Page 68 of Prey It By Ear

“I understood that,” Chess says with a rueful look. He’s sitting by Dolly’s left foot, and I chuckle as his lover gives him a look of mock betrayal.

Felix smirks. “I got that one, too, bro. Maybe you should pay more attention to Ren so your vocab expands?”

The younger tiger looks like he’s going to have a conniption, but our mate grins lazily. “It’s okay, Fitzy. I don’t mind translating for you. He asked about Beetlejuice and I told him the same thing I told you—three times and it’s showtime. Someone gets kneed in the balls if they ignore it. Right?”

“Such a sharp tongue for one so helpless,” I say as I wink at her, and Fitz immediately snorts. “But yes, I made certain ma petite had a check-in before I get too far into the process. Do not be so anxious, Fitzgerald. All will be fine.”

I cinch the knot, but not too tightly, before I press my thumb to her pulse. It thrums beneath the pad of my finger, strong and rapid. I savor the feeling for a second and then repeat the process with her left wrist. Each pass of the cord is done in a very specific routine—wrap, test, adjust, and secure. I live for the way her fingers flex unconsciously and the faint catch of breath when I cross the rope over itself. The little reactions are the ones that make my body sing in anticipation.

I believe Dolly knows it, too, because she must be holding herself back.

At the head of the bed, Felix reclines with his arms folded, every inch of his body held in that predator stillness that only big cats seem to prefer. His eyes are on my hands, yes, but he is also tracking every twitch of Dolly’s face and every fluctuation in her breathing. This is, to him, as hot as any pornograpy someone could make because it features his mate naked, compliant, and submitting. He is determined that our love will only ever experience pleasure or pride in the bedroom, especially in this type of scene. If he thought I would make a single mistake, he would be at my side, untying the knots as fast as I could tie them, even if he was mistaken.

Fitz leans in, his voice low as he murmurs, “You look fantastic in this color, Baby Girl. I’m definitely buying you lots of pretty things the color of bruises tomorrow.”

“You want to see bruises? That doesn’t seem like you, Fitzy,” Dolly snarks in a slightly slurred tone. She’s jockeying between too relaxed to be completely bratty and occasionally lobbing a volley now.

“Do not encourage him, Princess. He’s not the one who’s going to arrange the red bottom for you,” Felix cuts in with a rumble of authority. “You’re more likely to take a paddle to him at this point, than the latter.”

Flames is at the top left of the bed, one hand cradling a glass of something dark and expensive as he watches me work. He has the air of a long-time lover—which he is—as he waits for me to do the one dominant thing I prefer. When I finish the second wrist, he claps once, softly, as if at a private recital, and I flip him off.

Don’t tell him, but I like it best when he’s playful, and I’m sure our beautiful girl does as well.

“The symmetry is almost perfect,” the dragon observes. “I wonder if you can match it with the rest of her, Rennie.”

Chessie, ever the caretaker, gets up to grab another folded towel and scoots it under Dolly’s hips. He gives me a warning glare. “Do not get any more oil on the bed than Fitz already has. The laundry is going to have a hell of a time cleaning that damn blanket as it is.”

I smile, and not just because I enjoy all the input, even the snark and threats. The towel is a nice touch as it tilts her hips up more, and I make a mental note to thank the cheetah for his attention later. “I know you can hold the next position, ma petite. It is up to you to stay still while I finish,” I say to Dolly, who does not so much as breathe in reply.

Lifting her to sitting, I draw her arms behind her back—gently, always gently—and hold them parallel before wrapping the next length of rope just above the elbow. Her skin is cool, but her pulse is just as strong as before. I tie a half-hitch, test for movement, and then work my way up, crosshatching the silk in a precise diamond that fans across the top of her spine. It is a body-wide embrace, one that pins her to herself and gives her something to push against.

She will enjoy it, but she’ll also fight against it eventually—the tension will be exquisite.

When I finish, Fitz runs his fingers along the line of diamonds. He lets out a long, appreciative whistle. “You’re a fucking artist, Ren. How long have you been doing this shit?”

I don’t answer him, not directly. My gaze is on Dolly, whose face is slack with anticipation. “How does it feel, ma petite?”

She flexes her wrists, arching just enough to test the resistance. “I feel both constrained and insanely free at the same time,” she says, her voice so soft I almost miss it.

This is the highest compliment I could be paid when it comes to the ropes.

I reach for the third cord, the longest one, and run it around her waist, just above the hipbones. I knot it so that a loop dangles at the small of her back, then pull it up between her arms and secure it to the center of the diamond lattice. I run my fingers down the spine of knots, checking for any slippage or error. There is none, which makes me sigh happily.

“Now, the pièce de résistance⁠*,” I say as I glance at the others.

From my bathrobe’s other pocket, I produce a steel clip. It clicks into place at the intersection of the ropes, then I run the tail of the cord up, up, until it meets the ceiling. The hook is perfectly aligned, so I feed the rope through the pulley, and the sound is a delicious mechanical whisper.

I lean over our mate, my mouth at her ear. “If you want to stop, say the word.”

She doesn’t hesitate, just pants softly. “Do it, Rennie. Please.”

“That’s our girl,” Fitz says as he gives her a double thumbs-up. “You look fucking gorgeous right now.”

Chess and Felix move to either side of the bed from their spots, one to each flank like spotters. Aubrey sets down his glass and stands, ready to observe the next phase like a connoisseur at a private auction.

I pull the cord slowly, letting the tension build in increments. There’s a creak from the hook, a slow exhale from the audience, and then Dolly’s torso lifts clear from the mattress, suspended by the harness of her own body. Her rainbow hair spills down her shoulders, and the oil from Fitz’s earlier work catches the candlelight in a hundred colors.

For one perfect moment, she floats six inches above the sheets with her eyes closed and her entire body a study in grace and tension.