“Onlythat?” I pressed, curious how much ground I’d gain.
She refused to look my way, suddenly fascinated by the texture of the duvet. “Yep, only that. You mind if I get water?”
“I will grab it for you.”
I was in the kitchen filling a glass with filtered water from the fridge, ice cubes crackling as they settled, when I heard her scream. Instant recognition flooded through me, along with a spike of adrenaline that had my body moving before my brain caught up.
Fuck. She’s found Marie Antoinette.
“Rowan!” Violet rushed into the kitchen, her face ashen, hazel eyes wide with shock. “You’ve got a body under your bed!”
I groaned, setting down the glass with more force than necessary. Water sloshed over the rim. “Violet, why were you looking under the bed?”
“I was looking for your porn stash!” Her voice pitched high with residual fear and indignation. “I didn’t realize that’s where you kept the corpses!”
She was clearly shaken, her hands trembling slightly, her breathing elevated. I could hear her heart hammering against her ribs, the sound like a drum to my enhanced hearing.
Might as well come clean.
“My porn is on the computer in the study. I can give you the password later.” Wide eyes stared back, unable to determine if I was joking or not.I took her hand in mine, her fingers cold with shock. “Listen. What you saw is not a corpse. Here, let me show you.”
“Show me your collection? It’s not the one I was expecting, so I’d rather not.”
“It is safe. I promise.”
“That’s what all serial killers say,” she whispered.
I chuckled as we walked back to the bedroom together. I knelt beside the bed and reached under, wrapping my fingers around familiar rope and smooth plastic. Pulling out Marie Antoinette took some maneuvering—she was still in her last tie, the Shinju suspension I’d been practicing. Her limbs were positioned at angles that would be difficult for a living person.
Violet eyed the mannequin warily, her body tense like she was ready to bolt. “Why is she headless?”
I pointed to where the neck ended in a smooth post fitting. “Most mannequins are. That is why she is called Marie Antoinette.”
“The queen?” Her voice carried skepticism mixed with reluctant amusement.
“Is there another?” I asked.
She bristled, some of her color returning. “God, no. But I just wanted to make sure.” She eyed the tie work, her gaze tracking the patterns of rope—cerulean blue against cream-colored plastic, the knots precise and complex. “So. . .”
I mirrored her posture, crossing my arms. “So. . .”
“Shibari? Not dead corpses?” Her eyes glinted with the faintest trace of incredulity, but underneath it, something else.Interest, maybe? Or curiosity?
“That is what you focus on after discovering my secret?” I couldn’t hide the surprise in my voice. Most people would still be processing the shock. “But yes. . . shibari. I am surprised you recognize it.”
She shrugged, kneeling down to admire Marie Antoinette more closely. Her fingers hovered over the rope work, not quite touching but clearly wanting to. “I’ve always loved the premise.”
Is that so?I couldn’t help the approving twitch of my cock as she admired my ropework.
“Rowan, the tie is lovely. It’s so pretty.”
My gaze lingered on her—on the vulnerable curve of her neck as she bent forward, the soft skin where her pulse fluttered visibly. I resisted the urge to stroke my fingers down that exposed expanse, to feel her heartbeat under my palm.
“Gorgeous, actually.” And I didn’t mean the tie as I cleared my throat. “Thank you,” I managed, my voice rough.
I heard her take a deep breath, her lungs expanding, her heartbeat steadying. Tentatively, she touched Marie Antoinette’s shoulder, her fingers tracing the rope pattern. “Have you ever thought about tying a real person instead of a doll?”
“It is a mannequin,” I corrected softly, my throat tight. I sighed, eyes flicking towards the hallway as if searching for words in the shadows. “And no. I—" I hesitated.How do I explain this?“It requires trust.”
