Dangerously Bound (10 page)

“I feel . . .” She had to pause, to take in a breath, which was a bit harder to do
with the chest harness in place, just as it was when she wore a corset. “I feel . . .
as if I’m being held. Hugged. I feel . . . excited. And safe, somehow.”

“You are made for this, Allie girl. Made for my ropes, aren’t you? Stay right there.”

The ropes were sliding again as he worked them through the chest harness and down
around her body—her ribs, her waist, across her back, and finally, between her legs.
The rope slipped between her thighs, against her aching sex, and she almost cried
out, her thighs shaking.

He was quiet as he worked, but she could hear his breath, almost as heavy as her own,
felt the pressure and easing of hands as he moved the rope, tied knots, stopped to
pull on the harness for no other purpose than to make her feel commanded. To make
them pull hard against her swollen clit, to tighten there until the rope sank painfully
between her pussy lips.

Oh, God, she loved it.

When he tipped her over onto her side she didn’t protest, she just went down onto
the floor, the rug a bit scratchy against her bare skin. He rolled her over onto her
stomach with rough hands. She had always loved being manhandled a bit while in scene.
But when he pulled her ankles up and she understood he meant to hog-tie her, something
in her rebelled, her legs going stiff.

He was on her in a moment, his knee in her back, one hand pulling her torso up off
the floor by the ropes crossing between her shoulder blades. She felt utterly helpless,
taken over, which was exactly what she wanted, yet was also what was making her panic
now.

“Allie, I’m going to give you a chance to tell me what this is about.”

“I can’t, Mick,” she started, but tears lodged in her throat and she had to stop.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t be . . . humiliated. Not with you. Please don’t.”

“This is not humiliation. This is beauty,” he said, his tone low, quiet. Reverential
in a way she understood. In a way that calmed her instantly. He ran a hand over her
spine between the ropes. “The graceful angles of the body. The level of submission
it signals. Seeing the flesh bound in my ropes is pure art to me. Your flesh . . .
well, I’ve been waiting a long time to do this, which I believe you already know.
That’s . . . almost indescribable. So damn beautiful.”

She felt her limbs loosen. His grip on her softened, and he let her back down onto
the floor, where she turned her cheek, resting it on the wool rug.

“You’re ready now,” he told her.
Told
, not asked. It didn’t matter. It was true.

He drew her ankles up once more, wrapped them in the sensually sliding rope, making
her acutely aware of the bones and flesh there, then he tied them off with a few knots.
He slipped a length of rope under the knots between her ankles and led it to her body
harness, where he worked it through the ropes across her back, and pulled on them
until they drew her ankles up a bit more.

She was truly helpless now, except for her safe words, of course. But she didn’t need
them. Her head was sinking deeply into subspace, which she realized distantly she
hadn’t quite expected without more pain play. The only pain was the slight throbbing
of her bound breasts pressed against the carpet, her nipples grazing the wool, and
the rope that pulled hard against her sex. But she was soaking wet.

Mick’s big hand wrapped around her bound wrists, which
were clasped behind her head. She heard the soft
snick
of moving rope as he bound the corset tie on her hair to her wrists. Then he pulled
up, lifting her chest off the floor, raising her head with it.

“Tell me that you’re doing okay, Allie.”

“Yes. Yes,” she whispered.

“Are the ropes too tight anywhere? Cutting off circulation? Pressing too hard into
bone?”

“No. The ropes are . . . good.”

She tried to just keep breathing, to keep her body loose. When he slipped some rope
between her wrists and tied it to her ankles, drawing her body up, making it bow,
shock coursed through her. The discomfort of the position was a part of the power
of it all, she understood, but Jesus, she’d never felt so utterly helpless. But it
was for
him
.

Him.

Mick.

He began to run his hands over her flesh, so gently she wanted to cry. Her skin was
alive, every nerve ending in hyperdrive. She felt his touch like fire. Like nothing
she’d ever felt in her life.

