“I can’t wait until tomorrow night,” he told her. “Consider this a prelude. You good?”
“Excellent. How about you?”
“Not your job to worry about me. Text me the restaurant and hotel info before you drop off to sleep.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for the reminder.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
“You too. Have a safe trip down.”
Neither of them moved to end the call for a long moment, but then she reached forward, and the screen went dark.
He sat in his quiet living room, his dick hard, and reached for his beer, which’d gone a little warm but was still fine.
Fuck if he hadn’t stopped for a stash of Wanderlinger on the way home, just to remind him of their date the prior Monday.
He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he needed to figure something out.
It wasn’t happening tonight though, so he headed upstairs to figure out what to pack. Cuffs and straps insteadof rope, to keep it simple. He didn’t want to hurt her badly enough she’d have tochange, but her nipples were going to catch hell. Asshole, too.
She hadn’t experienced a night focusing on that particular bundle of nerves yet, and it was time she did.
- - -?- - -
Nineteen hours later, Knife leaned back in the little kitchenette chair, fork resting on the empty plate, savoring the last rich notes of gravy, bacon, and perfectly braised beef. He’d rarely loved a completely new dish this much, but Tuesday had nailed it — tender rolls of sirloin stuffed with the right balance of smoky, tangy, and savory. She’d known his tastes enough to order food he’d like, and it touched him more than it probably should’ve.
He’d asked her what rinderrouladen translated into, and she’d smiled. “Beef rolls. Literally. I love that you asked.”
But now it was time for the after-dinner festivities. She’d eaten light and put the rest into the fridge, and he approved. She knew there wouldn’t be a lot of time for her food to settle.
He stood and went to his duffel, pulled a single glycerin suppository out, turned, and showed it to her.
“Have you used these before?” he asked.
She swallowed hard and nodded.
“Then go use it. Make sure everything’s out, and then return to me naked. I’ll deal with cleanup out here.”
She stared at it for several long seconds. Fear flickered across her scent, chased immediately by a sharp spike of arousal.
And then she stood, walked to him, accepted it when he handed it to her, and walked to the bathroom without a word.
The moment the door clicked shut, he rose and went to work.
He cleared the table, washed their plates and silverware, settled them in the drainer, wiped the table down, and threw all the detritus away.
He moved one of the sturdy kitchenette chairs into the open area of floor space, and laid out his tools on a nearby table: leather cuffs, heavy-duty zip-ties in a variety of lengths, an exceptionally cruel set of needle-toothed nipple clamps, a wide leather strap, and a terrifying row of torture devices he decided to drape paper towels over. Didn’t want to let her know exactly what she was in for right at the start.
He sat and took his boots off, tucking his socks into them. When it was time to fuck her later, he wouldn’t want to have to stop to screw around with laces.
Since she wasn’t out yet, he dried the dishes and put them away, and then went to the bedroom to see what he had to work with when they moved in there.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, her scent was a combination of thick arousal and the clean, nervous edge of anticipation.
His cock throbbed hard against the front of his jeans at the sight of her. Just prepping everything had been enough to get him hard. Anticipation goes both ways.
He started by fastening thick leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles, then stepped back and told her, “Stand in front of the chair.”
