Chapter 5
The first thing I learn about handcuffs is, they fucking hurt.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice still raw from sleep and overuse a few hours ago. He sits me up, my muscles still too loose to fight him. I really don’t want to do more kinky stuff right now, I have a job to do. And I need him asleep for it. Maybe he’ll settle for a blowjob.
Then I realize he’s cuffing my other hand as well, behind my back and the panic sets in. All my senses go from sleep-dulled to high alert in a half second.
If he smells like a cabin in the woods, maybe its because he’s the kind of man who keeps one stuffed with skeletons.
Now that my wings have been effectively clipped, he’s able to stand me up and steer me where he wants. I stumble, and kick off my heels. If I have a chance to run, they won’t be doing me any favors. My heart is pounding in my ears. I try to formulate a plan, but its like my brain can’t move any more than my arms can.
And then we’re walking around a partition and there’s a bathtub. So this is where I die. Drowned in a claw-footed beauty I’d kill to own. Instead I’ll be killed myself; no consolation prizes in that.
Surprisingly, my body’s reaction is far more drastic than my mind’s.
I suppose I always knew this would happen someday. In my line of work, you’re playing with people’s passions. And passionate people sometimes turn out to be murderers. Even dimpled sex gods, it seems. Life is unfair. And now I know that in a fight-or-flight situation, I’m actually a freeze-r.
Not that I’ll ever be able to use that information.
These thoughts all flit through my head before we get close enough for me to see that the water is steaming and scented, that rose petals are floating on top, that the candles are relit.
Goddamn it. We’re back to kink.
At twenty-six, I’m already too old for this shit. Roller-coaster emotions are exhausting. On the other hand, I am pretty glad that I’m not going to die in a stranger’s loft.
“You didn’t have to cuff me to get me in a tub,” I say. The pain these meal rings are causing would be interesting if it didn’t hurt so much. There’s the top layer of sting where they bite into my skin, and then there’s the deeper layer of ache where the bruises are forming underneath.
“I didn’t.” He picks me up like I’m nothing and gently deposits me in the water, arms behind the tub so that I’m held up even without him. I hate myself for moaning in pleasure at the warmth.
“Then why?”
“So you wouldn’t get out.” He picks up a sea sponge, dampens it, and starts to wash me gently. Somehow the pain in my wrists is both amplified and soothed by the long strokes of the sponge. I can feel the response between my legs long before he begins to wash me there.
“Don’t I get to pick a safe word or something?” I know vaguely how this works.
“Are you scared?”
“A little.” Maybe more than a little. My blood is as icy as his stare at the thought that he’ll continue. And at the thought that he’ll stop.
“Fear is just desire wearing a different mask. If you’re scared, you’ve just identified what you want most of all.”
“And what if I desire to stop?”
“I think you forfeited your right to call the shots when you decided to steal from me, little thief.”
He knows.
And all the pieces fall into place. I didn’t intrigue him at the party I found him at; it wasn’t my trap. The man who never uses social media had marked himself as attending the event just to get me there. And I went to his house of my own free will, because it didn’t occur to me that he didn’t want to fuck me.
Actually, I think he liked that part just fine, too.
My stomach drops even as I’m still moving my hips forward in a vain attempt to get him to put more pressure on the sponge washing my sex.
I take care of my body, I’m in tune with it. I can feel when I need protein, when I need a massage, when my period is coming on. But I’ve never been as aware of the spectrum of sensation it’s capable of until tonight.
“So what are you going to do?” I’m shooting for a conversational tone, but even I can hear the quaver. He smiles again. This asshole just turned my world upside-down, set it on fire, and I have the nerve to be comforted by the sweetness in his lips. Maybe that’s why he’s cultivated that frozen stare, because the second he smiles, the sun comes out.
Its hard to be taken seriously in business when you look like the kind of person who rescues puppies in their spare time.
“I’m going to spend the night with you.”
“And I suppose I don’t get a choice in the matter.” There’s no need for him to answer. The girl who’s naked and bound has no choice in anything.
“Choices are fallible. You think you know what you want. You don’t. But your body knows. And I can read your body.” I try to stop rocking my hips, but he applies the pressure I needed and it sends a jolt of enjoyment right through me.
“But you’re doing something that feels good.” I can’t quite overlook the discomfort of the steel bracelets I’m wearing, but it’s diminished by the sensual feel of the sponge parting and caressing me.
“Then come for me.” He replaces the sponge with his fingers and thumb, sliding inside and out, touching every spot I know I have and a few I didn’t. I let my head fall back and he continues like a pro.
And continues.
And continues.
It feels amazing. I’m not coming for him. It’s not hard. I just—don’t let go. I don’t want this. I don’t want him.
Then he puts his hand over my face.