Page 93 of Trust

I’m dizzy. The floor is cold beneath my feet, but it hardly registers. I don’t move or breathe too loudly.

“Okay.” My mouth betrays me before my brain can object.

Between us, gravity shifts, pulling me toward the cliff’s edge.

LETTING GO

Cash

Goosebumps rise on her arms—part thrill, part chill. I don’t want her cold. I want her aware. Aware of every touch and every breath she’s about to experience. There’s something sacred in teaching someone how to let go this way, and I refuse to fail her.

We exit the kitchen, and I lead her in front of the hearth and face her. Slowly pulling the belt through the loops of her robe, I give her enough time to stop me in case she changes her mind. “Take this off for me?” I ask, giving her another opportunity to back out. I want to make sure she really wants this.

She removes the robe and hands it over with tentative fingers. Firelight ripples over her in a golden cascade. Her hands tremble and she presses her thighs together as if she’s bracing for more than just touch. She looks both unprotected and fierce, caught between light and darkness.

After I toss the garment onto the couch, I ask her to turn around. She complies without hesitation. I guide her wrists behind her back and tell her to stay still. Again, she follows my instructions. Although I haven’t done this in a while, I loop the belt around her forearms with ease, tying several knots in the right places to keep her comfortable while making it impossible to slip out.

I drink her in as I move around her with deliberate steps. The restraint lifts her posture and leaves her looking even more exposed despite her clothes. Her chest rises in quick, uneven motions. The fabric of her top strains over her peaked breasts.

“This okay?” I check in.

“Mm-hmm,” is all she gets out.

“Use your words. Tell me how this feels.”

The air catches in her lungs. She doesn’t answer at first, then a husky “dangerous” escapes her.

“Do you think you’re in danger?”

She inhales, then exhales a shaky “maybe.”

I lean close, without touching her. Her throat moves as she swallows. “You are not in danger, understand me?”

She nods.

“Use your words,” I repeat.

“I’m not in danger.”

“Good girl.” I wink at her, easing the tension.

I circle her again. When I stop behind her, my fingers skim up and down her arms in a featherlight caress. One hand glides over her shoulder, tracing to her collarbone and higher, until it settles at her neck. I wrap my hand lightly around it, applying no pressure at all. Her pulse flutters beneath my palm. With my other hand, I sweep her hair aside and place a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. A shudder wracks her frame.

Heat curls low in my groin. I release her throat slowly, letting the weight of my hand linger before I turn her to face me. I watch every little reaction with rapt attention as my knuckles graze her jaw and my thumb runs along her lower lip. She leans into my touch, and at that moment, I know she’s trusting me completely. Fuck, it nearly undoes me. My mouth claims hers with an urgency that speaks of every second of restraint, every look, every breath we've shared building to this one point.

Her lips part, giving me access. Giving me everything I ask for and more, that subtle, trembling surrender. Arousal can be as psychological as it is physical. Control is earned. It’s not the unspoken invitation of her lips or the hunger between us. It’s the moment she looks at me and lets go of the fight, the doubt. She’s choosing it, choosing to hand me the reins, trusting I won’t break her. That’s what does it for me. The rest is just my body reacting to it.

I ease back, breath rough, cupping her face. Her eyes are wide. She carries the same edge I do. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” I murmur.

I step away and untie the knots. When her arms are free, I draw her into me. The tremor of silent sobs vibrates against my chest.

It always unfolds this way afterward, when the adrenaline drains away and the crash settles in. I hold her through it.

“Hey,” I whisper into her hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. That was big, and you did so damn well.”

She nods against me, fists clenched at my sides.

“You let yourself open up,” I murmur. “That’s strength, not weakness. You trusted me, and I don’t take that lightly.”