleasure and pain.
He plays with the limits, teases, refines,
Until she is lost in the thrill of his binds.

No begging, no pleading, just silent consent,
A look, a sigh, a body hell-bent.
Sir takes what he wants, and she wants it too—
A prisoner of bliss in the world he drew.

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