My heart pounds as I do it, thighs parting, heels drawing closer to my body. It feels incredibly vulnerable. Exposed. Air hits my damp pussy, making me feel embarrassed. Every instinct tells me to close myself off again, hide from his burning gaze.
Az notices the hesitation instantly, one warm palm settlinglightly over my knee. “You’re exquisite, Simone. You’re doing so well.”
With a small gesture of his free hand, two pillows appear beneath my thighs, lifting and supporting them so the stretch eases at once.
My breath catches.
“There,” he says, sounding pleased. “Isn’t that better?”
He lifts one of my wrists and turns it over in his hand, studying the pulse fluttering there. His thumb brushes the inside of it once, the simplicity of the touch devastating.
“Hands above your head, little fairy.”
I raise my arms, and he lays them against the pillows, beginning to wind rope around one wrist.
I brace for roughness, the unkind touches my body is used to. Except it never comes. Not from him.
The silk settles snugly but gently against my skin, smooth and cool at first, warming almost instantly. He slips two fingers beneath the wrap, testing the tension.
“Too tight?”
I take a shuddering breath before answering him. “No.”
The knots he makes are deft and elegant, and he repeats the process with the other wrist. When he finishes, my hands are secured above me.
I tug experimentally, but the ropes don’t yield.
A pulse of panic rises sharp and sudden in my chest.
Az’s gaze snaps to my face. “Breathe.”
I do, dragging air into lungs that momentarily forgot their purpose.
“In through your nose,” he says calmly. “Out through your mouth. Good.”
He waits until my chest stops heaving.
“You can stop this whenever you wish.”
I swallow. “I know.”
His gaze goes molten. “Do you? Do you know the power you have over me right now?”
Something in the question unsettles me more than the ropes. I nod anyway.
Satisfied, he shifts lower, resting a hand against my calf.
“I’m going to secure your legs now.”
His fingers slide from my ankle to my knee, slow and reassuring, before guiding my knees a little wider. Only an inch. Then another.
The rope circles one thigh just above the knee, then the other. He threads lines between them, anchoring the shape so my legs remain parted without effort.
I test the position. My knees can move only a fraction before the rope reminds me otherwise. The realization sends heat rushing through me.
Az notices, his mouth curving dangerously.
“You like being held like this,” he purrs.
