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Summary
Janeway’s tense grip snaked its way up the nape of B’Elanna’s neck and clenched her hair tight. Her arm guided B’Elanna to her hands and knees with an abrupt shove. In shock, B’Elanna gasped loudly. Her fist still puppeting B’Elanna, Janeway took a knee and whispered in her ear.
“B’Elanna,” and even softer than that, “don’t make me punish you.”
B’Elanna leaned towards those soft, red, dangerous lips and into her own desires. Janeway’s breath pressed itself, warm, onto B’Elanna.
“Make me.”