TRISTAN
Her escape plan was cute.I’ll give her that. While she unlocked the cuff and hid, I watched her on the camera while tracking our food delivery on my phone.
As soon as I saw her hide under the stairs, I knew what she had planned.
Clever woman.
But not clever enough.
A dash of chloroform on a rag, and she was out cold.
Tying an unconscious woman to a chair isn’t easy. Her head lolls, and her arms keep dropping off the armrests before I can get her wrists bound properly.
It’s a struggle, like I’m fighting with a drunk, but after a few minutes, I manage to bind her wrists and ankles before I take a longer piece of rope and work on her calves. Taut muscles trace a deep line along her calves, and I can’t help brushing my fingers against soft skin.
Once her legs are secure, I work on her chest. My ropes crisscross around her body, securing her to the chair until I’m ready to let her go. Shibari is a kink that’s useful in situations like this.
Her breasts catch between two ropes, and there’s the faintest trail of lace underneath. Her nipples pucker, straining against the fabric of that oversized dress that’s flush to her skin in these ropes.
My hands twitch, but I’m not an asshole. I won’t touch a woman unless she’s begging me to.
But I’m going to lose my fucking mind if she doesn’t wake up soon.
And what’s worse is our damn pizza is getting cold.
Retrieving a bandana from my back pocket, I secure it between her lips and knot it around the back of her skull. Not like there’s anyone else to hear her, but it adds to the ambience.
Her eyelids flutter open as a groan strains her throat.
I adjust my ghost mask—something different this time—and step back as the world blinks into view for her.
Those gleaming blue eyes land on me, and she glowers before they drop to my black t-shirt.
Her face contorts, and she tries to stop a laugh but fails.
The words “Fuck me like the IRS” stretch over my chest.
“You like it?”
She laughs against her gag and goes to move.
The ropes bite into her pale skin, shading it pink in places where she strains a little too hard.
She grumbles into the gag, and I can’t understand what she’s saying. Her eyes spark with fury as her shoulders lurch against the binds again, her tits pushing between the ropes.
My God, she’s fucking stunning like this. There’s no doubt in my mind that tonight I’m going to picture Daphne Fox like this, only naked and begging for more with my head buried between those pillowy thighs.
“What was that?” I say. “I think you need to speak up.”
Daphne rolls her eyes before launching into a tirade of muffled words. Probably curses. I’d bet she’s calling me every name she knows.
I deserve some of them.
Stepping closer, I crouch down. And she keeps grumbling.
“Daphne,” I start.
But that mouth of hers keeps going.
