Only twenty minutes after they had begun, everything was set—and suddenly, Rawlins was confronted with the reality of what they were doing. Sex in his office had been spontaneous; they could feign ignorance to what was going to happen beforehand, and submit to the whims of the moment.
This was different. They were not just mixing work and pleasure; mixing magic and sex meant crossing a line he had never considered, and it raised concerns he had to broach both delicately and directly. “Before we start, I need you to tell me what you’re comfortable with.”
“Everything. Anything. I’m open,” Ellsbeth said. “Whatever happens during the ritual is good with me.”
But he shook his head, insistent. “We need some…boundaries,here. A safe word, at the very least. Just say it if you’re uncomfortable at any point, and we’ll stop. The ritual, and…whatever we’re doing. All right?”
Ellsbeth shrugged. “If it’ll make you feel better, fine. What’s my word?”
He thought for a moment. “Tangerine.”
Ellsbeth smiled. “Okay then. That’s fine. But I don’t think I’m going to need it. I want…what you want.”
He swallowed, both thrilled and frightened by her directness. “All right. Clear enough.”
“What should I wear?” she asked, and the tone of her voice conveyed her willingness, eagerness even, to strip naked, to forget the ritual entirely if he asked her to. Rawlins was tempted to do just that.
But they were playing a game. And the game itself had become important in a way that surprised him. His passion for her had grown into a wild animal, unbroken, kicking out dangerously inside him, compelling him in directions he couldn’t comprehend. He was frightened by where his desire might lead—and part of him resented her for eliciting that feeling.
The prospect of self-control felt impossible. But here, before him, was something else. The promise of control overher.With her permission, of course, and at the moment, with magic. Through some inexplicable sublimation, he imagined that control over her would deliver the respite he was looking for. It might tame his desire, or at least give him peace with how ungovernable it was.
So he shook his head, a notion forming in his mind for how he could indulge his yearning in the way he needed to. “Keep your clothes on.” She looked disappointed but did not question him.
Ellsbeth did a final check on all the elementals and lit the candles. Rawlins turned off the lamp, and the room pulsated with the hazy orange glow of a dozen tiny flames. Ellsbeth climbed up onto the bed, and he guided her into position, her head at the top without a pillow so that her hair cascaded down over the edge.
“Should I put my hands out?” she asked, extending her arms toward the posts.
Rawlins shook his head. “The ritual will bind you to the posts onceit takes effect. Try holding them at your sides. Legs straight. You’ll be able to perceive the change more clearly.”
He stood at the foot of the bed. Ellsbeth lay flat, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with her breath. He stared at her, struck by the sheer vulnerability of her repose.
Rawlins began to chant the words she had written. “Constringantur corpus, ligentur membra…”The ritual was well designed; he was confident in its efficacy, but he felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. Not about what the magic would do, but about whathewoulddo.
As the incantation progressed, the flames of the candles blazed more brightly, and the metals shone and hummed. The familiar droning sound gradually rose, filling the small space.
Ellsbeth remained perfectly still, and he could sense her apprehension, waiting to see if the effect she had designed was going to work.
It happened suddenly. Her arms, gripped by the invisible force of the ritual, were yanked across the sheets. Her legs were rapidly pulled apart, extended tightly toward the posts at the foot of the bed. Even though he had expected the change, Rawlins was startled by its suddenness.
The bed was large enough that Ellsbeth’s wrists and ankles did not touch the posts, but he could see the effect of the magic, stretching her limbs and splaying her across the mattress.
“Does it hurt?” he asked. “I can stop if it’s painful.”
She squirmed, shifting her limbs as if she were tugging at invisible ropes tied impossibly taut. “No…it’s strong, but it doesn’t hurt.”
“Good work,” he said. “Your prize for this achievement in the field of the arcane arts is seven minutes of immobility.” He started a timer on his phone to track the effect.
“I was hopingyoumight reward my scholarship,” she said, slightly breathless, her chest visibly rising and falling beneath the cotton dress.
“We’re not done working yet,” he replied, leaving the foot of the bed and coming to the side. “We still have the physiological effects to observe.”
He climbed onto the mattress on his knees, alongside her, looking down.
“Of course,” Ellsbeth said. Her breath was quicker now. “We established last time, I can still blush.”
“Does your breathing still feel entirely normal?” he asked, and his hand glided across her throat. With her head tilted back, his fingers traced the delicate shape of her windpipe, savoring the subtle vibration of her exhales.
“More or less,” she said.
