“Your room is…very you,” she says softly, a smile pulling at her lips.
“Yeah?” I lift a brow. “It’s not my room. It’s my playroom.”
“Oh!” She looks surprised, then intrigued, her gaze sparkling with curiosity. “Well, your playroom is very you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
I walk to the shelf wall, stopping in front of the center section. “This is what you were hoping to see.”
Her eyes widen in curiosity as I reach under the bottom shelf and press the recessed button hidden there. The entire center wall clicks softly, and the bookshelf with the TV glides forwardan inch before sliding sideways, smooth and silent. Behind it, the hidden paneling lights automatically, washing the narrow space with a soft amber glow.
Sutton inhales sharply.
I step back, giving her room to study the hidden compartment as thoroughly as she likes.
Built-in shelves line the secret alcove, each one meticulously organized, displaying leather restraints in different styles. Rope in cotton, jute, and nylon. Wrist cuffs. Spreaders. A few impact toys hanging beside them in perfectly spaced intervals. A couple vibrators and dildos, as well as anal plugs and beads.
Her breath catches again, this time louder.
“This is…quite the collection,” she murmurs, stepping forward and running a hand over one of the silk ropes.
“Before anything happens,” I say in a low voice, “we need to set a safe word.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. I step closer, but I don’t touch her. Not yet.
“Didn’t we have one?”
“That one was for when this was just a one-night stand,” I explain. “I want you to choose one that’s more personal. One you’ll definitely remember, even if things get intense.”
At length, she swallows and asks, “So, are you, uh, going to hit me and stuff?”
A fair question, given some of the equipment hanging on the wall next to us.
“Not tonight,” I tell her. “Impact play isn’t really the main focus of my enjoyment. Just an additional element to bring into play when a scene calls for it.”
“So, what is your main focus?”
I reach past her and run my fingers down a length of cotton rope. “Bondage. Particularly, Shibari.”
“Shibari?” Her brows shoot up in surprise. “What’s that?”
“Japanese rope play,” I explain. “Actually, if I’m being technical, I practice kinbaku.”
She frowns. “What’s the difference?”
“Shibari is a term that technically means ‘to tie’, and can be used to describe any binding or restriction. Kinbaku is more…intimate. Erotic. Emotional.”
She takes a sharp breath. “And you’re into that? Tying people up?”
I nod. “Yeah, I am.”
Her eyes shimmer with growing interest. “What do you enjoy about it?”
A loaded, complicated question. How do I simplify it?
“I enjoy the control,” I answer slowly. “The total surrender of my partner to bind them how I see fit. There’s a lot of trust that goes into the practice, as well as skill. It’s an artform in the proper hands, and it’s meditative. The repetitive motions. Tracking the rope. Making sure the tension is right. It keeps you very present and connected with your partner.”