“You feel so damn good, Allie girl. Skin like fucking silk. I love the way the ropes
press into your body.”

He reached down then and slid a hand under the knots at the small of her back, making
the rope press harder against her sex.

She moaned.

“Yes, I like that, my girl—to hear how it hurts you, how you love it. Oh, yeah, I
understand perfectly well it’s both pleasure and pain. And make no mistake—that is
my intention. Because as much as I love rope, I am a bit of a sadist. But you already
knew that. You wanted it, or you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

He moved his hand between her thighs, his fingers sliding in her juices.

“Christ, but you’re soaked.” His voice had turned to raw gravel, low and full of desire.
“Makes me want to just . . . yeah.”

He was quiet for several long moments, giving her time to wonder what he might do
to her next. To crave it. To fear it. To fear how he would break her down.

But it was Mick. Finally. And she was
his
in this moment. Relief and emotion and an almost unbearable pleasure suffused her.
For the moment, that was enough.

M
ICK LOOKED DOWN
at Allie’s body. A part of him could barely believe it was
her
bound in his ropes. The fantasy image raging inside him all these years was nothing
compared to the perfection that was this reality. And seeing her here . . . it was
some small epiphany. Small, but enough to cause a crack in the glass wall he’d erected
around his memory of who and what she was to him, like some fucking fairy princess
in a castle. Maybe he was the one who’d put her there, but it had always seemed to
make sense. Until now. Now he might have to question his perceptions. Because
this
Allie was real. This moment was real.

Too real.

He flexed his fingers, had to actually take a step back.

Calm the fuck down.

He pulled in a breath, then another, but his heart was beating like a drum and he
was hard as steel.

He’d have to find a way to distance himself a little until he regained the control
that kept him—that would keep them both—safe from the primal thing inside him, the
dark shadows that drove him.

He reached into his bag and found what he was looking for: a small croplike implement
that was really more like a slender wire rod with a few inches of black sandpaper
at the end—the perfect tool for his intentions.

He stood at Allie’s side, leaned in and listened to her breathing. It was slow and
regular, and he knew she was slipping deeper into subspace simply from being bound
in this way. He paused to check circulation in her hands and feet, found the flesh
pink and healthy. Then he bent over her and swatted the bottoms of both bound feet
with the sandpaper crop.

“Oh!”

“Shh. Stay quiet, Allie girl. Quiet and as still as you can.”

He swatted her feet again, and this time, although he felt a small jerk in her body,
she didn’t pull too hard against her bonds.

He began a regular cadence, then, smacking the bottom of one foot, then the other,
playing over the arches, the balls of her feet, the heels, the tips of her toes. He
loved it when her breath began to come harder, loved it when she was quietly squirming
in the ropes, her toes curling and uncurling. He could see she was processing the
sensation well. He knew it didn’t hurt too much—this particular toy used on the feet
hit all the acupressure points, and often tickled more than hurt. But he didn’t want
to play her any harder than this right now. He simply wanted to bring her sensation,
sensation that didn’t come directly from his own hands. It would be too much to touch
her.

He let himself relax into the rhythm, watching her breathing, visually testing the
tightness of the ropes. He went on for a good ten minutes while the world around them
shrank into the
bubble in which it was just the two of them. Mick and Allie. The way it should have
always been.

Fuck.

He stopped as his pulse began to race, fast and choppy. He tossed the toy at his bag,
being far more careless with his equipment than he ever was. But he
had
to stop. Now.

He was topping out.

He’d heard a Top could drop the same way a bottom did. But he’d never expected it
to happen to him—it never had before.

He’d never scened with Allie.

There was a small rage building in his chest. Rage that he hadn’t held it more together.
That he’d allowed his so-tightly-held control to slip.

He pulled his safety scissors from where he’d tucked them into his belt and snipped
the rope holding her hair to her wrists, then the one holding her wrists to her ankles.
He caught her across the chest in time to lower her head safely to the floor, and
her feet at the same time. Her warm flesh burned into him like fire.

