His suggestion makes her shudder even if she shakes her head anyway, head tilting back for him while he kisses across her neck and collarbone. Her throat is dry already, struggling to work over his head to speak, to swallow. "You will." She tells him. "You already do. Always." Because they haven't used a condom since about 2 months after they started sleeping together, so he always fills her up. If he talked about possessing her, about owning her and her being his anywhere else, she'd probably get her feathers up and there'd be a fight about his "Male, chauvinistic, neanderthal tendencies" and how she's "not his property". But here, naked and stumbling back towards their bed, his stubble and fingertips burning into her skin, it's hot. Here, she wants to be his.

When he nudges her back, she takes his wrist and sits down on the bed, sliding back until she's stretched along the length of the mattress and pulling him down on top of her. "Yes." She agrees, spreading her legs around him and finding his lips again as soon as he's close enough. "Yes. Now. Pin me down?"

A couple of times, he's held her wrists up above her head or laced their fingers together and pressed their joined hands to the mattress that way. And it's rare, but occasionally, it's something she'll ask for. To be completely at his mercy for a little bit. To be his.