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“Shh.” He put his finger to his lips. “No.”
Another few minutes passed. The ache became excruciating, my toe muscles cramped. Gasping I dropped an inch down onto my feet. A minute later my fingers were numb and the skin of my hands was going darker than seemed healthy.
Any arousal had gone south for the winter, but wasn’t this what I wanted on film? I struggled to stay silent at the same time as I alternated between resting my feet or my hands. At last I gave in.
I sobbed. “Klaus! Enough. My hands.” I looked pointedly at them. “I’m scared they aren’t getting enough blood. And this is hurting!”
“It’s predicament bondage.” He straightened and began untying the rope from the wall.
Oh God. I could stand on the flats of my feet again. Pins and needles shot into my hands. Still bound, gritting my teeth, I eyed him as he proceeded to undo all the ropes and finally reached my wrists and undid the rope from them also.
“You’ve heard of it?” As he asked, he held my hands and manipulated each finger, then he let go and stepped away.
“Yes,” I hissed and shook my hands madly as another bout of pins and needles struck. “Where did you learn about it?”
“The internet. It was interesting. I figured I should do some research so I looked it up last night.”
He’d looked it up? Somehow I’d thought he’d read it in one of my stories. Only it had hurt. Fuck. Did I want this?
As if he’d read my mind, he spoke. “Still want to keep doing this?”
Good question. I examined my hands again. I was okay. Maybe Klaus had the right mind for this after all. Chickening out seemed silly. The black spot where the camera lens poked through the wall seemed to accuse me of cowardice. “Sure. Sure I do.”
He nodded. “Good.”
Suspicious, I checked him out. Though he’d always been a man who kept his feelings close to his chest, the lack of emotion showing on his face was distinctly new.
