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“For instance,” Cree says as he sits up a little straighter, “I had a young woman who was new to rope that wanted me to tie her up. I was single, she was really attractive, and I was rather hoping it could lead to something more than just rope play. But then, the negotiator made it very clear to me that she didn’t want a sexual encounter and that touching certain parts of her was not acceptable. I adjusted my thinking since I knew exactly what she wanted before we ever began, and she had a great experience. Ended up bringing her boyfriend to a rope class later. If we hadn’t had that negotiation, I might have gone too far, and she would have been upset. She might have decided rope play wasn’t for her, and we wouldn’t be good friends now.”
“Oh.” I don’t know how to respond to that information. On the one hand, I understand why negotiation would be important, but on the other hand, I can’t help but wonder what he found attractive about this woman. I feel jealous, and I know how crazy that is. It’s not like I have ever had any claim on him except in my own head.
Gurgling sounds come from below, and I push myself up from the floor to go look.
The water is definitely higher. I feel a little dizzy just looking down at it, so I take a step back.
“Oh shit,” I mutter.
“The water is still ten feet away,” Cree says. “This floor is really very high up. I know it looks bad, but this is a big building with a lot of space. It would have to rain for days before the water got up here.”
“But what if it does?” I can’t hide the panic in my voice.
“Then we’ll figure out a way to get to the roof,” Cree says. “Once it’s morning, if no one has found us, I’ll go out the window and swim for help. Worst case, if I have to carry you through the water, I will. I’m a strong swimmer.”
“You can’t fit through that window.”
“I’d have to break it.”
“That glass is over a hundred years old.” I press my lips together. First the books and now the stained glass. My eyes burn at the thought.
“I’ll do whatever needs to be done,” Cree says. “I’ll keep you safe even if the water gets up this high, which I don’t think it will.”
“That’s the thought that haunts me—if it gets up so high that we can’t get away from it.”
“Try to keep your mind off of it,” he says. He reaches out and put his hand on my arm. “Let’s talk about something else.”
I close my eyes for a moment, directing all my focus on the sensation of his fingers on my skin. My tingling skin and clenching thighs are the perfect distraction, filling my head with all kinds of imagery that had never occurred to me before.
I wonder what it would feel like to have his hands touching other parts of my body, twisting rope around me. I wonder what it would feel like to have the rope tighten on my skin. Would it leave marks? Would I find it relaxing like he said his friend did?
“Cree?”
“Yeah?”
I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, wondering what the heck I was going to say now that I’d called for his attention. I know what I want to ask, but my heart is pounding so hard it’s difficult to breathe.
Out with it before I have a complete breakdown.
“You said your friend—the one with PTSD—you said he felt less anxious when he was tied up?”
“Yeah, he does.”
“Do you think, um, maybe that would work for me?” There. It’s out.
“You mean in general, or do you mean right now?”
I swallow hard. I can’t tell by his tone or expression what he thinks of the idea, and I have no clue what I’ll do if he simply says no. Negotiation ended.
“I was thinking now,” I finally say, barely able to get the words out.
“Do you think it might help you?”
“Maybe,” I whisper. I look away, not wanting him to see my face flush. I stare at the floor and wonder why I am even suggesting such a thing.
Ever since I first figured out what he meant by rope being his hobby, the mental images kept coming. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like, and now that I’ve come out and said it, I can’t take the words back.
I don’t want to take them back.
