He shivered at her words. The idea of her bringing him pleasure was lovely, but it was her submission, offered freely--by his definition of freely, at least--that made him want to moan aloud. Instead he doubled the belt he was still holding over in one hand and ran the loop of it across her face, the caress slow and promising. Or threatening. Perhaps something of both. He looked forward to the act of reddening her skin with it, he wanted to see her bleed for him, he wanted her screams almost as much he wanted her submission. But he would take it. He would never hurt her by refusing her gifts.<br/><br/>He didn't answer her offer in words, though. He answered with fingers that dug cruelly into her scalp, forcing her down to her knees, enjoying watching her kneel before him for a minute. That was how she should look, would look in his mind forever, kneeling between his legs. He jerked down his briefs, shivering as the cool circulating air of the office met flesh that was burning with need. He rolled his head up to look at the ceiling, the worn metal the only sky he'd ever known, then tugged her hair roughly to indicate what he wanted, standing over her holding the looped belt, watching her.<br/><br/>As soon as she even started to take him in her mouth, he thrust, holding her by the hair so she couldn't escape and then it was just heat and movement and he shoved himself into her mouth without even a second thought, no prelude or gentleness about him. She was his. They were all his. He would take what was his, by right, by her offering, by caste. The liquid heat of her mouth was like a dream, a fantasy and he lost himself to it with nothing to think about, all sensation without thought. For someone like him, who lived so much into his head he barely ever came out, it was pure bliss.