He returned with rope.
She didn't flinch, but her faint trembling betrayed her composure. Her body knew what was coming before her mind accepted it.
He stopped a few feet from her, and instead of approaching, he turned—and sat.
Resting the rope in his lap, he elegantly crossed one leg over the other as if this were a casual evening chat.
And then he spoke.
"Crawl to me."
Just that.
Three words.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't repeat himself. He just waited.
Eliz didn't move at first.
Her body tensed. Her cheeks burned.
She could say no.
She could break the silence and spit the word out like a curse.
But she didn't.
Because deep down, she wanted to obey.
Slowly, shamefully, she bent forward, letting her hands meet the floor.
The crawl began.
Each movement made her painfully aware of her body—how the silk of her gown clung to her breasts, how her naked thighs spread with every movement, how the wetness between her legs slickened her skin.
