Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Will it?
Confusion wars with the darkness inside as I reach for her wrist, tugging her against my hard body. My mouth crashes against hers in a kiss I think I’ve been waiting for my whole life.
She tastes like freedom, not oppression. She shyly kisses me back. It’s not good enough, I think as I tilt her chin forward and invade with my tongue, shoving it through her parted lips and drinking her in. A surge of lust soars through my body when she reaches out and presses a hand on my chest.
Mine.
Ours.
A fiery heat pulses between us. Have we created it? Caused it? I don’t care as I break the kiss and stare at her mouth.
It’s swollen just how I want it.
Her eyes are dilated, just like mine.
The same.
I sink to my knees and stare up at her, grabbing the red ropes that were just tied around me. “Intimacy isn’t always about sex, Izzy. It’s about a connection—Shibari is about meeting someone where they’re at, making them secure, comfortable. It’s not a short experience, so tell me now if you don’t want this.”
“I didn’t think you would ask nicely.” She shivers above me.
I actually frown. “Just because I’m my father’s son—just because I like to spill blood—doesn’t mean I want to spill yours or would take that choice away from you.”
I shake as I twist the red rope in my hands. “When you’re the one getting tied, you’re the bottom. When you’re doing the tying, you’re the rigger. What most people don’t understand”—I run the rope through my fingertips and let out a deep breath—“is it can be as simple as giving up control and as difficult as trusting the person doing the tying.” I stand and tilt her chin with the rope. Her eyes sparkle like diamonds. “Do you trust me, Izzy?”
“Whether you’re Maks or you’re Sim”—her lower lip trembles—“you’re still Maksim. And you’re both mine. You’ve both always been mine; I just didn’t know it.”
I exhale as if I’ve been holding a breath for decades. My vision clears a bit, and I realize I am in control. I don’t feel shame. I don’t crave blood. I just know that this part of me exists, and I like it.
And she accepts it.
And while I will never deserve it.
I will fucking earn it
“How—” My voice cracks as I take a step backward. “How do you communicate with me when something is painful? When the rope is too tight?”
“I’ll tell you it’s tight.”
“And I’ll tell you to breathe,” I whisper. “How will you tell me if you feel unsafe?”
She swallows, her eyes light up. “I won’t.”
“You could.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not with you.”
Her trust nearly has me collapsing against the hard cement ground. I know people are worried about her being in here as if she’s trapped inside the monster’s cage when she’s the one who holds the keys.
It’s beautiful.
She’s beautiful.
Mine.
I own this moment between us—just me. My breathing comes out slow and steady as I begin. I’m turned on, but I don’t need this to be about sex.
What I need. What I really need is to show her me.
And this is the only way I know how.
I don’t know why a tear slides down my cheek as I start to tie. Just like I don’t know why tears start streaming down hers. All I know is love. All I see is… her.
I start with the Lark’s Head knot, making it so I can build from there and create something intricate, beautiful. “Tell me if this feels too tight.”
Her breath hitches. “No, no, it’s fine.”
I work slowly.
I tie numerous connecting knots of rope across her body, letting the rope slide between her breasts but keeping them free as I bind her body and her hands, leaving her legs and hips free.
When I’m done, she will look like a beautiful corset of knots and ropes that bind her arms to her sides and display her breasts in a way that will make my mouth water.
But I won’t take her control.
This is her time.
My fingers graze the underside of her right breast as I start a new knot, one that has meaning, it’s a square knot, pretty, and it goes across her stomach. “The Japanese used to use this as a form of torture at one point. Each knot would resemble a crime or something significant. But now… now the knots can represent setting yourself free.”
She looks down, her breath flowing in and out like she’s starting to panic even though she looks calm. I press a hand down on her shoulder and give her an encouraging nod, then continue.
“What’s that knot represent?” She stares down at it.
“Two parts. One whole,” I whisper. “That knot is me.”
I don’t realize I’m shedding more tears until she tries to reach them by jerking forward and then very gently leans against me, pressing her cheek against mine, soaking up my tears with her skin, the only way she is physically able at this point.