There are so many things I want to say. It’s frustrating being muted like this.
I want to tell him it was wrong. I want to tell him that here, in the real world, where people don’t have superhero status that makes them rich and powerful and unencumbered by things likethe law,we don’t spy on people. We respect privacy. We don’t try to manipulate the situation for our own purposes.
I can’t say anything, though, and it seems he’s done for now, because he says nothing in return.
We walk to his bedroom, me all tangled and restrained in his arms, him with a look of grim determination that doesn’t seem to bode well for me. My pulse races as he drops me on the bed and walks away. I crane my neck to see him, but he’s walkingaround his room doing something. I hear the tug of shades as he pulls them. The light dims. There’s an unmistakable sound of a match being struck, then a flicker of flame.
I feel him before I see him. Strong hands securing me with even more restraints—soft, silky, but tenacious bonds around my waist, my legs, my breasts. I lay on my side staring up at him, trying to silently convey “what the fuck are you doing?” but if he’s aware of my vibes, he ignores them.
I decided I would win you over.
“When you submit to me like this, you can lean into it,” he says, which confuses me at first because I’m on the bed and notleaningon anything. I realize with a bit of a shock that I’m resisting this with everything I have. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. I don’t want him to have any control over me. I’m trying to just grin and bear it so I can leave, but as he continues slowly wrapping me, my mental resistance begins to ebb.
My only choices are to strain against them—which isn’t too comfortable—or relax into them.
I decide to relax into them.
Though I can’t talk, I can freely breathe. I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“You’ll listen to me now, Nicolette. I’m sure we would have been able to eventually have a reasonable conversation with you unbound, but if after this is all over you decide to leave, I want to remember you like this.”
He pauses long enough to stroke his thumb along one silky binding. I remember the first night we met, how he brushed his thumb over my cheek. “My precious gift.”
My throat tightens. Tears well in my eyes. It’s beginning to become harder to remember why I’m angry.
“You expected things to progress with me the way a normal relationship would.” With a casual shrug, he finishes one last tie. “Dinner and a movie. Small talk. Maybe casual, mediocre sex. Or maybe you thought this would be more like a regular night with a client. Sex without emotion. Just a job.”
Just a job.
How many times have I thought that?
“But things would never be normal between us,” he says with conviction before he bends to brush his lips over my cheek. “There’s nothing normal about you. You are a rarity. Worth more to me than anything in the world.”
How many times did he fight to choose me over something or someone else? I watched him fight in his battle to bring his brother home when my own safety was at stake.
“I can see it in your eyes,” he says softly, running both hands down the length of my bound arms. “You don’t know why you’re so special. You don’t understand. But if you give me time and another chance, I’ll show you.”
He’s right. I don’t understand, not at all, and I’m tempted—oh, so very tempted—to give him this chance.
But even if everything was right between us, I can’t leave my sister in the States without me. I have the money now. I have to take care of her. I’ve only made this sacrifice so I could do my best by her, and I can’t choose my own interests now even if I wanted to.
He’s mafia,I remind myself.
You became a call girl,I mentally counter.
I blink back tears.
“I won’t apologize,” Fabien says. “I did what I had to, and I would do it again. I won’t promise you a normal life. Choosing us means choosing anything but normal. But it also means choosing undying love. It means being with someone who will protect you no matter the circumstances.” He kisses my cheek again. “It means I love you.”
I push against the bonds just to feel them hold tight. I can breathe. I can think. I can see. But I’m vividly aware of how vulnerable I am to him.
I wouldn’t emotionally submit to him. So he’s forced it physically.
I need to give the man credit. He could’ve fought back. He could’ve railed in anger. He could’ve let me go.
But no. He chose instead to silence my resistance and give us another chance.
When he strokes his hand down my back, over the overlaying bonds, I feel a bit more resistance seep out of me. I never understood the power of bondage. Until now.
