"Which I may employ," he says thoughtfully, letting Bull's wrist go for the moment, after pulling it to his lips to press a kiss to the pulse point. "Ropes. Perhaps scarves. Never chains."

He leans in to whisper the words into the sensitive spots he'd found, the breath fluttering against Bull's ear, the back of his jaw, and the edge of his horn roots.

"At least not the kind to bind you. I may consider," he runs his teeth along the shell again, "further aesthetic additions. But I find that generally."

He blows an ice cold line of air down the side of Bull's neck, a direct counter to the sunlight-warmth of his touch.

"Less is more, when it comes to restraint. You won't move... because I tell you not to move. You won't break the binding... because I want to see you in it."

His hands, which had been resting lightly along Bull's sides, begin to run up and down, slow and almost hypnotic.

"How do you see yourself worshiping me, Bull?" So soft. Smooth. Languid, like a predator relaxing, sure of his place at the apex of the food chain. "I'll tell you what I'm thinking of. But only after you share your own thoughts. After all, is it really an offering if it's requested?"