"I found something. While I was unpacking your boxes."
Her hand stays on my thigh. Doesn't move, doesn't squeeze. Just stays.
Every muscle in my body goes taut. I know exactly what she found.
"The rope."
"Angelina—"
"I want you to use it."
The SUV drifts toward the center line. My hand leaves hers and finds the wheel. I correct, force myself to breathe, keep both hands steady.
"What?"
"Tonight. I want you to use it. On me."
I nearly miss the turn onto her street.
thirty-eight
Angelina
The lamp casts everything in gold.
I stand three feet from the vanity mirror, the bed behind me, the door to my left. Naked and waiting, my pulse beating steady and slow in my throat, in my wrists, between my thighs. The air touches every inch of exposed skin, cool where sweat hasn't gathered, warm in the hollow of my throat, the crease beneath my breasts.
Cole stands between me and the door with the red silk rope coiled in his hands. The same rope from before. Last time, he asked permission.
Tonight, I'm asking for something more.
"Turn around."
His voice is low and controlled, but tight at the edges, like he's holding it in place.
I turn and face the vanity mirror. He's there behind me, dark eyes tracking down the line of my spine. Everywhere his gaze lands, my skin warms.
"I want the full bind." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Mount Fuji, gote shibari."
His chest stops moving in the glass.
"You researched."
"Three nights ago, after Chesca fell asleep." I hold his eyes in the mirror. "Diagrams, terminology, videos of women being bound while their partners narrated each knot."
The room goes quiet. In the mirror, his jaw flexes and his knuckles go white on the rope.
"Your arms will be behind you." Each word is measured. "Bound. You will not be able to—"
"I know."
"You will have no control. None." He steps closer, still not touching. "If you need to stop—"
"I remember, mercy."
His chest rises and falls too fast for a man who plans seventeen contingencies for every situation.
"Why?"
