“You want to play rough, Moonbeam? We can play rough. But only after you eat.” “Is that a command, Sire?” I swear the ruddy specks in his eyes flare, his body a strong, resonant force pressed against me. Too hot. Not hot enough. “There’s a difference between being cared for and being commanded. Know it.” I chuff a humorless laugh, notching my chin forward. “You give me a bowl of soup and expect me to eat it with bound hands? Your perception of caring is warped.” Can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I miss my shackles. Or more to the point, the chain draped between them. At least I could do
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