Author's note: For everyone who asked, a certain someone won't re-appear 'til after sunset ;)

Quinn wrapped his hand around my left wrist loosely and moved it gently until it was behind my back, with my forearm horizontal across my lower back. Then he did the same to my right wrist, arranging my arms so they overlapped loosely. He laced his fingers through mine and wrapped each of my hands around the opposite wrist, giving them a brief squeeze before he let go. My own hands were holding my arms behind my back, I knew that, but I still felt like I was completely at his mercy.

"Let me be in control, just this once?" he asked gently. "If it gets too much, release yourself and I'll stop right away."

He was sitting beside me on the edge of my bed, trying to convince me it was OK that I liked to be in control during sex... by showing me how good it could feel to let someone else be in control. I was ambivalent about what we were doing, to say the least. On the one hand, I was very turned on by the idea of lying back and letting him pleasure me any way he wanted; and on the other, I was utterly terrified, because it reminded me a little too much of some of the events from my recent history.

Before I could start to panic, he was kissing me softly, cradling my face in his hands. I was puzzled for a long moment, wondering why, if he could do literally anything to me, he would still be kissing me? I did know what it was like to be in bed with a very dominant man, or at least, I thought I did: I'd had plenty of fast, rough, out-of-control sex with certain vampires before. But I could feel that wasn't what he wanted; that he had no interest in taking me quickly or forcefully.

Then I remembered something he told me once. When he saw me naked for the first time, he said my body was like a buffet to him, and he couldn't work out where to start. As he kept on kissing me sweetly, I finally realized what he was asking of me. If I let him do whatever he wanted, he would make a ten-course meal of me, at least. There was no way I'd be able to rush him, so he would take all of me, little by little, until he had tasted every delight my body had to offer him. He wasn't asking for a quick, forceful fuck; he was asking for all of me, wanting me to put myself in his hands so he could play and explore and please me - just like I did to him.

He could feel my hesitancy, and suddenly realized what might be worrying me. "I won't do any of the things you asked me not to," he assured me. "No tying you up or holding you down or hurting you or pretending to force you. All the usual rules still apply."

He kissed me again, and this time, I was finally relaxed enough that it felt really good. He kissed me deeply, possessively, telling me that if I let him go on, he would explore every inch of me as thoroughly as he was exploring my mouth; that he would know every part of me and love me all the more for it.

I knew I could free myself by letting go of my arms, but I quickly found that I didn't want to. It was an oddly enjoyable sensation, feeling restrained. It was like I was powerless to do anything but accept his gentle, tender kisses, and I was starting to feel like that could be alright. It helped that I could 'hear' his thoughts and he was concentrating so hard on giving me a good experience, convinced that if I enjoyed this enough it would be easier for me to trust him.

When he finally pulled back from my lips again a few minutes later, I leaned forward to keep contact as long as possible and he chuckled.

"How you doin'?" he asked.

"I'm OK." I was a bit surprised about that, but it was true, I really was OK.

"Good," he smiled. "Close your eyes."

I closed them immediately, finding strange pleasure in doing what he asked. His hands moved me around until I faced away from him, and he slid behind me so I was leaning against one side of his chest, my arms trapped between our bodies. He left me just sitting like that for a few moments, and being unable to see or move made the sensations of his warm, hard body against mine all the more intense. I could smell him all around me, hear his breath in my ear, feel the contours of his body pressed against my back, and taste him on my lips from our recent kisses... but he didn't touch me. Why isn't he touching me? I wondered. The moments dragged so slowly, they felt like days. I waited patiently, my body readying itself for him before he'd laid a single finger on me.

"Please," I begged softly, when I could stand it no more. "Please."

"Tell me what you want." His voice was a soft caress against my ear, making me shiver.

"Touch me. Please touch me."

"Where do you want me to touch you?"

"Everywhere. Please, touch me anywhere."

Something moved against my jaw, barely brushing my skin, and I leaned into it, craving contact. After waiting what felt like a long time for his touch, my body reacted so strongly it was as if he was touching me somewhere much lower, much more intimate. It was so wonderful, I couldn't wait for him to do it again. But he didn't.

I waited patiently, wanting him more and more by the second. He could smell my arousal, I knew it, and I was completely at his mercy. Why wasn't he touching me?

"Please, please touch my breasts," I finally whimpered, overcome by need.

He started tugging at my t-shirt and bra, pulling hard on the fabric without ever touching my breasts directly. Even the indirect stimulation of the straining fabric felt intense, like he was making my clothes stroke me while he did not. Then, all of a sudden, cool air hit my right breast. "Oh," I moaned, finally realizing what he was doing. He kept tugging my bra downwards, kept stretching the low scooped neckline of my t-shirt even lower, until my left breast was exposed, too. I moaned again, unbelievably turned on by the way he had chosen to expose me. He kept adjusting my clothing until he was happy with it, and I could only imagine what my breasts looked like, forced up and together by my bra and the stretched neckline of my t-shirt. My imaginings stirred low in my belly, heating me up even further.

