crave it. To fear it. To fear how he would break her down.
But it was Mick. Finally. And she was
his
in this moment. Relief and emotion and an almost unbearable pleasure suffused her.
For the moment, that was enough.
CHAPTER
Five
M ICK LOOKED DOWN at Allie’s body. A part of him could barely believe it was
her
bound in his ropes. The fantasy image raging inside him all these years was nothing
compared to the perfection that was this reality. And seeing her here . . . it was
some small epiphany. Small, but enough to cause a crack in the glass wall he’d erected
around his memory of who and what she was to him, like some fucking fairy princess
in a castle. Maybe he was the one who’d put her there, but it had always seemed to
make sense. Until now. Now he might have to question his perceptions. Because
this
Allie was real. This moment was real.
Too real.
He flexed his fingers, had to actually take a step back.
Calm the fuck down.
He pulled in a breath, then another, but his heart was beating like a drum and he
was hard as steel.
He’d have to find a way to distance himself a little until he regained the control
that kept him—that would keep them both—safe from the primal thing inside him, the
dark shadows that drove him.
He reached into his bag and found what he was looking for: a small croplike implement
that was really more like a slender wire rod with a few inches of black sandpaper
at the end—the perfect tool for his intentions.
He stood at Allie’s side, leaned in and listened to her breathing. It was slow and
regular, and he knew she was slipping deeper into subspace simply from being bound
in this way. He paused to check circulation in her hands and feet, found the flesh
pink and healthy. Then he bent over her and swatted the bottoms of both bound feet
with the sandpaper crop.
“Oh!”
“Shh. Stay quiet, Allie girl. Quiet and as still as you can.”
He swatted her feet again, and this time, although he felt a small jerk in her body,
she didn’t pull too hard against her bonds.
He began a regular cadence, then, smacking the bottom of one foot, then the other,
playing over the arches, the balls of her feet, the heels, the tips of her toes. He
loved it when her breath began to come harder, loved it when she was quietly squirming
in the ropes, her toes curling and uncurling. He could see she was processing the
sensation well. He knew it didn’t hurt too much—this particular toy used on the feet
hit all the acupressure points, and often tickled more than hurt. But he didn’t want
to play her any harder than this right now. He simply wanted to bring her sensation,
sensation that didn’t come directly from his own hands. It would be too much to touch
her.
He let himself relax into the rhythm, watching her breathing, visually testing the
tightness of the ropes. He went on for a good ten minutes while the world around them
shrank into thebubble in which it was just the two of them. Mick and Allie. The way it should have
always been.
Fuck.
He stopped as his pulse began to race, fast and choppy. He tossed the toy at his bag,
being far more careless with his equipment than he ever was. But he
had
to stop. Now.
He was topping out.
He’d heard a Top could drop the same way a bottom did. But he’d never expected it
to happen to him—it never had before.
He’d never scened with Allie.
There was a small rage building in his chest. Rage that he hadn’t held it more together.
That he’d allowed his so-tightly-held control to slip.
He pulled his safety scissors from where he’d tucked them into his belt and snipped
the rope holding her hair to her wrists, then the one holding her wrists to her ankles.
He caught her across the chest in time to lower her head safely to the floor, and
her feet at the same time. Her warm flesh burned into him like fire.
He kept cutting, tearing the ropes from her body, rolling her onto her back
But it was Mick. Finally. And she was
his
in this moment. Relief and emotion and an almost unbearable pleasure suffused her.
For the moment, that was enough.
CHAPTER
Five
M ICK LOOKED DOWN at Allie’s body. A part of him could barely believe it was
her
bound in his ropes. The fantasy image raging inside him all these years was nothing
compared to the perfection that was this reality. And seeing her here . . . it was
some small epiphany. Small, but enough to cause a crack in the glass wall he’d erected
around his memory of who and what she was to him, like some fucking fairy princess
in a castle. Maybe he was the one who’d put her there, but it had always seemed to
make sense. Until now. Now he might have to question his perceptions. Because
this
Allie was real. This moment was real.
Too real.
He flexed his fingers, had to actually take a step back.
Calm the fuck down.
He pulled in a breath, then another, but his heart was beating like a drum and he
was hard as steel.
He’d have to find a way to distance himself a little until he regained the control
that kept him—that would keep them both—safe from the primal thing inside him, the
dark shadows that drove him.
He reached into his bag and found what he was looking for: a small croplike implement
that was really more like a slender wire rod with a few inches of black sandpaper
at the end—the perfect tool for his intentions.
He stood at Allie’s side, leaned in and listened to her breathing. It was slow and
regular, and he knew she was slipping deeper into subspace simply from being bound
in this way. He paused to check circulation in her hands and feet, found the flesh
pink and healthy. Then he bent over her and swatted the bottoms of both bound feet
with the sandpaper crop.
“Oh!”
“Shh. Stay quiet, Allie girl. Quiet and as still as you can.”
He swatted her feet again, and this time, although he felt a small jerk in her body,
she didn’t pull too hard against her bonds.
He began a regular cadence, then, smacking the bottom of one foot, then the other,
playing over the arches, the balls of her feet, the heels, the tips of her toes. He
loved it when her breath began to come harder, loved it when she was quietly squirming
in the ropes, her toes curling and uncurling. He could see she was processing the
sensation well. He knew it didn’t hurt too much—this particular toy used on the feet
hit all the acupressure points, and often tickled more than hurt. But he didn’t want
to play her any harder than this right now. He simply wanted to bring her sensation,
sensation that didn’t come directly from his own hands. It would be too much to touch
her.
He let himself relax into the rhythm, watching her breathing, visually testing the
tightness of the ropes. He went on for a good ten minutes while the world around them
shrank into thebubble in which it was just the two of them. Mick and Allie. The way it should have
always been.
Fuck.
He stopped as his pulse began to race, fast and choppy. He tossed the toy at his bag,
being far more careless with his equipment than he ever was. But he
had
to stop. Now.
He was topping out.
He’d heard a Top could drop the same way a bottom did. But he’d never expected it
to happen to him—it never had before.
He’d never scened with Allie.
There was a small rage building in his chest. Rage that he hadn’t held it more together.
That he’d allowed his so-tightly-held control to slip.
He pulled his safety scissors from where he’d tucked them into his belt and snipped
the rope holding her hair to her wrists, then the one holding her wrists to her ankles.
He caught her across the chest in time to lower her head safely to the floor, and
her feet at the same time. Her warm flesh burned into him like fire.
He kept cutting, tearing the ropes from her body, rolling her onto her back
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