He pauses, his hands still too high on my thigh.
“If… if this is going to continue, I have a request.” I cast my eyes downward, chewing on my lip as if I’m embarrassed to say what’s on my mind. If this is going to work, I need to play my role perfectly.
His eyebrows rise when I take a peek up at him. “Oh, really? And what might that be?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t say,” I rush out. “It’s embarrassing. Never mind.”
“No, tell me,” he coaxes.
And just like that, I’ve got him right where I want him. His curiosity is piqued enough that he won’t want to let it go, and his ego is big enough that he’ll feel proud that I was willing to confess this desire to him.
“Um, it’s just a fantasy I’ve kind of always wanted to try in the bedroom. My boyfriend would never let me do it, though.”
“Go on.” He squeezes my thigh, and I suppress a shudder.
Again, I look away, feigning sheepishness. “I—I want to be in control in the bedroom. I just love the idea of tying up a man who’s as confident and powerful as you. Like a role play situation, I guess.”
My heart skips a beat when I realize my slip-up of calling him “powerful” after pretending not to know who he is all night, but thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice.
He hesitates, and for a moment, I think he's going to refuse. But then there’s a flicker of intrigue in his eyes along with a slight smile as he considers the proposition. He's used to being the one in charge, clearly, but he also relishes in the idea of indulging in a young woman’s secret fantasy.
“I understand if it's too much to ask. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” The words tumble from my lips as I play the flustered, ashamed woman.
“No, no, it’s not,” he assures me. “I’ve just never done that sort of thing before. But I’ll try anything once.” He winks, and I grin, but not for the reason he thinks. So far, my plan is working perfectly.
My stomach rolls when he leans forward and kisses me, gripping my hips with his grubby hands. His breath reeks of whiskey and the onions he had with his dinner, and I nearly gag as I lean back.
“Should we take this to the bedroom?” I suggest nervously. Anything to get the fuck away from his onion breath and beady eyes.
He agrees, standing, and I follow him to the bedroom on the far side of the living room. As we enter, my eyes land on a tie draped across the back of a chair. Just what I was looking for.
I lift it, turning to face him as he pulls off the one around his neck and tosses that one to me as well. Even better. It’ll be harder for him to slip out of my restraints when I have one for each hand.
Edward wastes no time shrugging out of his slacks and button down, and I avert my eyes as much as possible without being suspicious. Before I know it, he’s lying naked on the bed and stroking his half-hard dick.
Gross.
With both ties in hand, I make it a point to stand at the very edge of the bed to secure his free hand to the thick wooden bed post. I circle the bed to do the same with his right hand when he pulls it away from stroking himself, though I attempt to not touch his palm in the process.
He watches me the entire time, and it makes my skin crawl, but I force a smile and continue to play the part of the nervous but eager young woman.
Once he's secured, I step back to survey my handiwork.
“What do you think?” I ask. “Are they nice and tight?”
He yanks against the restraints, and neither of them budge. “You got me right where you want me,” he teases.
Oh, you bet I do.
I step back, letting my smile fade as I reach into my purse, which I had grabbed before heading into the room. First, I secure my hair into a quick bun with a hair tie, suppressing a shudder as I remember the pastor’s fingers latching on to the loose strands. I won’t risk that happening again.
Edward tracks my movements with appreciation, but his eyes widen when I pull the hunting knife from my purse. Its polished, curved blade seems to glow in the dim lamplight of the bedroom. I had found it in Ambrose’s garage, and after examining the blade, I knew it would work perfectly. The handle has a textured grip, and the blade is long, wide, and razor-sharp.
“What the hell is that?” he asks, panic lacing his tone as he tugs at the ties binding his wrists. The sudden shift in his demeanor is satisfying, his cockiness shifting to agitation in an instant.
I slip out of my heels, tossing the knife sheath beside them on the floor. I need to keep my balance when he starts thrashing around, which I know he will.
“Just a little something I brought along.”
