“If she’s got your personality, you’re in trouble,” Luke teases.
Nick laughs. “Honestly I’d be happy if she got Priya’s everything.”
It’s nothing dramatic, no grand gesture, but the cracks are all healed. All the jagged edges between them seem… smoothed over. Relief blooms so deeply in my chest I have to look away before I start crying all over the baby.
“You two finally got your act together then,” Priya says, looking between Luke and me.
“We did,” I say with a smile.
“Good,” she says, beaming at me. “Because I like seeing you two together. You’re a good match.”
Nick doesn’t say anything but he gives me a warm smile and I know that means he’s working on it. I’m sure the mental image of me naked in full Shibari ropes will take a little while to fade.
After Luke has a cuddle with Ellora, the midwives bustle back in for more newborn checks and we’re ushered out.
We leave Nick and Priya behind in their cocoon of new parenthood, stepping out into the night like it’s our own freshbeginning. The air is sharp with promise. By the time we reach Luke’s, I know exactly what I want to do.
“I think tonight calls for something celebratory,” Luke says, as he unlocks the front door.
I glance up at him, my lips curling. “Good. I’ve been thinking about something I want to try with you.”
“From your list or mine?”
“Oh mine. Definitely mine.”
His eyes darken, his smile dangerous.
“Now you’ve got my full attention, Ms Warner.”
“Just tell me if it’s too much, ok?” I whisper.
We’re back at Luke’s place and I’ve just produced a set of silky ropes from the stash in the bedroom.
Luke’s mouth curves, that slow, dangerous smirk I used to see when he was the one issuing the orders.
“Sweetheart,” he says, voice low. “You couldn’t scare me if you tried.”
I arch an eyebrow, stepping closer until we’re breathing the same air.
“Oh, I’m not trying to scare you,” I murmur, my fingers drifting down the open front of his shirt, brushing the warm skin beneath. “I’m trying to make you behave. You say stop and I’ll stop.”
I wink and he gives me an obedient nod. A flicker in his eyes says he’s remembering the first night he tied me up, the way I’d trembled under his hands, the trust it took. He relaxes slightly and I can see him fight the urge to cup my jaw and take control.
“Sit,” I say, pointing to the desk chair. We’re in his home office, where a series of designs and drawings of Salt adorn the walls. “Hands behind your back.”
There’s a pause, three deliberate seconds where his eyes lock on mine, testing me. Then, like he’s granting me the world’s most delicious favour, he lowers himself into the chair, knees spread, gaze steady and unblinking.
I loop the first length of rope around his wrists. “I might have watched a few YouTube videos,” I confess, twisting and knotting the rope. “They're not Shibari but they should be strong enough.”
He leans back, mouth twitching. “Think you can keep me here?”
“I know I can.”
I finally finish and he sits before me. Open. Exposed. Mine. I trace my fingertips down his pecs and he shivers, goosebumps following in their wake. His breathing shifts; it’s deeper now, more deliberate. And I can feel the way he’s holding himself back from taking control, the way his muscles are coiled under my hands.
“Comfortable?” I ask sweetly.
“Not even a little.” That delicious smirk again.
