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“You expected things to progress with me the way a normal relationship would.” With a casual shrug, he finishes one last tie. “Dinner and a movie. Small talk. Maybe casual, mediocre sex. Or maybe you thought this would be more like a regular night with a client. Sex without emotion. Just a job.”
Just a job.
How many times have I thought that?
“But things would never be normal between us,” he says with conviction before he bends to brush his lips over my cheek. “There’s nothing normal about you. You are a rarity. Worth more to me than anything in the world.”
How many times did he fight to choose me over something or someone else? I watched him fight in his battle to bring his brother home when my own safety was at stake.
“I can see it in your eyes,” he says softly, running both hands down the length of my bound arms. “You don’t know why you’re so special. You don’t understand. But if you give me time and another chance, I’ll show you.”
He’s right. I don’t understand, not at all, and I’m tempted—oh, so very tempted—to give him this chance.
But even if everything was right between us, I can’t leave my sister in the States without me. I have the money now. I have to take care of her. I’ve only made this sacrifice so I could do my best by her, and I can’t choose my own interests now even if I wanted to.
He’s mafia, I remind myself.
You became a call girl, I mentally counter.
I blink back tears.
“I won’t apologize,” Fabien says. “I did what I had to, and I would do it again. I won’t promise you a normal life. Choosing us means choosing anything but normal. But it also means choosing undying love. It means being with someone who will protect you no matter the circumstances.” He kisses my cheek again. “It means I love you.”
I push against the bonds just to feel them hold tight. I can breathe. I can think. I can see. But I’m vividly aware of how vulnerable I am to him.
I wouldn’t emotionally submit to him. So he’s forced it physically.
I need to give the man credit. He could’ve fought back. He could’ve railed in anger. He could’ve let me go.
But no. He chose instead to silence my resistance and give us another chance.
When he strokes his hand down my back, over the overlaying bonds, I feel a bit more resistance seep out of me. I never understood the power of bondage. Until now.
I want to close my eyes and luxuriate in the feel of this, but I don’t want to take my eyes off of him. The way he looks at me makes me know, deep down in my bones, that what he says is true.
He loves me.
He wasn’t trying to manipulate me.
He was using the tools at his disposal so he could win me over, just like he is now.
It doesn’t mean that everything he did was right, or that there wasn’t a better way for all of this to go down. But if I’m honest, I haven’t made perfect choices either. Both of us are just two flawed people trying to figure things out. Trying to get it right.
Up until now, without the ability to talk or protest or even communicate in any way verbally, I’ve been consumed with my thoughts. Processing. Internally waging war against my protests because deep down inside I want this.
But soon, my thoughts come to a sudden halt.
Bound, submitted to him, my resistance no longer fighting against this… I begin to really feel.
I have to trust him. Bound like this, he could hurt me so easily.
But he doesn’t.
Restrained like this, he could take advantage of me with no trouble at all.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, the nearly chaste touches—down my back, over my shoulders, at the back of my neck, over the crisscrossing restraints—become erotic. A sensuous warmth passes between us with every touch. My entire body seems consumed with a sort of waiting edged with pleasure. Every time his eyes meet mine, my heart flips in response.
Holding my gaze, he traces the bonds over my breasts, over and over, until my nipples harden against them, and a familiar heat begins to pulse between my legs. He’s broken down my resistance. I’m losing my ability to hold myself back.
When I stifle a whimper, he makes a low male sound deep in his chest. A ripple of anticipation heats my veins. The pull toward him grows with every passing second.
I want to reach out and stroke the stubble on his chin. I want to tell him I want this, that I don’t want to end what we have here between us.
I want to tell him I’m sorry.
I want to tell him I love him.
Unable to speak, I can only receive.