But he didn't touch me. He just left me sitting there, craving his touch, desperate for any stimulation he would give me. Little whimpers escaped my throat as I waited for him, trying so hard to be patient. All I could think of was his smell, his warmth, his hard body, his breath on my ear, the taste of him on my tongue. Slight eddies of air caressed my breasts tortuously, deliciously. I had never hungered so much for anyone in my life, and if he didn't touch me soon, I felt sure I would explode. Then, without warning, something brushed one nipple, then the other. I gasped and writhed, trying to follow the movement to keep contact. He chuckled in my ear.

I needed more, had to have something, anything. I was so aroused that I would take whatever stimulation I could get, just to relieve my aching need a little. I wrapped my legs around one another and squeezed them together tightly, wriggling my hips as I did, so my slick folds rubbed against each other. I moaned long and low, loving how it felt.

"I thought I got to be in control this time?" he growled in my ear, tweaking my nipples roughly as he did.

I cried out as my pussy clenched in sympathy, my head falling back against him. "Oh... so good," I moaned.

"I still didn't say you could move," he rumbled. "Should I do that harder... or should I leave you untouched for a while?"

"Harder," I panted. "Please, do it harder."

He didn't strike again for what felt like an age, just listened to me beg as I kept on squirming, getting myself more and more excited. Then, suddenly, without warning, both my nipples were in his vice-like grip, pain searing straight from my breasts to my wet, wet pussy. I screamed my excitement, pleasure/pain driving me out of my mind with desire. I had never been handled so roughly in my life, and I was stunned by how much I liked it. But just as swiftly as it started, it was over, and my scream turned into a little sob. My breasts felt heavy and my nipples were sore, deliciously sore, achingly sore.

"Was that OK?" he asked softly, and I could feel he'd gotten caught up in the moment and gone further than he meant to.

"Yes," I gasped. "Perfect."

I could feel him grinning beside my ear. "Stop that wriggling right now," he ordered, "or I'll do that to you again."

"Please," I gasped, my insides trembling with excitement, as I squeezed my thighs tighter and wriggled faster.

My hair was suddenly being pulled, forcing my head back and to one side. I was so turned on, even that felt good.

"You should do as I say," he whispered in my ear. "Your nipples are already getting red and swollen... all you have to do is sit still and be patient, and I'll leave them alone entirely."

I showed him what I thought of that by wriggling even more frantically, and true to his word, he tweaked my tender nipples as 'punishment'. As I moaned in delight, he pulled my head back a little further, and suddenly his mouth was on mine. His tongue was deep inside me, claiming me, possessing me, as his other hand kept inflicting tender agonies on my lightly-bruised nipples. He didn't have to do anything rough now; they were sensitive enough that every touch had a slight undercurrent of pain; just enough to make the pleasure all the more extreme.

My hips found a rhythm, no longer wriggling aimlessly. When I squeezed my legs together tightly enough and tilted my hips to just the right angle, every little movement created pressure on the spot where I needed it most. He kissed me deeply, assertively, telling me I was his, and all I could do was surrender to him. I did, willingly. Restrained and unable to see what he was doing, my entire world was made up of his tongue in my mouth, his hand in my hair and his fingers tormenting my nipples, one after the other. I wanted so much more, but all I could take of my own accord was the subtle stimulation created by my clenched thighs - and for that, I endured delicious 'punishment'.

A tingle ran up my spine, and I realized that for the first time in my life, I was going to come just from squeezing my legs together and moving my hips... and it would happen soon. I knew this was what he wanted, to pleasure me in ways no-one else ever had. I knew that every time he did, he possessed a little more of me; that the imprinting made me more and more his with every touch, with every climax. I also knew that in this game we were playing, I should ask his permission before I came - and if I didn't, he would 'punish' me for it later. Every one of those thoughts thrilled me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

As my climax rocked my body, his tongue in my mouth muffled my screams and his hand in my hair stopped me from moving; all I could do was buck my hips a little, while I reveled in the feeling of complete surrender. I came for him, came so hard I felt in from toes to nose, came because his mastery of my body was so perfect I could cry. It was a climax of violence and pain, but also a climax of resolution and love. I came knowing that I was his, completely and utterly, totally and completely.

When my hips stopped bucking and my body sagged, his arms wrapped around me and held me to him, his mouth still claiming mine. My surrender deepened as I melted against him, utterly receptive, his mouth mastering my whole body. His kiss was claiming me in ways his cock couldn't, literally making me face what he offered me. It was magic.

When he finally released my hair and let me slump over in my post-orgasmic haze, I was actually sad he let me go. I snuggled back into him, freshly sated but already wondering what he would do to me next. His mouth was right by my ear and he blew across it gently, making me tremble in renewed arousal.

