Page 6 of Safe Word

‘You’ve done this before,’ I whispered, my voice shaky despite the attempt at levity.

‘Many times,’ he admitted darkly.

Pausing, his eyes locked on mine. ‘This isn’t just about your body.’ His voice dipped lower. ‘I want the moment you stop fighting yourself. The breath you hold before you beg. The stillness when you realise there’s nowhere left to run—’ Then he stepped closer, leaning over me, his mask hovering just beside my ear. ‘—only into me.’

My throat struggled to make way for the air.

‘I want your surrender…’

‘Why?’ I croaked.

‘Because you want to give it.’

Looming over me, inhaling my scent without even touching me, he waited until I said something more. But words wouldn’t form.

‘Now,’ he murmured inquisitively, ‘pick something from the bag.’

The bag?

The answer surged before I could stop it as my gaze instantly landed on the gleaming silver in the duffel behind him.

A flash of memory hit me – my ex, his blade against my thigh. Not in play, but in punishment.

‘Knife,’ I whispered, eyeing the sheathed Bowie tilted just enough to warn.

His head angled, reading more than I said. But he simply nodded once, slowly. ‘Good choice,’ he said. No weight of judgment in the notes.

I shuddered slightly when he bent to reach for it, the instinctive flicker of fear mingling with something else. My heart pounded in my ears, the sound drowning out everything in the room.

Wiping the knife clean with a sterile cloth in a way that had me staring, he made it seem as if the ritual mattered to him as much as the edge.

He stepped around me, securing my other wrist with the same measured attention, his knuckles brushing against my skin just enough to make my breath catch. His forearm muscles flexed, setting anchors, helms, compasses, and all manner of nautical ink into motion beneath my gaze.

Bending his knees, he reached for the straps at my ankles. When he lifted his gaze, his face was level with my knees, close enough for his breath to fan over my skin and send a slow, decadent heat curling straight through me.

His fingers lingered for a brief moment, as if testing my reaction, before looping the leather around my ankles and pulling. The restraint was snug but not painful – more like a silent reminder of the control I was handing him.

‘I want you to feel what is about to happen,’ he whispered. ‘Every touch, every pull. I want you to remember that it’s your choice to feel it.’

I inclined my head. Words were too heavy for my tongue.

When he reached for the strap across my thigh, a breath stuck between my teeth. His hands skimmed along my legs, as if carefully measuring me. He wound each strap just above my knees, and as he pulled tight, they did more than secure me.

The leather forced my legs apart with a slow stretch that left me utterly exposed, and it made my cheeks flush and my heart race. I felt the cool air creep along my skin, a contrast to the heat building between us.

My tight black dress rode up my hips until it exposed more than it should have.

Ghost flattened his back, his heavy, black gaze dragging over me like a caress. He stood close enough for the warmth of his body to seep into mine.

‘Safe word—’ he murmured, his voice dipping into a dangerous purr that sent a shiver sliding down my spine, ‘—red to stop. Green to go.’

I offered a quiet nod, as the faint, masculine scent of leather and something darker – something wholly him – clouded my thoughts. He bent closer, his shadow swallowing me, his scent brushing against my skin like a forbidden promise.

‘Say it,’ he drawled, the vibrations of his voice forcing my eyes closed and my thighs to spread further apart.

‘Red to stop,’ I whispered, my voice trembling, ‘green to go.’

‘If your voice fails you, you tap twice.’