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"Just asking."
"That was your fault," she mutters, blushing.
"You going to let me watch you do it?"
"Maybe," she sniffs. "Depends on if you're mean and tell me I'm not allowed to touch my…holy crap, you aren't wearing a shirt." Her mouth pops open as her gaze climbs all over my torso, eating me alive.
"Noticed that, did you?"
"Bronx." She swallows hard, sitting upright in the bed. "You're so beautiful."
"Jesus." My heart rattles against my ribcage, trying to pound its way out of my chest to get to her. She's looking at me like I'm something extraordinary, something to be admired. "I'm just a man, Gemma."
"Men can be beautiful too." Her gaze flits to my face, her chin thrust out and a stubborn glint in her eyes, as if she's gearing up to fight me on this. "You're beautiful, Bronx. Not just your tattoos, but you.The male is not less the soul nor more, he too isin his place. He too is all qualities; he is action and power. The flush of the known universe is in him."
Fucking hell. She's reciting poetry at me, glaring like she means every damn word. And I don't know if I want to topple her backwards and fuck her through the mattress for it or worship at her feet.
I know what I look like. I'm six foot six inches of muscle. Half of me is covered in ink. I get hit on around here every fucking day. But hearing this fearless little goddess tell me that I'm beautiful? Well, I never thought that'd have me ready to come all over myself. But here we are.
I drop the ropes onto the bed between us.
"Keep talking and I'm going to forget that you wanted me to use these, Gemma," I say, dead serious. "Every damn time you get fired up about something, my dick gets harder, and my control gets weaker."
Her gaze shifts from me to the ropes and then right back. "I thought you said you'd never done any of this before," she says. For the first time since I met her, she sounds…hurt. Uncertain. As if I've shaken her confidence.
Fuck me. Does she think I was lying to her?
"I haven't."
"But you just so happen to keep rope in your closet?"
"Come here." I hold out my hand for her.
She eyes it for a moment, hesitating.
"Now, Dilemma."
She grumbles under her breath and then reluctantly places her hand in mine, allowing me to pull her up from the bed. I march her toward the closet, determined to solve this little issue here and now. I won't have her thinking I lied to her. And I won't have her believing she's one in a long line. She isn't. Not by a long shot.
What we're doing here matters. Christ, I think it matters more than anything I've ever done in my miserable life.
I pull her to a stop in the doorway to the closet, letting her see for herself why I have rope in here.
"Oh my gosh," she whispers as soon as she sees it. "Is that a—?"
"Fuck no," I growl, cutting her off before she can ask if it's a sex doll. I stomp into the closet, tugging her along with me. "It's a mannequin used to practice Shibari, Dilemma."
"Shibari?"
"The type of bondage you saw downstairs."
"Oh," she whispers, reaching out as if to touch the mannequin. She changes her mind at the last second and drops her hand back to her side.
"You asked last night what I was into," I say, turning to look at her. "It's this."
"Shibari?"
"Bondage." I tug her toward me, ensuring she hears me loud and clear. "When we were watching that show last night, you weren't the only one imagining yourself tied up and helpless while I fucked you, Gemma." I tip her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. "I've been imagining it since I set eyes on you."
