(353 words.
Probably rated M.)
She can feel his pulse quicken as she winds the rope around his wrists, a rapid rush of blood beneath her fingertips, and it sends a sudden thrill through her.
It isn't fear, she knows. There is very little in this world that Daud is afraid of, and Billie has never merited a place on that list, much as she likes the idea. And this is no real threat to him anyway. There's nothing she could do short of cutting off his marked hand that would truly hold him down, and she's not certain even that would work.
But it's an uneasiness she has never seen from him, clear discomfort and uncertainty over this small loss of power and control, willingly handed over to her, at war with a desire in his eyes that she has also never seen.
It makes her want to push, to drag out every bit of this rare submission that he allows her, to take all she can. But there is trust running under all this, real and delicate and built up slow over years, and she knows she could shatter it if she does this wrong, lose any chance at anything like this again.
Still, she indulges herself for a moment, lets her nails scrape their way down his arms and over his chest and stomach, feeling hard, tense muscle tremble with the effort of keeping still under her touch. She slips farther down and grinds the heel of her hand against his cock, already straining obviously against the front of his trousers, and enjoys the sharp hitch of his breath, the clenching of his hands held fast above his head.
Then she makes herself let go and lean back. "If you've changed your mind…"
"No," he says, quick and firm despite an even harsher than usual rasp to his voice. He has to swallow to wet his tongue after answering, but he does not take the word back.
Billie rises onto her knees and reaches again for his bound wrists, holding herself above him as she leans back in. "Good," she says, grinning down at him.