“What now?” I ask, my voice coming out as a whisper.
Riven moves closer and reaches to tenderly brush hair away from my face. “Now,” he says, “I learn exactly what you like. What makes you respond. What makes you…” His voice drops to a growl. “…Surrender. The first time… It was rushed. It was instinctual. Now, I will put much more thought into it.”
He produces more silk, finer than before, and begins creating an intricate pattern around me. It’s not just restraint—it’s art. The strands shimmer as they form a complex web with me at the center. He works with the focus of a master craftsman, occasionally pausing to adjust my position with gentle touches that leave fire in their wake.
He pauses after a moment, stepping back to admire his work.
“You are the most precious thing I have ever caught,” he says with simple sincerity, and my heart nearly stops.
Before I can respond, he releases a mechanism I didn’t notice even existed, and I’m slowly rotated until I’m upright and no longer upside down. The movement is so controlled, so careful, that I barely feel it happening, my arms and legs still bound in his perfect silk.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, relieved to have the blood no longer rushing to my head. In this position, I can see him properly: all twelve imposing feet of him, mandibles slightly parted, exoskeleton gleaming.
He’s terrifying. He’s beautiful. And I’m his to do whatever he wants to.
“I’ve been thinking about this since you first left,” he admits, moving to stand closer. “About having you like this again. Completely at my mercy.”
“So have I,” I confess, and his mandibles click with pleasure.
“Good.” His hand moves down to trace my collarbone, then lower, to the edge of the pajama top that’s ridden up to expose my stomach. “These are in the way.”
His fingers immediately hook into the waistband of the pajama pants and pull. The sound of tearing silk fills the room as the garment splits cleanly down both sides, falling away. His hands move to the pajama top next, and with the same controlled strength, he tears it open from neckline to hem. The silk falls away, leaving me in nothing but my panties, completely exposed in his intricate web.
“Much better,” he says with satisfaction.
I should feel vulnerable, embarrassed, exposed. Instead, I feel something else. I feel… at peace. In good hands. Safe.
The way he’s looking at me—like I’m the most fascinating, desirable creature he’s ever caught—makes me feel powerful in my own vulnerability. It’s so strange, yet I feel more myself in this moment of complete surrender than I ever have before.
“Now,” he says, producing more of that impossibly fine silk, “let’s see what happens when I do this…”
Chapter 10
Silky Entanglements
June
Riven begins laying strands acrossmy bare breasts, down my stomach, along the insides of my thighs. Each strand is placed with deliberate precision, the silk cool against my heated skin. It doesn’t restrict movement further—I’m already completely immobilized—but it creates a network of sensation that makes me gasp.
“Interesting reaction,” he observes, watching my face carefully. “And what about here?”
He places a strand directly across one of my nipples then slowly, deliberately strums the strand with his finger, sending a jolt of sensation through my body that makes me moan. The sound seems to please him as he clicks his mandibles again.
“Very sensitive,” he notes, as if recording clinical observations rather than teasing me toward madness. “And here?”
Another strand, this one placed with devastating accuracy between my legs, pressing against me through the thin fabric of my underwear. When he strums this one, my hips buck involuntarily against the restraints, earning a satisfied hum from Riven.
“I could tease you like this for hours,” he says with a devilish grin.
“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for.
“Please what?” he asks, continuing to play with the silk strands, sending tremors of sensation across my skin. “Please stop? Please continue? Please touch you directly?”
“Yes,” I manage. “The last one.”
“So impatient,” he chides, but I can hear the pleased undertone in his voice as he places his hand flat against my stomach. His skin is cooler than mine, slightly textured, and the contact makes me shudder. Slowly, so slowly it’s almost torture, he begins to move his hand upward, tracking the rise and fall of my ribs, the rapid beat of my heart.
