She shivered, but to her credit, kept her posture proud.
He put a hand to her shoulder to ground her and guided her to a resting kneel. “If at any time something goes numb, becomes painful, or makes you feel panicked, use your words. Yellow means I’ll back off and check in with you. Say Texas and I’m cutting the ropes off and kicking everyone out. There’s no shame in using either.”
She released a shaky breath. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He kissed the spot on her shoulder where his hand had been, then straightened and stepped to the side to face the audience. He started off talking about the lengths of ropes, why hemp was usually preferred, how to soften the rope by boiling it. It was all relatively dry stuff, but having Charli naked and kneeling in his peripheral vision had his skin prickling with awareness. She looked so damn tempting, her color easing slowly from the pink flush of embarrassment back to her natural freckled alabaster. She was sinking into the zone he needed her in. Focused. Ready for whatever he needed from her. Submissive.
He ran the length of rope along his palm as he answered a few questions from the audience. What he wouldn’t give to grab Charli and take her somewhere private. Though he liked a little exhibitionism and sharing every now and then, he preferred his D/s behind closed doors, enjoyed the sacred space it created between the dominant and submissive. And with Charli he was suddenly craving that more than ever.
He glanced over at his pretty sub. She’d lowered her head, shielding her face with that silky red curtain of hair. A wave of possessiveness went over him, and he found himself resenting the audience for being present. He wanted to tie her up for his eyes only. He wanted to run the rope along her soft skin, sensitize her, have her quivering and bound and begging for release. His cock pushed against his zipper as the images flitted through his head.
But he wouldn’t give these strangers that gift. That would be his.
Deciding to cut the presentation as short as possible, he headed over to Charli and began to demonstrate a few of the basic tying techniques, binding her wrists and ankles in a few easy-for-beginners options. Then he tied her arms behind her with a series of double-coin knots, making a line down from her shoulders all the way to her wrists.
With each new knot, Grant could see Charli’s breathing becoming more shallow, could feel her skin warming even though the room was cool. Some people panicked in rope bindings because it could feel more restrictive than cuffs, more claustrophobic, but Charli seemed to be having the opposite reaction. He could sense her sinking deeper into herself, any lingering anxiety draining from her.
Pride ballooned in his chest. His little trainee was quite the protégé. Despite her obvious issues with being exposed in front of others, she’d listened to his instructions and blocked everything out. She was only there with him, no one else. He finished the last knot and gave her shoulder a soft bite before whispering, “I can’t even tell you how fucking perfect you look right now, sweet Charlotte. I’m the luckiest guy in the joint.”
She flexed against her bindings, and her teeth dragged over her bottom lip.
“There’s one more binding I want to do, but that one’s going to be for my eyes only. I’m done sharing you tonight.”
Hell, based on how he was feeling at this moment, he may not want to ever share her again.
Charli listened to Grant wrap up the demonstration with only half an ear. Her arms were still bound behind her, her breasts no doubt jutting forth for all to see, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. The audience’s presence had melted away in her mind. Grant’s steady voice, his sure hands as he tied the ropes, the feel of his callused fingers brushing over her skin, his scent…Those were the only things she could focus on. And with each passing minute, her body’s awareness of him became more and more acute.
His slow footsteps sounded in her ears and she stretched her fingers, wishing she could reach out and touch him, explore. He stopped in front of her, his pant leg brushing her knee, then his voice was close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheeks. “We’re all alone again, Charlotte.”
He untied the blindfold and she blinked at him, the sudden light leaving spots in her vision. “They’re gone?”
He was squatting in front of her, want in his eyes. “You didn’t hear all that commotion as everyone left?”
She shook her head, still feeling a bit dazed.
He smiled and cupped her breast, circling his thumb around the tip and making her shiver. “So you can lose yourself to it.” Deep satisfaction colored his tone. “You’re getting a taste of subspace, freckles. I hope to bring you there often.”
She didn’t know what the term meant, but if he kept caressing her nipple like that, she wasn’t going to be able to remember her name in a second.
He rose off his haunches and moved around behind her. “Let me get you out of this, then I’m taking you where I can have you all to myself.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan.”
After he removed all of the ropes, he slipped her robe back on her shoulders and tied the belt around her waist. “Be right back.”
He left her there while he went into the staging room. When he returned a few minutes later, he was wearing jeans and boots and holding the bag he’d asked her to pack this morning. He held it out to her. “You’re allowed to put on panties and shoes for now. My dungeon isn’t in this building. We have to go outside.”
She raised her eyebrows, but took the bag and followed his instructions, slipping on a pair of simple black panties beneath the robe and toeing on her ballet flats. “Okay.”
He grabbed her hand and kissed the top of it. “Our chariot awaits, sweet Charlotte.”
Chariot? She had no idea what he meant by that, but as he led her down a few hallways and out a side door, the last thing she’d expected was standing outside waiting for them—waiting and…chuffing. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Grant gave a hearty laugh. “Watch your mouth, freckles. Maggie here will be offended.”
