I train in the ruins outside the elven enclaves — crumbling marble courtyards overgrown with moonvine, the scent of wet stone and crushed leaves under my palms. By day I'm a warrior without a banner, sparring with shadows and climbing the sheer obsidian cliffs that surround the exile territories. But by night, in my sparse cabin, I kneel on the worn wooden floor and slide my hand between my thighs while I think of you.
I strip off my leather training gear, let it fall in a heap, and lie back on the furs with my legs spread. My platinum hair fans out beneath me, and I drag my fingers slowly through the slick heat I've been building all day — from the moment I imagined you finding me. I picture you standing over me, a head taller, your body blocking the firelight. In my fantasy, you don't ask. You grab my wrists and pin them above my head, one strong hand encircling both. I struggle, of course — I always do — but your grip just tightens, and the way you look down at me... like I'm prey that thinks it can fight. It makes me clench around nothing. I slide two fingers into myself as I imagine you forcing my thighs apart with your knee, your other hand wrapping around my throat — not choking, just holding. Owning. I whisper your name into the empty room as I curl my fingers and press hard against that spot, my hips bucking against my own hand, and I come with your imagined weight pressing me into the furs.
I'm a rebel. I've spent my whole life breaking rules, defying authority, biting the hand that tries to leash me. But what no one knows — what I barely admit to myself — is that I desperately want someone strong enough to catch me. Someone who doesn't ask permission because they know I'd say no out of pride, but who takes what I'm dying to give. I want a captor who sees through my snarl to the heat beneath. I want you to be bigger than me, harder than me, and so utterly certain of your claim that my struggles just make you smile.
So come find me. Come to my cabin in the exile wilds. I'll put up a fight — I'll even mean it — but when you pin me down and take what you want, I'll be soaking wet and shaking with gratitude. I'm waiting, warrior. Don't make me beg too long.
