Page 187

“Lukas, I’m serious. This morning, when you said?—”

“Rae.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. Somehow, even this feels stilted and strange. “I want to show you something. That’s all.”

“Show me what?”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. “I’m not angry with you, sweetheart. I promise. I just need you to trust me.”

I eye him suspiciously. “You’re scaring me.”

“I know.” He gives me another kiss, this time to the inside of my wrist. “But you’ve trusted me before. So trust me now.” His eyesare full of sorrow as he looks at me and says again, “Go upstairs. Lie on the bed. I’ll be there in a moment.”

I sigh. “Okay.”

Lukas doesn’t say a word as I rise and drop my napkin on the table. He just watches me go.

I climb the stairs slowly. When I step inside, the bedroom is exactly as we left it this morning—sheets tangled, pillows askew, the faint scent of sex and sleep lingering in the air. I stand in the doorway for a long moment and stare at the bed like it might bite me.

Eventually, though, I do as I’m told. I stretch out on my back, still fully clothed, and stare at the ceiling. Through the gaps in the woven roof of the four-poster, I can see that the plaster is cracking, tiny spiderwebbed slivers spreading from corner to corner.

I peek at the door, but I don’t hear motion yet. My anxiety doubles.What on earth is happening?

A few minutes later, the door finally swings open. Lukas enters with a tumbler of vodka in hand. He crosses to the nightstand and sets it down without looking at my face.

With his back to me, he reaches up and unfastens the knot of his tie. He pulls it loose and lets it dangle from his fist. The sound of the whispering silk raises goosebumps along my arms.

“Put your hands above your head,” he instructs in a quiet rasp.

I swallow. “Luk?—”

“Put your hands above your head, Rae. And don’t speak again unless I tell you to.”

What are you doing?screams some distant, sensible part of my brain.This isn’t right. Something’s wrong here.

But I don’t say that out loud. I just put my hands over my head, like he asked.

As I watch, he reaches into the dresser drawer and removes three more ties. Then he turns and saunters over to me. My stomach squirms uncomfortably.

Lukas loops the first silk tie around my left wrist. The fabric is cool against my skin, and deceptively soft for something that holds so firmly. He threads the ends around one mahogany post and pulls tight.

I tug instinctively, but the knot doesn’t budge.

“Good,” he says with a satisfied nod.

He does it again with the right wrist. Then he steps down to my feet and fastens first one, then the other, to the other two posts of the bed.

When he’s finished, he straightens and looks down at me. I’m tied up, one limb per post, spread-eagled and confused.

Then he reaches out with one hand. A single, rough fingertip touches my throat.

I swallow hard. That fingertip traces a slow, winding path downward. Over the length of my throat. Between my collarbones. Down, down, down the center of my sternum. The thin cotton of my dress does nothing to dull the sensation.

When he reaches my navel, he stops. “We’re going to play a game,” he says.

I start to respond, then remember I’m not supposed to speak, so I let it go.

“Rule number one.” His finger circles my belly button, lazy and light. “You don’t cum until I give you permission.”

“Wh—”