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I hate even hearing the mention of a captor when it pertains to her, but she has a point.
Which is why I agreed to this.I want her to have every tool available, should she find herself in a similar situation.
The more I learn about this man with a scar, the more I fear that could become a legitimate possibility.
“I’m not tired.I can keep going.”
“You may not be tired, but your wrists need a break.”I steal a glance at them, red and swollen with lines of chafed skin from being bound.“People are going to think you’re into some kinky shit.”
“Being tied up isn’t that kinky.”
“And whatdoyou consider kinky?”
Truth be told, I’m not sure what her sexual tastes are these days.We’ve only spent two nights together in the past ten years.They were both bloody incredible, but I can only imagine she’s matured from that summer when we were in our twenties.I hate thinking about her exploring her sexuality with anyone else, but I can’t worry about that.
She’s with me now.
That’s all that matters.
“Play your cards right and maybe you’ll find out this August.”She winks, then spins around, moving her arms behind her, pinning her wrists together.
We’ve practiced all sorts of variations of this exercise.First with her wrists tied in front of her.Then with her in a chair, her wrists secured to the arms.But she insisted on this particular scenario — her wrists bound behind her as she lies on the floor.It makes me wonder if there’s a reason behind it.I haven’t pressed, though, focusing on teaching her the skills she needs for every situation.
I pull another set of zip ties out of my pocket and approach her.As I instructed, she’s mindful not to fist her hands as I do so.Most criminals don’t pay much attention to their hostages’ hands, wanting to tie them up as quickly as possible.But with your hand flexed wide instead of scrunched into a fist, it makes your forearm wider.
The wider your forearm when being restrained, the more wiggle room you’ll have when you eventually ball your hand.
I secure the ties and step back, giving Esme space to work.
She drops to the floor and finds a hard angle against the wall, using the edge to weaken the zip tie enough to break free.After a few moments, she draws in a deep breath and closes her eyes.
Then, like I taught her, she makes a quick, decisive motion with both arms, causing the restraint to snap.
“Great job, Esme.You’re becoming a real pro at this.”I hold out my hand and help her to her feet.
“What can I say?”She gives me a brilliant smile.“I’ve got a great teacher.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Always.”She tilts her head back, eyes locking with mine.
It’s a simple word.One I’ve said countless times.But since the night we finally bore our souls to each other, it’s taken on a different meaning.Now, even when we’re in public, she finds a way to insert that word into her normal conversation.As if it’s her secret way of telling me that she’s still with me.
That she’s still mine.
That she still loves me.
“Always,” I repeat in a low murmur, resisting the urge to wrap my arm around her waist, pull her body to mine, and kiss her.
After several protracted moments, Esme clears her throat and steps back, putting space between us before I do something I’ll regret.“I should get going.Let you get on with your day.”
“Of course.”Holding her gaze, I bow toward her.“Princess.”
She bites on her lower lip, trying to reel in her smile.But the corners of her mouth betray her, lifting up despite her best efforts.She’s always loved when I call her princess.
And I’m glad I’m the only one who can.
“Captain,” she replies, eyes skating down my frame for a beat.Then she slings her workout bag onto her shoulder and starts toward the door.She only makes it a few feet before stopping, whirling around to face me.Her lips part as if about to say something.