He kept cutting, tearing the ropes from her body, rolling her onto her back to work
faster. He caught her confused gaze and cursed himself. It wasn’t right, the way he
was handling her, taking her down without any explanation.

“Mick, are we . . . I’m sorry for talking but are we ending the scene?”

Hurt in her voice. It cut him to the quick. But he couldn’t take this any further.
Not tonight.

“Yeah,” was all he managed to say.

He pulled her into a sitting position, careful to be more gentle with her, then to
her feet so he could finish cutting her out. She swayed, and he caught her with one
arm around her waist. Lord, she felt like a china doll in his arms, and he was a bastard
for doing this to her.

Soon the ropes lay in tatters on the floor, and he grabbed the small blanket he kept
in his bag and wrapped it around her before leading her to the sofa and sitting her
down. The panic was roaring in his ears as he settled next to her, needing to keep
away from her, but knowing he couldn’t do that—that if he couldn’t manage an explanation,
the least he had to do was offer some aftercare. But instead of leaning into him for
comfort, as most bottoms did after play, she sat there woodenly. He didn’t blame her.

“Allie . . . fuck, I know the energy is off . . .”

Why the hell couldn’t he think straight?

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Off? It’s all kinds of fucked
up, Mick.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” He paused, shook his head. “Believe it or not I’m able to apologize when
I’m wrong.”

Her brown eyes welled with tears, and he felt even more like an asshole.

“Mick, what are you talking about? I’m the one who should be sorry. I forced you into
this. How could I possibly have expected the dynamic to work? It’s my own fault. I
just wanted . . .” She paused, sniffed, wiped her cheeks with her palms. “Well, it
doesn’t matter what I wanted. I was wrong to do this.”

“Allie, you are my responsibility right now, and I’m doing a lousy job. This is not
your fault. You’re just bottoming out.”

“Maybe I am a little—I don’t know—but I do know that I screwed this all up, or the
scene wouldn’t have gone wrong. We wouldn’t be here doing this at all. I’m sorry,
Mick. I really am.”

Another tear slid down her cheek and he reached out, brushed it away with his thumb—he
couldn’t help himself. But when her
face just crumpled there was nothing he could do but pull her into his arms and hold
her. She was stiff at first, but in moments she was curled against his chest, crying
softly, his shirt gripped in her hand.

Her body was all warmth and softness and the scent of summer. His pulse was still
racing, hot and hard in his system. His mind was spinning, numb.

This was Allie,
his
Allie. He didn’t know how he could think of her any other way.

He couldn’t do this to her.

But I can’t stay away. Not anymore.

He held her tighter, and she melted into him for a moment, then she started to pull
away. He tightened his arms. She pushed at his chest. He let her go.

Fuck.

“Mick, don’t. Please just . . . don’t. I shouldn’t have done this to you.”

“You haven’t done anything to me,” he insisted.

“Oh yes I did. I manipulated you. It was wrong of me, and now you’re trying to comfort
me. You don’t have to do this. Okay? You don’t have to. Just . . . take me home.”

“We should talk. I don’t want you going home alone like this.”

“I’ll call Marie Dawn. I promise. I know you feel responsible as the Top. I get it.
But I’m really the one who put myself here, and I’ll see that I’m taken care of. I’ll
handle this myself. Which is what I should have done all along, instead of trying
to pull you back in. You were right. I’m caught up in the past. I’m sorry, Mick.”

It tore at him to see the expression on her face. He didn’t know how they could resolve
things tonight. They were both too raw. And he needed some time to understand what
had happened to him.

“All right. Let me get your dress. But Allie . . . I’m sorry for a lot of things.
You should know that.”

She just shook her head mutely, and he handed the dress to her. She slipped it over
her head, let the blanket fall. When he tried to help her into her shoes, she waved
him away and did it herself, then sat in silence while he packed up his bag. She remained
just as silent as they went back through the club to the front and got their coats.
He was grateful that Pixie gauged their mood and kept quiet as they left.

