Bound to Submit

Heart pounding, she held them out to him. She couldn’t decide what was sexier—the way his big hands held the rope she knew she’d soon wear, or the way his dark eyes absolutely blazed at her.

“Wider,” he said in a low voice. She moved them to about the width of her torso, and he nodded. “Will I in any way damage your prosthesis if I apply rope to it?”

A fast shake of her head. “No, Sir.” This one she knew for sure, which was probably why her cheeks heated.

He tilted his head, taking in the change which of course he noticed. One eyebrow arched, and damn why did that have to be so sexy? With the hand holding the rope, he caressed her cheek, allowing the twine to cascade down the front of her body. “What caused this, little one?”

She only hesitated a moment. “I practiced. At home. When I was first thinking of coming back.” There was no sense in denying it, not if it would give him the confidence to do what he wanted—and she needed.

“Mmm. I think I’m going to want to explore that more some time.” That eyebrow remained arched.

“Yes, Sir.” She might agree to let him explore absolutely anything if he’d just put that rope on her wrist. And then he did. Slowly, methodically, skillfully. He looped a double width of twine around both wrists, pulled the end through the beginning loop, and then neatly wrapped the length around the loose cord in the middle until he’d made tight cuffs around each wrist and a firm spreader bar made entirely of rope.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

“Good. Green, Sir.” Good didn’t begin to describe it. Because it was as if each new binding lifted weights from her mind, body, and spirit. For the first time in so long. She didn’t know why that was true for her, just that it was. And it had been from the very first time that a boyfriend her freshman year of college had playfully, if clumsily, wrapped his tie around her wrists and secured it to the headboard of the twin bed in his dorm room.

That experience had marked her. Changed her. Until she’d craved more and more intense bondage, and finally discovered the lifestyle at an off-campus play party her senior year.

“Very nice. Can you bend your arms to bring your fists to your shoulders?”

She did it, the retention of some of her forearm enabling her to bend her right arm pretty much as usual.

He nodded. “Will it hurt your arm to be bound in this position?”

Kenna shivered, but she pushed aside the lust-filled No! that threatened to spill free and really considered his question. “I believe I could hold this position for a while without causing myself pain.”

He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth, the gesture a little reward that poked at things inside her chest. “I appreciate the honesty. I could be very happy with having you just like this. But do you want more, Kenna?”

“Yes. More, Sir, please.” She wanted rope marks imprinted deep into her skin. Everywhere.

His chuckle was full of a sexy smugness. “That almost sounded like begging. And I always did like when you begged.” He moved behind her, pulling the rope attached to her wrists around the back of her neck, knotting it to her opposite wrist, and then creating a crisscross that ran between her breasts and wrapped around her torso.

Kenna whimpered, because it felt fucking amazing to be bound this way. But she was going to cut this bodysuit to shreds the minute she got home for keeping her from feeling the rough, direct press of the twine.

“Regretting that suit now, aren’t you?” He came around her and winked as he surveyed his handiwork.

She twisted her lips and kept silent, because he already knew the answer. Damn him.

Silently, he walked around her, observing her as she observed him in return. The beautiful, confusing tattoo on his back. Those broad shoulders, the perfect fit of those black jeans on his thighs and ass, the prominent bulge of his cock under the denim, the longish black hair that she knew he loved for her to grip when they kissed. The thought made her struggle against the bindings.

He paused in front of her, his gaze dragging over his handiwork.

“Fuck, Kenna. I have bound you in my dreams a thousand times.” He shook his head. “But not one of those compared to the privilege of actually getting my hands on you again.”