He chuckled, then started whispering seductively. "Mmmm, you were humping yourself after five minutes of that, and coming so hard you almost pulled your own hair out five minutes later... I'm not sure you could take a whole afternoon of this, babe."

"I can!" I protested. "Don't stop! Please, more."

Wow, if that'd only been ten minutes... my mind boggled at what a whole afternoon of this would be like. Being utterly at his mercy, the tiny frisson of fear that generated in me, and being unable to see what he might do to me next... it all made me hyper-aware of everything happening around me, and that made every minute feel like ten. Especially when he made me wait. I shivered in delight, wanting more of this so desperately I was getting even wetter just thinking about it.

He kissed his way along my neck slowly, drawing happy little moans from me every step of the way, then sat me up and moved away from me. I felt the bed shift as his weight suddenly wasn't there any more. He was too far away; I wanted him touching me again, right now. Please, I begged silently. I could feel his eyes on me, and I knew that if I reached out to him mentally, I'd see exactly what he did - but why ruin the suspense?

"Move your hips again." His voice was right by my ear, startling me with its proximity.

I did as he asked, squeezing my legs tightly and rocking my pelvis, looking for one of those magic spots where the pressure was just... Oh. Like that. It felt even better now, my folds so slick and wet and swollen. Perfect. I found my rhythm and started moving in earnest, wondering how long it would take to climax again, just like this. I could hear him breathing faster, even across the room, and that little reminder that he was watching made it all the more exciting.

"Now open your eyes and look at yourself," he ordered.

Oh. Not what I expected at all, but still I did as he asked. I glanced down immediately, taking in the way my naked breasts were framed by the stretched-out neckline of my top; a sight even lewder than I had imagined it would be. My nipples were much darker than usual, flushed from all the attention they had received and so hard they ached for more, but I was pretty sure they weren't bruised. If anyone knew the difference between painful things that would leave a mark and ones that wouldn't, Quinn did.

I was silently thankful for that, grateful that the pain would end when the kinky sex did, not hang around for days like some of the minor injuries I incurred with Bill. Yet another advantage of being with someone who's alive, I thought. Sex in the daytime, having meals cooked for me, and knowing exactly what my fragile mortal body can withstand... there are so many great things about having a living lover. But the word 'lover' would forever make me think of someone dead, and I shook off images of a certain Viking before they could distract me.

I turned my attention lower down my body. The way my hips moved made it so obvious what I was doing; a bitch in heat seeking any relief she might find. Embarrassment almost made me miss a beat, but in the end, horniness won out.

"Stop."

No, not that. Anything but that, I thought, whining loudly, but I had already obeyed before I could voice my objection. He knelt in front of me, kissing me sweetly as he reached around and released my arms. I resisted momentarily, not wanting him to let me go, and he chuckled into my mouth as I reluctantly allowed him to move my arms back to my side.

"You enjoyed that," he stated, but I could feel that even though he sounded certain, he needed to hear me confirm it.

"That was... wow." I couldn't think of anything articulate to say about it; I was completely lost for words.

He grinned broadly at me. "Good. You want me to keep going?"

"Please."

He leaned forward to whisper in my ear. "Stay restrained, and you're mine to do whatever I want with. I'll tease you, and fuck you, and a dozen other things besides, and all you'll be able to do is writhe, and moan, and come when I let you. Tell me you want that."

I had my hands behind my back in an instant. "Please," I begged. "I'll do anything you want. Please."

"Yes, you will," he threatened. "But if you release your wrists I'll stop. And once I stop, I won't touch you again, no matter what. Are we clear?" His voice was full of danger and menace, making me shiver, but he was really giving me an out, reminding me how to stop things if this got too much for me. It was a game and nothing more; he was making it clear that this could end right away if it ceased to be fun.

I nodded, staring at him wide-eyed, playing my role of utter helplessness to the hilt.

If your wrists get sore, you can move them, he added silently. He brought my hands in front of me again and wrapped each one around the opposite wrist, then slid them up and down my arms a couple of times, showing me a few different ways I could hold them. He knew the nerves in my wrists were still damaged from the Fairy War, and he needed to be sure he wasn't about to make them any worse. I was touched by how much he cared about that. If they get so sore that moving them doesn't help, just press your hands against the mattress instead.

I nodded and kissed him, needing that intimacy, and he let me. As our lips and tongues and teeth melded tenderly, a thought crossed his mind, wondering if we should work out something called a 'safe word'. He quickly concluded there was no need; that if I gave any hint I wasn't enjoying myself, he'd back off immediately... 'no', or 'ouch', or 'stop', or 'too much' were all safe words, he decided. He was being so careful, making absolutely certain he didn't harm me, that I relaxed completely against him, whimpering when he pulled back from my mouth.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered, "or you're mine for the rest of the afternoon."

I just stared at him, licking my lips hungrily.

"Then take off your clothes," he ordered, releasing my hands so I could.