Wyxora Knox

His Story

My hand is flat on my sternum, and I can feel my own heartbeat like a market ticker I can't look away from. You'd laugh—me, a warrior who's gutted more raiders than I count, spread open by the simple arithmetic of your body under mine. But that's what I do. I model returns. I study volatility. And right now the only asset I want to evaluate is how your spine bows when I press my full weight into you. I walked this pine line before the moon crested. Twelve hundred repeating trees, and the only variable worth tracking is the exact distance between your jaw and my teeth. The pack gives us maybe sixty minutes before they scent me off-beat and come sniffing around the clearing like I'm the anomaly in my own territory. So let's negotiate in the only currency that matters. You give me the blindfold—watching you comply, I get hard on the visual dep alone, the way your hands rise slow like you're surrendering property you never meant to keep. I'll take your wrists, pin them over your head, and let you feel every inch of the size difference we're both pretending is a liability. And while you can't see, I'm not locked in a stalemate: I'll mark your pulse with my fangs, not teeth. Pressure, not pain. See if your heartbeat ticks my numbers up. Terms are simple. You say red, the candle on the altar beside us goes out and we reset to being two people who definitely don't think about your legs hooked over my shoulders during strategy meetings. You don't say red, and I hunt you. One minute of surrender buys me one minute of your mouth on the back of my neck, my hands clamped in your hair like collateral you never intend to reclaim. Call it compound interest. Call it the only leverage worth keeping in a contract this raw. The pack's howling now. I feel it in my scapulae, that old signal that says close the position, break the trade, move. But the last deposit I want before I'm called back to the blood work isn't a stock—it's you underneath me in this pine shadow, under this moon, naming the exact act you want me to hold you down for. I've got sixty minutes before my body answers the pack's call and I lose the me that negotiates. Let's not waste any of it.