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As soon as I've got my arms over my head, he shifts forward, grabbing them.
"What are you doing?"
"Tying you up with the scraps of this fucking dress," he mutters, pausing only long enough to set one piece of it beside him. "Do you remember your safeword?"
"Bronx! You are not tying me up with my dress."
"I am."
"No, you are not."
"Do you remember your safeword, Dilemma?"
"Y-yes."
"Use it if you want to use it."
I don't use it. Of course I don't.
He sets to work, tying the pieces of my dress together into one long rope and looping them around my wrists. He ties it tightly enough to keep me from breaking free, but not tightly enough to cut off circulation or hurt me.
"How does that feel, beautiful?"
"Good," I whisper.
"Not too tight?"
I shake my head.
"I need to hear your voice, Gemma. When you're in the ropes, I need you to be vocal with me, understood? If something doesn't feel good, tell me. If something feels good, tell me."
"It's not too tight." I lick my lips. "I like it."
"Good girl." He rewards me with a tiny smile and loops the end through slats on the headboard. He leaves slack between my wrists and the headboard, allowing me to move around on the bed a little, and then he begins working his way down my arms with the length. He works efficiently, his hands steady and sure as he twists and ties the long piece, checking every few seconds to make sure that it's not tied too tightly and that it's lying flat so it doesn't hurt me. "Does that still feel good, Dilemma?"
The care he puts into tying me up makes my heart flutter even as my core clenches. He's so attentive to the details, doingeverything he can to make sure that I'm comfortable and that his makeshift rope won't leave marks behind or hurt me in any way.
"Yes," I moan, pressing my thighs together. I thought I'd feel helpless tied up, and there's definitely an element of that. I love knowing he can do what he wants to me, and I can't easily escape. But there are layers to this that I didn't expect. Like how free I feel right now, as if the outside world truly doesn't exist in this room. As if I'm more powerful than I ever have been. I may be the one tied down, but I know that all it would take is one word to stop everything in its tracks.
More than that, I love seeing this side of Bronx. He's more himself right now than I think he's ever been, as if his guard is down too. He's not worried about anyone approaching me or about having to protect me from anyone in the club. Right now, he knows that I'm perfectly safe. He trusts himself implicitly. That's sexy as hell to me.
Once he's satisfied, he leans back, examining his handiwork. A sharp exhale leaves his lips, his expression darkening. "Goddamn," he breathes, reaching for the button on his pants as if he can't help himself. He rips through it, delving his hand inside to pull out his cock.
I moan when his hand emerges a second later, his fist wrapped around his massive erection. My God. He's going to split me in two. And I'm going to let him.
I stare in fascination as he straddles my hips, his cock in his hand.
"You've got me so fucking hard right now. I can't think," he growls as if he's mad about it. He strokes his cock, his eyes prowling all over my upper body. "Jesus. You should see your tits like this, Gemma." He leans down, capturing one hard nipple in his mouth.
I cry out, arching upward as he drags it through his teeth.
He releases it, only to do the same thing to the other.
"Mm. I want to fuck these," he says, licking all over them.
Oh my god.
"D-do it."
