Read this after reading part-1 (you can check it in other thread with same name)
Part 2 of what started beneath the dim lights… now unfolds as Surrender in Shadow.
“Some fantasies are whispered. Others beg to be lived.”
Her POV:
I felt full… of him, of breathless silence, of something I didn’t have a name for.
Still blindfolded. Still spread open, my skin glowing with aftershock.
But it wasn’t over.
He hadn't let go. And I hadn’t stopped trembling.
That’s when the fear crept in—not of him hurting me, but of me ruining something too perfect.
Because I had a craving.
A dark one.
One I never spoke aloud.
What if it made him falter?
I could feel his breath hovering over my ear, as if he were reading the storm in my silence.
"Say it," he whispered.
I flinched.
"You're thinking too loud, baby. What is it you want to tell me?"
I hesitated. But his voice wasn’t demanding. It was… patient. Steady. Like a tether.
I swallowed, barely audible –
"I want you to make me feel... helpless. But safe. Like you’d ruin me for fun, and rebuild me just to do it again."
His silence tightened around my chest.
Had I gone too far?
Then I felt his lips smile against my shoulder.
His POV:
She didn’t know the fire she just fed.
Her voice was soft when she confessed, but her body didn’t lie—it arched, it asked, it offered.
I pulled her blindfold off slowly. Her eyes blinked into the dim light, wet and waiting.
Still kneeling. Still mine.
"You think I’d lose control because of your fantasy?" I murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"No, little one. I’m going to take you there–and never let go of the reins."
I stood and reached for the silk rope.
Her breath caught.
That beautiful fear danced in her eyes—not panic, not hesitation… but surrender laced with wonder.
Her POV:
He guided me to the bed—not like a man leads, but like a god sets the stage.
Every knot of the rope was a question.
Every tug… an answer.
My wrists were tied above my head, spread open like pages of a diary never read aloud.
The air around my skin felt colder now.
Because he had stepped back.
Again, I was alone in anticipation. But this time, I wasn't blindfolded—
I saw him watching me.
One hand around himself. The other… tracing lines over my ribs, my waist, my thighs.
"You asked for helpless, love," he said.
"Then give me your moans like prayers."
His POV:
She looked divine—roped, blushing, writhing against restraint.
This wasn’t cruelty. This was communion.
I slid into her with one sharp thrust.
She cried out—not in pain, but something worse: need.
My hands dug into her hips. Not to hurt—
To hold her still.
To remind her: this is what you begged for.
Every thrust was deliberate.
Every time she tried to move, I pulled back.
"I said still."
She whimpered, eyes glistening.
But then she smiled.
Her POV:
The pain blurred into pleasure. The pleasure burned into worship.
And I—
I laughed.
Not a full laugh.
But the kind that says yes, yes, yes without words.
The kind you give when you're being broken just right.
He saw it.
His grip got tighter.
I felt him watching me come apart like he was savoring my undoing.
And I wanted more.
"Please," I gasped.
He didn’t ask what I wanted.
Because he already knew.
His POV:
Her laughter. Her eyes. That wicked glint of a good girl craving ruin.
I pressed her face into the mattress. My mouth at her ear.
"I’ll give you everything... as long as you don’t stop asking for more."
She moaned louder this time—words failing her.
And just before she shattered beneath me again, she whispered something into the pillow.
"I don’t want to stop feeling this. Ever."
Neither did I.
So I f****d her like that was the only language left in the world.
.
.
.
.
Wait for next parts too ...
Part 2 of what started beneath the dim lights… now unfolds as Surrender in Shadow.
“Some fantasies are whispered. Others beg to be lived.”
Her POV:
I felt full… of him, of breathless silence, of something I didn’t have a name for.
Still blindfolded. Still spread open, my skin glowing with aftershock.
But it wasn’t over.
He hadn't let go. And I hadn’t stopped trembling.
That’s when the fear crept in—not of him hurting me, but of me ruining something too perfect.
Because I had a craving.
A dark one.
One I never spoke aloud.
What if it made him falter?
I could feel his breath hovering over my ear, as if he were reading the storm in my silence.
"Say it," he whispered.
I flinched.
"You're thinking too loud, baby. What is it you want to tell me?"
I hesitated. But his voice wasn’t demanding. It was… patient. Steady. Like a tether.
I swallowed, barely audible –
"I want you to make me feel... helpless. But safe. Like you’d ruin me for fun, and rebuild me just to do it again."
His silence tightened around my chest.
Had I gone too far?
Then I felt his lips smile against my shoulder.
His POV:
She didn’t know the fire she just fed.
Her voice was soft when she confessed, but her body didn’t lie—it arched, it asked, it offered.
I pulled her blindfold off slowly. Her eyes blinked into the dim light, wet and waiting.
Still kneeling. Still mine.
"You think I’d lose control because of your fantasy?" I murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"No, little one. I’m going to take you there–and never let go of the reins."
I stood and reached for the silk rope.
Her breath caught.
That beautiful fear danced in her eyes—not panic, not hesitation… but surrender laced with wonder.
Her POV:
He guided me to the bed—not like a man leads, but like a god sets the stage.
Every knot of the rope was a question.
Every tug… an answer.
My wrists were tied above my head, spread open like pages of a diary never read aloud.
The air around my skin felt colder now.
Because he had stepped back.
Again, I was alone in anticipation. But this time, I wasn't blindfolded—
I saw him watching me.
One hand around himself. The other… tracing lines over my ribs, my waist, my thighs.
"You asked for helpless, love," he said.
"Then give me your moans like prayers."
His POV:
She looked divine—roped, blushing, writhing against restraint.
This wasn’t cruelty. This was communion.
I slid into her with one sharp thrust.
She cried out—not in pain, but something worse: need.
My hands dug into her hips. Not to hurt—
To hold her still.
To remind her: this is what you begged for.
Every thrust was deliberate.
Every time she tried to move, I pulled back.
"I said still."
She whimpered, eyes glistening.
But then she smiled.
Her POV:
The pain blurred into pleasure. The pleasure burned into worship.
And I—
I laughed.
Not a full laugh.
But the kind that says yes, yes, yes without words.
The kind you give when you're being broken just right.
He saw it.
His grip got tighter.
I felt him watching me come apart like he was savoring my undoing.
And I wanted more.
"Please," I gasped.
He didn’t ask what I wanted.
Because he already knew.
His POV:
Her laughter. Her eyes. That wicked glint of a good girl craving ruin.
I pressed her face into the mattress. My mouth at her ear.
"I’ll give you everything... as long as you don’t stop asking for more."
She moaned louder this time—words failing her.
And just before she shattered beneath me again, she whispered something into the pillow.
"I don’t want to stop feeling this. Ever."
Neither did I.
So I f****d her like that was the only language left in the world.
.
.
.
.
Wait for next parts too ...