Forbidden Ritual

“I want you so much,” she murmured against the hard column of his neck. She felt delirious as she said it.

He put her down at his bedside.

The curtains were closed, but the windows beyond were open and the curtains lifted on a warm breeze, making odd patterns of light shift through the darkened room. When light moved over the bed, she saw several piles of slender blue ropes, each neatly arranged in a figure of eight. They rested on the black linen sheets as if he’d known she would come for them.

She nodded at the bed. “I see you were expecting my arrival.”

“I like to be prepared.” Walking around the bed, he observed her from several feet away, studying her intently.

“That’s why you do so wel

l in your work.” She meant it. Part of his talent was anticipating what might be needed. But for a moment he seemed to take her comment wrongly.

“Imogen, I wasn’t sure you’d come, but I hoped.” The serious look in his eyes assured her he hadn’t taken it for granted. It was as if they each mirrored the resistance, the fear, in each other.

That made her want to reassure him. She undid her watch and put it down on his bedside table. “I’m here because you made me want to know.”

He nodded. “Show me how much.”

Something about the way he was hanging back, watching and waiting, made her want to ask him to do what he had to do to show her the way. She felt like the novice here, even though she was older. But he always makes me beg. Yes. Perhaps she wasn’t so gauche after all. They were both learning each other. That’s what it was all about. Kicking off her heels she took off her jacket and unzipped her skirt. Calm down, she told herself. The truth of the matter was she couldn’t get her clothes off quickly enough. After she’d given way to her doubts and overcome them, she had to know what it would be like.

She was down to her stockings when he lifted the first rope from the bed, unfurling it as he did so. He ran the rope through his hands as he watched her undressing. It snaked across the floor between them with one twitch of his arm. She paused in the act of rolling down her stockings, then pushed them off even more hurriedly. His brows were drawn low over his eyes in concentration and his mouth was set firm. Everything about his posture showed that he was pacing himself.

He is going to tie me up and then fuck me, and it will be good. The words kept going back and forth in her mind, like a mantra. It was meant to calm her, but it did nothing of the sort. Here in his room where she had climaxed time and time again and the scent of his aftershave swamped her senses, everything conspired to make her more eager. By the time she was fully naked, she was trembling.

“I’m ready,” she whispered.

“What is it that you want?”

“That.” She nodded down at the rope, then at the bulge of his cock inside his jeans, “and you, inside me.” Her hand moved to her pussy, and she slid one finger into her wet groove, resting it over her clit, pressing and squeezing.

He watched her fingers moving.

She stared at him, almost panting with need.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head and off, abandoning it. The hard muscles of his chest and abdomen gleamed when the light caught them. “Show me how much you want it.”

For one moment she teetered on the edge. Then, on instinct, she dropped to her hands and knees. Lifting her chin, she looked up at him. There were six, maybe seven feet apart, and he towered over her. In this position, with her breasts dangling and her bottom lifted, she felt vulnerable and exposed, and she knew that’s what he wanted to see.

The rope still moved through his hands, then he patted his thigh with one hand, beckoning to her. That simple gesture made a tremulous wave of relief and anticipation pass from her chest to her pussy, and she made her way over to him on her hands and knees, until she was right in front of him. Kneeling at his feet, she rested her forehead against his thigh. The rope was a hair’s breadth from her face and as she clung to him, he moved it, lifting it and looping it around her so that it slid down around her back. He had her entrapped.

When she looked up at him, she was startled by the captivated look in his eyes. It did arouse him to have her lassoed that way. Simple, symbolic and yet so deeply meaningful. She had offered herself, and now she was his.

She leaned back against the rope. The muscles in his arms went taut as he measured and balanced her, responding to her action. She was allowing him to tip the scales, and boy, was it good. Plucking at the button on his fly, she undid his jeans. The soft black cotton briefs beneath bulged as she folded the denim down. When she latched her fingers over the waistband of his briefs, she looked at him for permission. He nodded, and the rope tightened against her back.

Dragging the fabric down, she sighed with longing when his cock bounced free. She licked the length of his shaft, savoring his flavor, adoring the heat and potency of him—the part of him that joined them together. His eyes gleamed with pleasure, his lips parted. She took the swollen head into her mouth, riding it against the roof of her mouth. When he groaned, she took him deeper, sucking him hard.

“Enough.” His voice was hoarse. “Stand up.”

As she rose to her feet, he pulled his jeans and shorts into place. He cupped her breasts and dipped his head in order to suckle her nipples, first one and then the other. The rope was crushed against the sensitive flesh of her breasts and he rubbed it there with his palms, making her feel it. She moaned aloud, shifting from foot to foot, tension looping from her nipples to her pussy and back, making her unbearably hot. When she swayed back, the rope tightened around her back.

Every inch of her was aware—aware of the containment at her back, the dense smell of their mutual arousal in the room, and most of all she was aware of his attention.

“It is the ritual that makes it so special,” he whispered. “It will take me a while to make sure you are properly secured.”

As he spoke, keeping her informed of his actions, he lifted her arms at the elbow, indicating she should keep them raised and away from her body. He began to loop the rope under her arms, backwards and forwards across her chest and then beneath her breasts. The flexibility only just distracted her from the fact it would be tight against her skin soon and only he could release her.

Occasionally he would stop and bring another length of rope into play, knotting it into place. That created pressure points on her body—key points, the base of her neck, and along the edge of her rib cage.