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The first pass of rope slid across her skin like a hand. I drew it around her ribs and beneath her breasts without hurry. Wrap. Pause. Wrap. Every so often I slid a finger beneath the cotton to test it. Snug. Never tight. She shivered, and I felt it travel through the rope and into my palms.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

I kissed the back of her neck, light as breath.

The rope crossed her chest and came back again, and the pattern formed under my hands. Diamonds over her breastbone. Each turn drew a little closer, until her breath came shallower and I felt the tension leave her shoulders, as though something in her had been waiting a long time to be held. I tied it off between her shoulder blades and felt the knot rest against her spine.

I took her wrists and drew them behind her. Her skin was warm and her pulse was quick. I crossed them at the small of her back and wound the cotton around them, once, twice, again, and each wrap drew her shoulders back until she stood straighter than I had ever seen her.

“Fingers.”

She wiggled them. They answered.

“Good.”

I pressed my mouth beneath her ear, to the dimple I had memorised. A reassurance. A promise. I secured the rope to the harness, and I felt it settle, a complete thing. She was not trapped. She was held.

I turned her to face me. Her eyes were wide and dark and trusting, and it nearly broke my control. I lifted a curl from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.

“Kneel.”

With her arms bound, she could not climb alone. I slid one arm around her waist and took her weight, steadying her as she lifted one knee onto the mattress, then the other. She leaned back against my chest, trusting me to hold her. When she was settled upright on her knees at the edge of the bed, I cupped her jaw and ran my thumb across her lower lip, and her eyes glistened.

Then I laid one palm between her shoulder blades and lowered her forward, my other hand at her hip, until her cheek rested against the cool sheet and her bound hands lay at the small of her back.

The sight of her undid me. Red against dark skin. Bare. Trusting. Mine to protect and, God help me, mine to cherish.

“Still comfortable?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

I bent and kissed the base of her spine. I unbuckled my belt, heard the soft thud of my trousers on the carpet, and the mattress dipped under my weight.

Chapter 23

Zuri

With each fold and twist of the soft red rope, I should have panicked, but he made the rope feel like satin, holding, binding and, in the strangest way possible, loving. He was slow and methodical. The cotton whispered as it slid through his fingers, a dry, soft hush in the quiet of the room.

The cool air made my nipples ache for a single brush of his hand as the ropes cupped and pressed into my breasts.

Then he worked the same rope around my wrists and arms until my back stretched and I pushed my chest out. My shoulders drew back, and every breath felt deeper, fuller, held.

“Fingers.”

I wiggled them all.

“Good.”

His hot breath brushed my cheek and shoulder. His fingers touched my jaw, turning me until our eyes met. His pupils had dilated, and for a second they dropped to my lips. He pushed my hair back and tucked it behind my ear. His thumb lingered there, warm.

“Kneel.”

I moved forward, but he followed me, helping me onto the bed. I leaned on him until I was in place, his arm firm around my waist, his chest solid against my back. The warmth of his hand spread across my spine as he lowered me onto the cool sheets. I closed my eyes. My cheek rested on the bed and I lay bound, waiting for him to give me what I needed. I wasn’t ashamed that my thighs were damp, because he had never once given me reason to feel anything close to shame.

“Still comfortable?” he murmured, his voice low and deep.