It had hurt, and she'd considered crying, "Mercy!" but always, the look in his eyes stopped her. One part madness, one part rage mixed with pain... and one part love.
It was the love that undid her, the love that made her offer her throat to his hands, her wrists to the rope.
The rage she could have fought, the madness feared, the pain lamented... but the love... it was the love that undid her, and brought her to her knees for him as she had never knelt before. It was the love that reminded her to breathe through the pain he gave her, let her accept the penance without anger or retribution. Let her welcome it.
It was the love that made her hate herself for hurting him, and love him the more for forgiving her.
The chain around her neck, drawing tighter until air was a struggle.
The hands slapping her thighs, until she gritted her teeth in pain and the need to twist away.
The knuckles in her breastbone, making her writhe in agony.
Part of her wanted to fight, wanted to struggle, wanted to hurt him for bringing this pain to her... but even that part quieted when she looked into his eyes. They paled in his madness, in this grip of sociopathy, of love. Wide as they were when she hurt him, but different somehow.
Still beautiful.
And still filled with love.
It was the love that undid her.
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