"You see," said Inara, "I do understand you, Mr. Tam."
Simon strained against the leather. The hard, raw edges of his belt bit into the delicate skin of his wrists, wearing them raw. The pain flickered and throbbed, exquisite, unspeakable. He struggled, knowing that it would only tighten the restraints; his helplessness fed the dark fire of his arousal. Inara straddled his hips, pressing him firmly down into the bed, rendering him captive. She was wet; he could feel the moisture, thick and sweet as honey, as she slid up to his belly, and looked down into his eyes, with a soft, knowing smile.
"It's Dr. Tam," he said, "actually."
"Of course," Inara said. "How unforgivably rude of me."
She tapped a blade of honed and sharpened ivory against her palm. It gleamed, milky and treacherous, in the candlelight. Looking at the knife, Simon shuddered with pleasure and fear. She was bare to the waist, and as she leaned over him to check his restraints – tugging at them once, twice, sending shocks of golden pain-pleasure along his wrists and palms – her breasts, full and velvet soft, brushed against his throat and lips.
"If you have to tie your men up," said Simon, with calculated arrogance, "you ought to at least invest in decent restraints. You have no idea how many injuries are caused by amateur sadists."
Inara slapped him, hard, across the face. Simon moaned, and bit his lip to stifle the sound.
"The last thing I am is an amateur," she said. "If I injure you, I assure you, it will be entirely intentional."
Inara worked the blade between his thin, fragile undershirt and his skin, resting the chill flat of it against his abdomen.
"Don't move," Inara whispered. Her tone was solicitous, but firm. Simon lay still, not daring to disobey.
Inara tugged the knife up and through the cloth of his shirt, slicing it away from him inch by inch. When it was done, she sat back, smiling as if she were satisfied with her work. She settled her hips over his erection; the pressure and weight of her sent sparks of pleasure through his body, like Unification Day fireworks, and filled his closed eyes with light.
"You're mine," Inara said. "Say it."
"I'm yours," said Simon. In his mouth, the words held the weight and grace of a prayer. He was tired, tired of holding himself together, tired of following the rules: he wanted to abandon himself, to give himself over to Inara, who commanded his desire like an angel of the flesh.
Inara placed her knife on a low table near her bed, and picked up a small candle, holding it between two fingers, like a cup of tea. Through its crystal shell, Simon could see molten wax shifting, liquid and shimmering with borrowed fire. Inara extinguished it with a breath.
"That's an interesting hypothesis, Dr. Tam," Inara said, tipping the shell, sending a cascade of fluid flame onto his shivering skin. "Let's test it, shall we?"