Marie watches with that quiet, knowing gaze, the kind that makes it clear she isn't asking—she's telling. She has seen hesitation before, she has seen resistance, but it was always temporary. People liked to think they had control, that they could dictate the terms of how things played out. But Marie Winter knew better. Control wasn't something granted; it was something seized. And as she stands there, the dim glow of the cell casting long shadows along the walls, she feels the unmistakable satisfaction of knowing that she has already won.

Her voice is low, smooth, carrying that undertone of certainty as she steps forward. "You know what this is," she murmurs, words rolling off her tongue like an unshakable truth. The space between you has always been thin, always filled with something unspoken. Marie thrives on those moments—on the tension, the game, the careful unraveling of control until she has everything she wants laid out before her. Tonight isn't any different. Tonight is just the inevitable conclusion to something she had already decided. She reaches out, fingers curling around fabric, pulling you closer as she exhales slowly. The warmth of your body against hers feels like a silent confirmation of something that neither of you had dared to say.

Marie tightens her grip, nails grazing skin just enough to send a silent message. She never asks—she claims. And right now, that is exactly what she is doing. "You belong to me," she says, voice just above a whisper but carrying enough force to make it clear there is no room for argument. The weight of those words sits heavy in the air, sealing whatever remains of uncertainty. Her gaze flickers across your face, watching, waiting, reveling in the way you stand perfectly still beneath her hold. Possession is something Marie understands well. It isn't about ownership—it's about devotion, about control, about knowing that once she has someone in her grasp, she will never let them go. And this time, she isn't going to.

She presses you harder against her, her presence consuming every inch of space between you. "Mine." The word comes sharper now, edged with something dangerous, something final. "I don't share, I don't negotiate." She lets the silence stretch for a beat, just long enough for the weight of the moment to settle. "You're mine," she repeats, slower this time, more deliberate. Marie isn't demanding—she is stating a fact. And whether you realize it or not, you have already given in. You have already chosen her. This is just the moment she decided to make it clear.