She glanced at him.
He placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back. “Go ahead.”
She did. A softwhirfilled the room as the massive middle panel on the opposite wall turned, and the rope display came into view, in all its variety and color.
As it clicked into place, he watched her from the corner of his eye.
“Oh,” was all she said.
“First impression?”
“Not what I expected.”
“In what way?”
“It’s … a lot.”
He nodded. “And it can do a lot.” Nick stepped forward, taking her with him. “By limiting movement, attention is focused on the sensations that can still be felt, making them more intense and profound.”
“I see.”
“Remove hearing or sight or both, and it can be—”
“No.” Her tone was firm.
He had to grin. “OK. That would be called a hard limit.”
“That would be called noeffingway.”
Nick chuckled. “Understood. Hearing and sight deprivation off the table.”
Without heels, she was shorter, and a fierce protectiveness ignited in him as he led her to what he had never allowed any other woman to come close to or touch. He watched her wide-eyed gaze scan the wall of rope and patiently waited for her reaction to what she saw: coils hanging on pegs in a circle, forming a veritable ligature color wheel.
“Why do you need so many different ropes just to tie someone up?”
Nick sought to find a way to explain this practice that was so deeply personal to him. “I don’t just tie people up. I practice Shibari, the Japanese art of rope bondage. It literally means ‘to tie’ or ‘weaving.’” He stepped up to open a small drawer and withdrew a stack of photos.
“Shibari is more than just tying,” he continued. “It’s a body and soul connection between the rigger—the person doing the tying—and themodel. It’s an emotional release, a way to strengthen the bond between two consenting people.”
He handed her the pictures.
She took them with some apprehension but began shuffling from one beautiful rope art creation to another, pausing at those featuring complex suspension. Interestingly, she lingered the longest on the ones showcasing men. He could see her chest rising and falling faster, and his own breathing quickened as he watched her process what she saw.
She’s beginning to get it.
Jannie studied the ones labeledHands Together,Katatsumuri, andKaka.And then, she stopped at one showing a woman whose spread thighs were tied with purple nylon rope, knotted elegantly in a beautiful offering that invited you to tongue her.
“Did you take this one?” Her voice was husky.
“No,” he truthfully replied. He had done the tying, but it was Jordan who’d snapped the pic.
“Futomomo Shibari,” she read.
“Futomeans something broad or wide, andmomois the thigh.”
She nodded slowly. Her gaze returned to the wall of rope.
He pointed to it. “In answer to your first question, using the right rope is crucial. It affects aesthetics, comfort, and safety. Synthetic and natural fibers vary in grip, knot security, and weight-bearing capacity. Thickness and length are important too.”
