The art of Submission
His thighs opened wide like he was daring me to try and escape, those thick, sun-bronzed quads flaring open in invitation. The second I shifted, his ankles crossed with that lethal *click* and locked me deep in his vice. I bucked hard, trying to worm my way out, but he was too fast. The raw power of his muscular thighs hit like a freight train—an ox-strong crush that reminded me exactly who was in control. Before I could suck in a breath or brace, he straightened his legs with violent force. The sudden snap broke his own ankle lock for a split second, giving me the opening I needed. I twisted fast, dropping the height of his legs from my chest down to a more manageable mid-waist hold. But the second he felt me slipping, his eyes flashed. He opened his legs wide again, then slammed them shut like twin pythons. His quads detonated against my sides with the force of a kidney punch, veins popping like cables under golden skin. This time he kept the ankle lock tight, kicked out h...

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