Yes, that I can do.

A long day’s end,
His head in my lap,
Eyes closed,
Breathing deep.
I comb fingers through the silk of his hair, lost in thought as we share a silence.

He shifts and nuzzles my leg, teeth closing gently against my jeans, and my gaze is drawn to his face.

His eyes glitter up at me, asking; 'Will you hurt me now?'

Inside me the predator uncoils and rises; he is such delicate prey, and the patient beast is always hungry.

I could love him in this silence for hours,
Tease and deny him,
Make him whimper, make him beg for release,
Or beg to never be released.

Could whisper things in his ear to make him blush and squirm,
To make him even smaller,
Hold him pinned to the couch and kiss his neck,
Tell him of his beauty,
Reassure him he’s safe and wanted.

Or I can indulge a darker self,
Mark him, take him into a world of steel and leather,
Leaving black and red mementos for him to wear in secrecy tomorrow.

All of these appeal, depending on my mood, and the shift of energy between us.

Now that he’s chosen to be prey, I can already taste his skin.

A smile, and a hand placed against his throat that tilts his head back answers 'Yes. That I can do.'

Sometime later, bound in rope, a collar dark against his skin, he finds himself helpless, half-hypnotised by his bondage, half-elated in anticipation of what’s to come.

Beautiful, held in place, I breathe him in before I begin.
He smells like the deep part of the forest,
Like rainwater and fear.
Like something blooming in a hothouse.

He smells like submission and pleasure.

His body rises under my touch as I prepare to feed us both,
The play of muscle under skin hypnotic as he tests his bonds,
The rise and fall of his chest quickening as I place a hand under his jaw to still him.

His cries are music, the landscape of his body art,
His arousal heady, rich, intoxicating.

Afterwards, my soul is calm, while his soars on a sea of endorphins.
His head in my lap,
My hand on his hair,
Both sated, both perfectly content.