“Wait here.”
I blink, breathless, dazed. “Where are you?—?”
“Tack room,” he says, already halfway to the door. “Don’t move.”
He disappears, and the moment stretches, anticipation curling through my belly. My skin buzzes with it. By the time he returns, something has shifted in him. His movements are more deliberate. The coil of soft, natural rope in his hands makes my heart stutter, breath catching low in my throat. It’s not just the sight of it. It’s the way he handles it.
He pauses at the edge of the bed, eyes locked on me.
“This is just for restraint,” he says, the low rasp of his voice making heat pulse between my legs. “Not for pain. You say the word, and I’ll stop everything.”
I nod, already breathless. “I trust you.”
His jaw tics. He swears softly under his breath, like my words hit somewhere deep. “Fuck,” he murmurs. “You saying that? That means the world to me, darlin’. You have no idea.”
He kneels onto the mattress, fingers brushing my wrist, dragging heat in their wake. “Let’s get you out of this shirt.”
I lift my arms without hesitation, letting him strip the fabric over my head. My bra follows with a flick of his fingers, and the way his eyes drag over me makes my skin tingle.
“Give me your hands,” he says, voice low and steady.
I offer them, wrists up, and the moment the rope touches my skin, I shiver. Not from fear. From want.
He binds me slowly, methodically looping the soft cotton around my wrists with the kind of care that feels more intimate than any kiss. The knot is firm, final. A gentle tug confirms I’m not going anywhere.
And God, that turns me on more than I ever imagined.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, fingertips trailing down my arms.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “More than.”
He leans down, brushing his mouth against the shell of my ear.
“Good,” he growls. “Because I’ve been fantasizing about this since the moment you opened that smart mouth of yours.”
His hands drift lower, palms rough against my bare skin as they cup my breasts. I moan as he rolls my nipplesbetween his fingers, teasing them into stiff peaks, each flick sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth down my neck. “And now? You’re all mine.”
His lips trail lower with a slow, unhurried wet kiss over my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, down my stomach. Each press of his mouth sets me on fire. Each pause makes me ache.
When he finally settles between my thighs, his hands grip my knees, spreading me wide. His eyes flick up, dark and hungry, a wolf about to feast.
“Bet you wish you had free hands,” he says, that wicked grin spreading. “But trust me, baby. You’re not gonna need ’em.”
Then his mouth is on me.
The first swipe of his tongue sends my back arching, my cry caught in my throat. I tug at the ropes instinctively, needing something to hold, something to ground me, but I have nothing. All I can do is the feel his mouth and the pressure of his tongue.
He eats me like I’m his last goddamn meal.
Slow at first. Tasting me, learning me. Then deeper. Harder. His tongue flicks, circles, presses, and I can’t stop the way my hips roll against his face.
But I’m bound.
Helpless.
At his mercy.