The horse turned a big eye on Charli, while Grant ran an affectionate hand down Maggie’s blue-black flank. “Sorry, it’s just I’m not exactly dressed for horseback riding.”
Grant checked Maggie’s saddle, then put out a hand to Charli. “You’re fine. It’s warm enough tonight and it will be quicker than walking. Plus, it’s more fun than the golf cart.”
With a sigh, she gave Grant her hand, and he helped her get her foot in the stirrup. He counted to three, then hoisted her up so she could mount the horse. Maggie stirred beneath her but otherwise seemed totally content with a half-naked stranger climbing on top of her. Charli snorted.
“What was that for?” Grant asked as he untied the horse from the hitching post.
“Nothing. Just realized Maggie and I have something in common tonight.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, I’m not touching that one.”
With the grace of a man who’d done it a thousand times before, Grant put his boot in the stirrup and swung his leg over, filling the space behind Charli. The heat of his chest seared through the thin silk of her robe, making every inch of her reignite with awareness. He reached around her and grabbed the reins, cocooning her with his scent. He nuzzled her ear, his voice low. “Hold on, freckles.”
She grabbed onto the saddle horn, and Grant made a soft clicking sound to get Maggie moving. Charli gripped hard as the horse made its way down the slant in the path. “Whoa.”
“Relax, darlin’. I’m not going to let you fall.” His thighs pressed against the outside of hers, reminding her that he had her on all sides.
“Maybe I should mention I’ve never been on a horse.”
He led Maggie away from the main building and toward the back of the property. Cabins dotted the area to the left, but Grant stayed off the walking paths and instead weaved along the fences protecting the vineyards. The rows of grapevines seemed to stretch out forever under the moonlight. “How is it Ms. Rough-and-Tumble has never been horseback riding?”
She adjusted her grip on the saddle horn, her fingers starting to hurt from grabbing it so hard. “I grew up in the suburbs. Riding four-wheelers was about as country as I got.”
“I bet you were damn cute trying to keep up with those brothers of yours.”
She sniffed. “Cute would probably not be the most accurate description. And I didn’t get to do those things with my brothers. My dad was of the lock-daughter-up-until-she’s-twenty mentality. I’d have to sneak out and play with the neighborhood boys and tell Dad I was playing with Barbies.”
“What about your mom?”
What about her? was the first retort that jumped to her lips, but she bit it back, taking a long breath and staring out at the dark night in front of them. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her mother, but she’d asked Grant some prying questions earlier, and it was only fair that she give him a little honesty, too. “My mom moved to Los Angeles when I was nine to help my older sister pursue her acting career. I wanted to go with them and be on TV, too, but mom told me the talent agent said I didn’t have the right look.”
The muscles in Grant’s forearms twitched as he gripped the reins tighter, but he stayed silent.
She cleared her throat, trying to move past the lump that always lodged there when she thought about the day her mom walked out. “It was supposed to be temporary—my mom living out her own failed dream through my sister. But my sister landed a part in a kid’s show, and my mother landed a spot in the director’s bed. They came home the next Thanksgiving, and Mom told Dad she was leaving him. Us. Neither she nor my sister ever came home again. It was like we didn’t even exist for her anymore.”
“Wow. That had to be tough for a little girl to understand,” he said, sympathy in his voice.
“I survived. I’d spent my whole life trying to please her and live up to expectations I could never seem to reach. So in some ways, it was easier after she left. My dad was never the same though. She broke his heart, and that broke him. He did a good job raising us, but the light in him went out the day he found out she was leaving for good. He was never the same.” She paused, tears threatening. Nothing could make her lose it quicker than thinking about her daddy. But she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, an old method she’d learned to keep tears at bay.
“How is he now?”
“He died of cancer my junior year of high school. From diagnosis to gone in only six months.” Tears did slip out this time. She brushed them away with the back of her hand. “She didn’t even come home to see him. Me and my brothers took care of him, watched him fade. Part of me thinks he would’ve been able to fight it if he hadn’t been so lost without her.”
Grant kissed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I didn’t mean to bring up something that would upset you.”
She took a few seconds, waiting for the burning sensation of more impending tears to abate, then rolled her neck, trying to shake off the bad memories. “It’s okay. It just makes me angry that he wasted the rest of his life loving someone who wasn’t going to love him back. He was a great man. He could’ve found someone else and had another chance at being happy.”
Grant turned quiet for a moment, and the only sound was hooves hitting the packed dirt. She thought he’d ended the discussion, but finally he said, “Sounds like she was the love of his life. Sometimes there’s no coming back from that.”
She scoffed. “That’s bullshit. Something doesn’t work out, so you roll over and wait to die? Screw that.”
“You think moving on is that easy?” Grant shifted in the saddle, and Maggie whinnied as if sensing the discussion had gone off course. “Have you ever been in love, Charli?”