He helped Allie step up into the truck, a hand on her elbow, but she was shut off
to him. He went to the driver’s side and got in, started the engine.

“Are you not talking to me at all?” he asked her.

“I just can’t, Mick. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say, and if I say anything
more, I’m only going to make it worse.”

“You need to stop apologizing.”

“Because I’m completely blameless? Come on, Mick. We both know that’s not true.”

He scrubbed at his goatee with one hand, the other firmly on the wheel, when all he
wanted was to stop the damn truck and take her in his arms again.

He knew she was right. He had felt manipulated the other day, but he’d accepted the
situation as inevitable. But tonight everything had shifted once he had her in his
ropes, under his hands. It wasn’t the sight of her bare flesh, although that was pretty
damn spectacular. It was
her
. Stronger than she used to be. Braver. What had it taken for her to get him to do
this?

“I didn’t think you’d be able to argue with that,” she said quietly.

“No. I mean, I was thinking.”

“It’s better if we don’t think, Mick.”

He glanced at her profile, her high cheekbones, the tips of
her long lashes gilded by the streetlights. So damn beautiful. Stubborn as ever. And
closed to him.

And not a damn thing he could do about it.

*   *   *

I
T HURT HER
heart to shut him out, but she had to do it. The guilt was eating her up inside.

She’d come so close tonight to living out her wildest dreams, only to have them come
crashing down around her. She’d handled this horribly.

She bit back the tears as the truck moved through the dark streets, and soon they
reached her house. Mick came around to let her out, but when she would have moved
past him, he grabbed her arm.

“I’m walking you to the front door like the Southern gentleman I’m supposed to be.
Like the responsible Dom, damn it.”

Oh, he was mad. She didn’t blame him.

She turned and together they moved up the front stairs.

“Hand me your keys.”

“Mick, I—”

“Just do it, Allie. Stop arguing with me.”

She exhaled on a sigh as she pulled the keys from her purse and handed them to him.
His large fingers wrapped around her hand for a long moment, and she looked up to
find his gaze on hers, dark and glittering in the pale light of the porch.

“Mick . . .”

“Shh.”

“We’re not in scene anymore.”

“No. We’re not. We’re just two people saying good night. And this we’re going to do
right.”

He leaned in, and even though she knew what was coming, she couldn’t pull away. Her
body wouldn’t let her. She breathed
in his scent mixed with the cool night air, which only made him seem darker, sexier.

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. She tilted her chin, blinked
hard as he lowered his face toward hers until his breath was warm on her lips.

He moved in closer and the breath just went out of her, her body melting in anticipation.
His hand gripped her waist, his fingers digging in. She closed her eyes. Waited.

He gave her one more squeeze before he pulled away.

“You know, everything that happened when we were younger . . . I remember what it
was like between us. Don’t think I’ve ever forgotten. Tonight kind of brought it back
to me, made it fresh again. Real.”

Her chest pulled into a tight, complicated knot. “What are you saying, Mick?”

He shook his head, his eyes shadowed. “I don’t know.” He paused, repeated, “I don’t
know. And I don’t know exactly what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but I
felt like I needed to say something.”

“And . . . ?”

He shrugged. “That’s it.” He was silent for several moments, then he reached out,
drew one finger across her cheek, his gaze on her face. He whispered, “Good night,
Allie.”

“Oh . . .”

His brows drew together and she thought he might say something more, but he only stepped
back, let his hand fall from her side. He stuck it in the pocket of his jeans.

Her pulse was fluttering, hot and thready.

“Good night, Mick,” she managed to get out.

“I want you to call me tomorrow.” His voice was rough and low. “We don’t have to talk.
Just check in, let me know if you’re
okay. And call Marie Dawn tonight. Call Jamie. Someone. No arguing.”

“I will.”

“Promise me you’ll do it.”

“I promise.”

He stood watching her for a moment. Her heart thundered in her chest. Finally he took
another step back.

“Okay. Good night, Allie.”