Page 77 of My Fixation

Most people misunderstand the power dynamic between a dominant and a submissive. They see the person leading and assume that’s where the power lives. They couldn’t be more wrong. Jaxon holds all of it. He is the one taking the risk. The one making himself vulnerable. The one choosing to place his trust in another person.

Everything happening between us exists because he allows it to. Because he wants it to. My role is simply to honor that trust. I want to prove that it wasn’t misplaced. Jaxon asked me to take the weight for a while. To give him a chance to stop carrying everything alone. That is not a burden to me, it’s a gift. One I don’t take lightly.

I may be leading. I may be making decisions for the moment. But the boundaries are his. The choice is his. My authority exists only because he grants it. Because he trusts me not to abuse it. Looking at him now, I understand something with absolute clarity. I intend to be worthy of the faith he’s placing in me.

I step into my closet and return with three silk ties. Running the material through my fingers, I hold them up for Jaxon to see.

“Color?”

His eyes move between them. His Adam’s apple bobs once. Then again. Before he finally lets out a breathy, “Green.”

I nod once. “Good boy.”

The immediate reaction fascinates me. His pupils widen. His breathing changes. The tension that’s been living in his shoulders all day eases by a fraction.

I lay the ties on the mattress before finishing getting undressed. Jaxon’s gaze follows every movement. His eyes travel over me like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. I find myself wanting more of it. Wanting all of it.

I climb onto the bed and settle over his hips. Making sure to keep most of my weight off him. He’s still healing. The bruises may be fading, but they aren’t gone.

His eyes track every movement I make. Waiting. The anticipation is palpable. Another interesting contradiction. A former Marine. An MMA fighter. A man capable of putting most people through a wall. Waiting patiently for instructions.

“Hands above your head, A Chroí,” I tell him as I run the silk fabric of the ties across his chest. A shiver runs through him. He obeys immediately. There’s no hesitation, no questioning in his movements. He lifts his arms above his head and waits.

The green silk slides through my fingers as I bind his wrists together with one tie before securing them to the headboard with another. I make certain the knot will hold. Then I make certain he can free himself if necessary. Control without an exit is carelessness. I’ve never been careless.

My fingers test the restraint one final time before I sit back and study my work. Jaxon doesn’t pull against the ties. Doesn’t test them. He simply watches me. Waiting.

“I’m going to blindfold you.” Leaning forward, I murmur the words close to his ear. I want him anticipating what comes next. The anticipation is often more powerful than the act itself.

After securing the tie over his eyes, I pause for a moment. Blindfolded, Jaxon can’t see me. Yet his attention remains entirely on me. Trusting that I’ll tell him what comes next. I brush my thumb along his jaw before pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Color?”

The answer comes immediately.

“Green, so green.” His response immediate. I watch his chest rise and fall. The tension I’d been tracking since Neil left finally begins to disappear. Good. That was the objective.

“Good boy.”

The praise earns exactly the response I expected. Interesting. I may have stumbled onto a praise kink. More importantly, I’ve found a way to pull him out of his own head. For the last twenty-four hours, Jaxon has been trapped there. Now his focus is entirely on me. On my voice. My instructions. Its simplicity seems to quiet the constant noise running beneath the surface.

“Look at you,” I murmur. “So beautiful stretched out just for me.” I run my fingertips over his chest lightly, and his muscles ripple under them. I lean forward and take one of his nipples between my teeth. The tug and lick cause the dusky pink nub to pebble. I repeat the move on the other side. Then I continue my decent lower on his body.

“Your body is perfect, A Chroí. So big and powerful, yet totally helpless under me.”

The reaction is immediate. But not the one I’m looking for. A sharp inhale. His jaw locks, and his lips press together. The rest of his body tells a different story. His pulse is elevated. His breathing uneven. Every muscle drawn tight beneath my hands. Yet he’s silent.

As though making noise is something he isn’t permitted to do. Or something he learned not to do. I want to hear them. Every breath. Every sigh. Every moan. Every helpless sound he tries so hard to suppress. And right now, he’s still holding something back. Something that belongs to me.

I push myself back up toward his face. My thumb brushes across his lower lip. The muscle beneath it remains tense. Another confirmation that he’s concentrating on staying quiet. On maintaining control. This won’t do.

“I want to hear you. I own all of you, and that includes every moan, every gasp.” I part his lips. “You will not keep what is mine.”

A full-body shudder runs through him. Then, finally, he lets go. The moan escapes before he can stop it. The sound isn’t what captures my attention. It’s the relief that follows it. His shoulders drop. The tension leaves his jaw. The constant effort he’s been expending to maintain control simply… disappears.

“Good boy,” I say before lowering my body to cover his. Our cocks slot together like two pieces of a puzzle. When I move, giving him just the slightest friction, he moans again.

“Conor, please,” he says between pants.