back, one hand pulling her torso up off
the floor by the ropes crossing between her shoulder blades. She felt utterly helpless,
taken over, which was exactly what she wanted, yet was also what was making her panic
now.
“Allie, I’m going to give you a chance to tell me what this is about.”
“I can’t, Mick,” she started, but tears lodged in her throat and she had to stop.
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t be . . . humiliated. Not with you. Please don’t.”
“This is not humiliation. This is beauty,” he said, his tone low, quiet. Reverential
in a way she understood. In a way that calmed her instantly. He ran a hand over her
spine between the ropes. “The graceful angles of the body. The level of submission
it signals. Seeing the flesh bound in my ropes is pure art to me. Your flesh . . .
well, I’ve been waiting a long time to do this, which I believe you already know.
That’s . . . almost indescribable. So damn beautiful.”
She felt her limbs loosen. His grip on her softened, and he let her back down onto
the floor, where she turned her cheek, resting it on the wool rug.
“You’re ready now,” he told her.
Told
, not asked. It didn’t matter. It was true.
He drew her ankles up once more, wrapped them in the sensually sliding rope, making
her acutely aware of the bones and flesh there, then he tied them off with a few knots.
He slipped a length of rope under the knots between her ankles and led it to her body
harness, where he worked it through the ropes across her back, and pulled on them
until they drew her ankles up a bit more.
She was truly helpless now, except for her safe words, of course. But she didn’t need
them. Her head was sinking deeply into subspace, which she realized distantly she
hadn’t quite expected without more pain play. The only pain was the slight throbbing
of her bound breasts pressed against the carpet, her nipples grazing the wool, and
the rope that pulled hard against her sex. But she was soaking wet.
Mick’s big hand wrapped around her bound wrists, whichwere clasped behind her head. She heard the soft
snick
of moving rope as he bound the corset tie on her hair to her wrists. Then he pulled
up, lifting her chest off the floor, raising her head with it.
“Tell me that you’re doing okay, Allie.”
“Yes. Yes,” she whispered.
“Are the ropes too tight anywhere? Cutting off circulation? Pressing too hard into
bone?”
“No. The ropes are . . . good.”
She tried to just keep breathing, to keep her body loose. When he slipped some rope
between her wrists and tied it to her ankles, drawing her body up, making it bow,
shock coursed through her. The discomfort of the position was a part of the power
of it all, she understood, but Jesus, she’d never felt so utterly helpless. But it
was for
him
.
Him.
Mick.
He began to run his hands over her flesh, so gently she wanted to cry. Her skin was
alive, every nerve ending in hyperdrive. She felt his touch like fire. Like nothing
she’d ever felt in her life.
“You feel so damn good, Allie girl. Skin like fucking silk. I love the way the ropes
press into your body.”
He reached down then and slid a hand under the knots at the small of her back, making
the rope press harder against her sex.
She moaned.
“Yes, I like that, my girl—to hear how it hurts you, how you love it. Oh, yeah, I
understand perfectly well it’s both pleasure and pain. And make no mistake—that is
my intention. Because as much as I love rope, I am a bit of a sadist. But you already
knew that. You wanted it, or you wouldn’t be here, would you?”
He moved his hand between her thighs, his fingers sliding in her juices.
“Christ, but you’re soaked.” His voice had turned to raw gravel, low and full of desire.
“Makes me want to just . . . yeah.”
He was quiet for several long moments, giving her time to wonder what he might do
to her next. To
the floor by the ropes crossing between her shoulder blades. She felt utterly helpless,
taken over, which was exactly what she wanted, yet was also what was making her panic
now.
“Allie, I’m going to give you a chance to tell me what this is about.”
“I can’t, Mick,” she started, but tears lodged in her throat and she had to stop.
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t be . . . humiliated. Not with you. Please don’t.”
“This is not humiliation. This is beauty,” he said, his tone low, quiet. Reverential
in a way she understood. In a way that calmed her instantly. He ran a hand over her
spine between the ropes. “The graceful angles of the body. The level of submission
it signals. Seeing the flesh bound in my ropes is pure art to me. Your flesh . . .
well, I’ve been waiting a long time to do this, which I believe you already know.
That’s . . . almost indescribable. So damn beautiful.”
She felt her limbs loosen. His grip on her softened, and he let her back down onto
the floor, where she turned her cheek, resting it on the wool rug.
“You’re ready now,” he told her.
Told
, not asked. It didn’t matter. It was true.
He drew her ankles up once more, wrapped them in the sensually sliding rope, making
her acutely aware of the bones and flesh there, then he tied them off with a few knots.
He slipped a length of rope under the knots between her ankles and led it to her body
harness, where he worked it through the ropes across her back, and pulled on them
until they drew her ankles up a bit more.
She was truly helpless now, except for her safe words, of course. But she didn’t need
them. Her head was sinking deeply into subspace, which she realized distantly she
hadn’t quite expected without more pain play. The only pain was the slight throbbing
of her bound breasts pressed against the carpet, her nipples grazing the wool, and
the rope that pulled hard against her sex. But she was soaking wet.
Mick’s big hand wrapped around her bound wrists, whichwere clasped behind her head. She heard the soft
snick
of moving rope as he bound the corset tie on her hair to her wrists. Then he pulled
up, lifting her chest off the floor, raising her head with it.
“Tell me that you’re doing okay, Allie.”
“Yes. Yes,” she whispered.
“Are the ropes too tight anywhere? Cutting off circulation? Pressing too hard into
bone?”
“No. The ropes are . . . good.”
She tried to just keep breathing, to keep her body loose. When he slipped some rope
between her wrists and tied it to her ankles, drawing her body up, making it bow,
shock coursed through her. The discomfort of the position was a part of the power
of it all, she understood, but Jesus, she’d never felt so utterly helpless. But it
was for
him
.
Him.
Mick.
He began to run his hands over her flesh, so gently she wanted to cry. Her skin was
alive, every nerve ending in hyperdrive. She felt his touch like fire. Like nothing
she’d ever felt in her life.
“You feel so damn good, Allie girl. Skin like fucking silk. I love the way the ropes
press into your body.”
He reached down then and slid a hand under the knots at the small of her back, making
the rope press harder against her sex.
She moaned.
“Yes, I like that, my girl—to hear how it hurts you, how you love it. Oh, yeah, I
understand perfectly well it’s both pleasure and pain. And make no mistake—that is
my intention. Because as much as I love rope, I am a bit of a sadist. But you already
knew that. You wanted it, or you wouldn’t be here, would you?”
He moved his hand between her thighs, his fingers sliding in her juices.
“Christ, but you’re soaked.” His voice had turned to raw gravel, low and full of desire.
“Makes me want to just . . . yeah.”
He was quiet for several long moments, giving her time to wonder what he might do
to her next. To
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