When she tells him to stay on his knees, her voice doesn’t rise—it drops.
It becomes that low, steady command that leaves no space for negotiation.
Because by the time she says those words, she has already made the decision in her mind: he belongs in that position. Not as a joke, not as a temporary gesture, but as a shift in their dynamic—one she knows he feels deep in his chest the moment his knees touch the floor.
She watches him carefully, the way a woman watches a man who is finally giving her the openness she wanted but never dared to ask for directly.
His stillness shows her something: trust, surrender, the readiness to let her pace determine everything that follows. And when he stops moving, when he waits exactly as she asked, she feels a kind of power that thrills her—not harsh, not domineering, but deeply feminine, deeply deliberate.
In that moment, she is already inside his mind.
She already knows he’ll follow her next instruction before she even speaks it.
She already knows his breath will hitch with every subtle motion of her hand.
And she knows something else too—something she would never admit openly—
that a man who can hold still for her, who can quiet his own urgency long enough to feel hers, becomes far more irresistible than one who rushes.
So when she whispers “don’t move,” it isn’t a request.
It is a declaration that she has stepped into control—
and he has already accepted it long before he realized he did.