"I do trust you."
"Then let me help you let go of some of that fear. Some of that worry you're carrying." I held her gaze. "There are things I want to do with you. Ways I want to touch you. But they require you surrendering. Trusting me. And I think it might help you feel better. Even if just for tonight."
Her pupils dilated. "What kind of things?"
"The kind where I bind your wrists and give you commands. Where you let go and let me take over." I kept my voice steady. "With boundaries and safe words and constant check-ins. Nothing happens without your consent, and you can stop anytime."
"I've never—"
"I know. Which is why we'd talk about it first. Establish your limits. Make sure you understand what you're agreeing to."
She was quiet. Then: "Have you done this before?"
"Yes. After I got out of the service, it was part of working through the PTSD. Learning to trust someone with power, learning to give it safely. Someone experienced in the kinkcommunity helped me process what I'd been through. But it's been a while. And I've never done it with someone I actually cared about. Not like this.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
"I care about you," I admitted quietly. "Caring about you makes this different. It means I want you to trust me with more than just your body—your pleasure, your vulnerability, your surrender. All of it."
She was processing. I could see it in the way her breathing had changed.
"What would it look like?"
"We'd start slow. Do you have any silk scarves?"
"Scarves?" She blinked. "I have a few. Why?"
"We'd start with those—softer, less intimidating than the bondage equipment I keep in my truck. I'd bind your wrists with silk. Give you commands. Watch how you respond. Check in constantly. We'd use safe words—red to stop, yellow to pause, green to continue."
"And if I wanted to stop?"
"Then we stop. Immediately. No questions, no judgment. This only works if you feel safe."
She studied my face. "Why bind my wrists at all?"
"Because it requires absolute trust. You're physically restrained, which means you have to trust me to take care of you. To not hurt you. To stop when you ask." I traced my thumb across her lower lip. "And because you're tired of always being in control. Surrendering to the right person might feel like freedom."
Her breathing had gone shallow. "What would you do?"
"I'd bind your wrists to your headboard with silk. Make you hold still while I touched you. Make you tell me what you want. Make you ask for it properly." My voice dropped lower. "And then I'd give it to you. Just how you need it."
"Rhodes." My name was barely a whisper.
"But only if you choose this. Only if you have faith in me."
Long silence. Her eyes searching mine.
Then: "I want to try."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure I want you. I'm sure I'm tired of being careful and controlled and perfect." She met my gaze directly. "I'm sure I want to know what it feels like to let go."
"Then show me where you keep them."
SHE OPENED HER CLOSET. Pulled out a drawer where several silk scarves lay folded—soft colors, good quality. She selected two. Pale blue, long enough to work with.
"These?"
