Memnon rises from the mattress and moves to my side. “Would you like to chat about that right now, Empress? I can promise you the evening will go in a much different direction.”

Memnon is standing far too close.

I don’t know what possesses me, but I glance at his wrist, then clamp one of the cuffs over it. With a heavy click, it snaps into place.

Memnon raises an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

With a clink, I cuff his other wrist. Memnon doesn’t even bother fighting me.

“You wanted me to lead. Don’t regret it now.” I get a perverse thrill out of seeing this man’s wrists chained together.

Memnon glances down at his bound arms. “Then I am your prisoner.” When his eyes meet mine, there’s so much goddess-damned intensity in them. Intensity…and challenge. As though he doesn’t believe I’ll do anything with the power I have over him.

I grab the chain and use it to drag his upper body downward.

Once he’s close enough, I stand on my tippy-toes and brush a kiss along his lips.

I hear his deep, supremely satisfied exhale.

“You’re slippery,” I whisper against his mouth.

“Then you better keep your eyes on me,” he says.

As soon as the kiss ends, I tug on the manacles and lead the sorcerer back to his bed.

Memnon follows, playing the part of obedient prisoner. I give him a careful look, one that he returns innocently enough. I don’t buy it. Not for an instant. However, having this dangerous man cuffed before me and at my mercy emboldens me.

“Lie on the bed.”

The sorcerer gives me a long look—one I can’t quite meet—as he climbs onto the mattress. Between his searing stare and his bound hands, Memnon’s movements should be clumsy. But he moves with the same feline grace Nero does.

His bed has a beautifully carved headboard depicting flowers and animals not so different from the Sarmatian art I was used to seeing when I lived with Memnon long ago. There are open spaces between each carved animal and flower, and it sparks an idea.

I slip away to Memnon’s closet, the orbs of light trailing behind me. Inside it, I step up to his inset dresser and pull open several drawers until I find what I’m looking for. Nestled in neat rows are several rolled-up leather belts. I grab one of them and return to the bed, the soft light following after me.

Memnon waits for me, curiosity brimming in his eyes as he lounges back against his mattress. I don’t think he knows what I’m about to do.

I move over to him and straddle his torso. He barely has time to react to my sudden presence when I grasp his manacles and force his arms to lift over his head. Pressing the chain against the headboard, I slide the belt through both the metal restraints and the holes in the wooden bedframe. With a little help from my magic, I buckle the leather strap.

“You’re being awfully quiet while I work,” I say, glancing down at him.

I’d rather wait to see what you have in store for me before I start begging, he whispers in my mind.

“Begging sounds nice.”

Memnon stares at me for several beats until a slow smile spreads across his features.

“Please, don’t hurt me. I have money.” He rattles his chains a little for effect.

Is he being…playful?

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “That is your attempt at begging?” I laugh again. “You make a terrible captive.”

“On the contrary, I think you’ll find that I’m very agreeable. I’m eager to do your bidding.”

I clasp Memnon’s face in my hands, taking perverse pleasure in how his body stills beneath me. “I see what you’re doing, trying to be disarming,” I say.

“Is it working?”

My gaze drops to his lips, and after a moment, I lean in and take them.

The kiss is answer enough. The truth is, I have no defenses against playful Memnon. I barely had defenses against him when he was an asshole.

I feel him smile against me.

In response, I nip his lower lip, and the sorcerer groans into my mouth. He leans forward and the chains rattle, presumably as he tries to reach for me. He lets out a frustrated noise, and it’s my turn to smile midkiss.

I stretch my body out along his.

I like you like this, I say. All trussed up.

I move away from Memnon’s mouth and pepper kisses down his throat. I’m soon stopped by the collar of his shirt.

I place a hand to the material and whisper a spell. “With a slice and a tear, leave Memnon’s torso bare.”

The fabric beneath my hand parts from sleeve to neck and collar to hem until the shirt altogether falls away. The spell only partially rips apart Memnon’s pants and whatever lies beneath, the material shifting under my thighs as it slips off him. I can feel the hard press of his cock trapped between us, and it makes my core clench. Yet the rest of his pant legs remains intact, my spell only extending as far as the bottom of his torso.

My eyes linger on Memnon’s chest. His tattoos seem to jump out in the soft light. His dragon emblem, his hunting and battle conquests, even the marks that indicate he’s a king. I run my fingers over these beloved tattoos, nostalgia and want rising in me.

Beneath me, I sense the sorcerer notice my mood shift—he’s so fucking observant. So I duck my head and resume trailing kisses down Memnon’s torso, pausing to nip at one of his rolling pecs.

He groans again, and it’s so goddess-damned sexy.

The sheathed dagger he always has on him is now resting in the tatters of his clothes. I pause my ministrations to grab it and slide the blade out. It gleams in the light.

Even though I’m holding the weapon over him, Memnon doesn’t so much as tense. He really is a terrible captive.

“Is this where you stab me and free yourself once and for all?” he says in Sarmatian. “Because,” he continues slowly, his eyes smoldering, “I promise you, if you don’t, I will work to tie you so fucking tight to me you won’t eventually know where you end and I begin.”

“So dramatic,” I whisper. “Maybe I just want to play with your knife.”

I swivel around, repositioning myself so my back is to him. Before Memnon can continue to wonder what I’m thinking, I bring the knife down, sawing the blade through what remains of his pants.

The material makes a satisfying ripping noise.

I lean over, cutting open one entire pant leg, then the other. While I work, tendrils of my magic reach for his boots of their own accord, unlacing them, then tugging them off along with his socks underneath.

Once I cut away the last of the material, my pulse quickens. He’s completely naked, and I’m still fully dressed. The thought has barely crossed my mind when my power, again of its own accord, begins to undo the laces of my Doc Martens. It then continues up my legs, tendrils of the sunset-orange magic reaching for the buttons of my pants.

One of the first lessons witches learn about magic is that it is semi-sentient. We can control it, but it can just as easily control us. As I watch my power undo the top button of my own pants, a command I did not give it, I think that maybe tonight I’m seeing a little of that.

I swing myself off Memnon and leave the bed, as though moving might help me escape my own magic. It doesn’t.

With my back to the sorcerer, I toss Memnon’s dagger aside, the metal clattering against the floorboards as I’m helped out of my pants by my power. I’ve only just gripped the hem of my shirt when my power lifts it over my head, my hair cascading back to my shoulders. Already it’s unclasping my bra, and it helps me wiggle out of my panties. There’s nothing sexy or drawn out about any of this, yet even without my sight, I can feel Memnon’s gaze on me like a touch.

Beautiful, I hear his mind whisper.

I want to laugh. He’s smooth and self-assured while I’m tripping through the motions, trying to stay one step ahead of my magic and act like I’m still in control when I no longer feel like it. Even tying him up and stripping him naked no longer eclipses this feeling welling up in me.