Page 96 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

My heart races. Why does he have to say these things? Just when I’m certain this is nothing but the fantasy we discussed, I get this. Either deliberate attempts to keep me frightened or a promise that things are about to go very wrong.

I might be the only one here living the fantasy tonight. He could be totally serious about what he doing.

No, I say in my head. No. He laughed. I heard it.

He’s mocking you, Ivy. Tell him to stop. Now! Before it goes too far and you can’t even press charges because you agreed to it!

No. No, he can’t be that man. Nolan cannot be that man that everyone says he is.

You haven’t even known this man a week, Ivy Rockwell. You’re as stupid as he is sick.

“Do you like the candles?”

I look up at him as he looms over me. He’s slowly unbuttoning his shirt. My wrists are burning from the rope. It’s soft, but it’s rubbing and they are red and will be inflamed tomorrow.

You’re not going to live until tomorrow.

“Yes,” I say.

“Well, that’s just about the only romantic thing I’ve planned for you tonight. The rest can go easy or hard. Depending on how you like it. Do you like it hard, Ivy?”

“Jesus Christ,” I say. “How am I supposed to answer that, Nolan?”

“Truthfully,” he says, extending his hand. I take it, gripping it in both of mine, the rope sliding along my skin, the friction making the burning sensation even worse.

“I’ll tell you,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “I’ll tell you if you untie me. I don’t want to be tied anymore.”

“You’re not the one in control tonight, remember? I am. I get to tell you what to do, not the other way around. And if you hate the rope, you can bet I’m gonna leave you tied up even longer now.”

He grabs me by both arms and hauls me over to the bed, throwing me down on the soft down comforter face first. Then his hips have me pinned, but I buck my body at just the right time, in just the right way, and he falls to the side. I get a foot up and kick him in the chest, giving me even more space. And then I’m off the bed, running towards the open bathroom door. If I can just get in there and lock it. If I can just—

He grabs my ankle and I go down hard onto the rug. And then he’s dragging me by my foot as I kick and yell and—panic.

The word is there. My tongue is pressing against my teeth, that sssss sound even coming from my mouth, but then he goes still.

I stop. I don’t say it, I just go still and wait. I’m sobbing, tears are running down my face. I’m breathing so hard I can’t stop the hyperventilation this time.

His next touch is soft. Just one moment of softness. A single fingertip slides up my calf and stops in the dent of my knee. Then his lips are there. Reminding me of what this is.

I won’t say it. I won’t.

He grabs my foot and drags me back to the bed the instant he realizes I gave in again. “I’m going to tie your legs open for that little stunt, Miss Rockwell. And then I’m going to fuck you sore.”

I don’t know what to do at this point. Cry? What good is crying? Tell him no? That will only make him try harder. Let him do what he wants? That feels like defeat.

Tell him to stop?

That feels like a mistake.

The yellow rope is around my ankles before I even reach that conclusion. He ties one leg to the footboard, then pulls my other one open, looking at my pussy as he walks to the other bedpost.

“Now you can’t move.”

But that’s not true. He didn’t tie my hands down. They are still bound together, so not much use. But they are not tied to the headboard. Yet.

“Do you know why I left your hands free?”

I have a feeling, but I stay silent.