by Brynley Bush
Ava’s arms wrap around me from behind, her cheek pressed against my back. “You’re not a monster,” she says quietly.
“I am, Ava,” I say firmly. “I’m not cut out for sweetness or tenderness or love. This is what you get with me.” I gesture to the room. “This is all I have to offer.”
I wonder if it can be enough for her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ava
When we arrive at Logan’s club, my head is still reeling from my afternoon with Roman, and I’m still trying to absorb everything I’ve learned about this mysterious man who sets my senses on fire. There’s certainly more to Roman Castile than meets the eye. He’s a multimillionaire, clearly as self-possessed and in control of his personal life as he is of his masculinity. But there’s also a sweet and vulnerable side to him that he keeps hidden and a tortured part of him that thinks he’s beyond redemption for wanting the things he wants.
There’s no denying the way my body responds to him, or the fact that I’m falling for him. But I know there’s no future for me with a man like Roman. He’s been clear about what he wants, and I’ve vowed never to give a man so much control over me that I end up like my mother. And Roman definitely wants control. He’ll settle for nothing less than everything, and I’m not prepared to give that to anyone, not even Roman.
Logan starts talking about tonight’s event, and I’m distracted from any more depressing thoughts about Roman and me.
“Ladies, while you were enjoying some R and R in the wine country, your Doms have been practicing their rope work with my friend and renowned shibari expert, Jonathan Kincaid. For the sixth round of the Power Games, they’re going to practice what they’ve learned on you.”
Tessa and I exchange a glance. We’d known something was up when we’d been told to strip down to our underwear and been given silk robes to wear.
She pipes up. “What’s shibari?”
“Shibari is the erotic art of rope bondage,” Logan answers. “It’s quite beautiful. The arrangement of rope on a submissive’s body and the position of her limbs emphasizes sensuality and vulnerability, and the placement of the rope itself as well as the knots can be used to arouse or punish. Shibari has also been known to induce subspace, so prepare yourselves for an interesting evening.”
I remember Roman telling me about subspace, but it sounds like a hoax to me. I’m damn sure I’d be too terrified to reach a peaceful, trancelike state from being flogged like Roman had suggested, but achieving some sort of sexual bliss solely from being strung up with rope seems just as unlikely.
“Points will be awarded for the best rope work and will be applied to the winning team’s score, and as always, the challenge for the Doms will be balancing pushing their submissives’ boundaries to get the maximum points without demanding more than she can handle. A girl bound in the ropes of bondage resembles a beautiful sculpture, so a photographer will be here capturing each submissive in ropes once her Dom is finished. The pictures will become part of the permanent art collection at the Helix and will be hung in the lobby.”
“I told you you’re going to be famous,” Tessa leans over to whisper to me with a smile.
An hour later, I have to admit that shibari is as beautiful as it is terrifying. Each Dom has already worked with the shibari expert to choose the unique style he will use on his submissive, and the Doms’ choices are oddly telling of their personalities. Emmett and Rebecca are first, and not surprisingly Emmett’s rope work is an artistic masterpiece. Using a series of knots, he creates a beautiful and intricate bodysuit that covers Rebecca’s torso erotically and frames her lush breasts. Additional rope creates a thick collar with the end running down her spine to her ass, and I wriggle uncomfortably in my seat as he maneuvers the thick strand tightly through her crack and up between the folds of her labia, a knot strategically placed where her clit is. He finishes by binding her arms over her head and pulling her up onto her toes, and I can tell the photographer knows he just hit pay dirt. Although I hate to admit it, Rebecca’s absolutely beautiful, and she’s the perfect canvas for Emmett’s artistry.
Also not surprisingly, Michael’s rope work makes me uneasy. He ties Carly’s feet to her thighs as she kneels, and then fashions a chest harness, which he attaches to a ring in the ceiling, so that while her knees are on the floor, she’s leaning forward, her upper torso supported by the rope. It’s beautiful but with an edge of violence, her breasts tightly trapped between the fiber, resulting in them becoming swollen and enlarged as she’s suspended from the ring attached to the ceiling. As the final touch, he attaches nipple clamps with heavy weights to her breasts as she hangs.
I wonder again how he’s lasted so long on the show, but he’s ruggedly good-looking and a former NFL football player, and in addition to already having his own fan base, I think on TV he must come across as masculine and authoritative instead of cruel. It probably doesn’t hurt that Carly is one of the sweetest and most exotically beautiful girls I’ve ever met. But the audience doesn’t see what goes on behind the scenes. If I hadn’t had to sign a nondisclosure, I could make a fortune writing a tell-all about what really goes on.
Megan and Caleb are next, and although the design Caleb has chosen isn’t as immobilizing or intense as Emmett’s and Michael’s, it’s clear Megan is struggling with being restrained. Using different-colored rope, he ties her in a kneeling position with her arms bound behind her and secured to her feet so her back is bowed and her breasts thrust forward. She starts to hyperventilate when she realizes he intends to suspend her in the ropes. He talks to her soothingly as he lifts her, telling her to relax and give herself over to the sensation, but it’s obviously too much for her. With tears running down her face, she uses her safe word.
We all stare, shocked, as Caleb lowers her back down. She’s frantic, begging him to untie her, and the shibari guy steps forward and quickly cuts her loose with a pair of paramedic scissors. She collapses in Caleb’s arms, crying.
“I’m so sorry,” she keeps whispering over and over.
I’ve never really liked Megan—probably because she’s been Rebecca’s side chick for the duration of the show—but I can’t help but feel sorry for her now.
“What happened?” I whisper to Roman.
“The immobilizing bondage of the rope work obviously hit some kind of trigger with her. Sometimes you never know about a trigger until you’re knee-deep in the scene. It’s too bad it had to happen during an official event,” he adds grimly.
Logan discreetly instructs Caleb to take Megan into a private room to take care of her, sending Rachel along to help.
Turning back to us and the cameras, he says, “Unfortunately for Megan and Caleb, they are officially out of the games since Megan used her safe word. However, we still have two couples to go, so Luke, why don’t you come show us what you’ve chosen for Tessa?”
The mood has changed drastically, and I’m wishing Roman and I had already gone. It’s messing with my head knowing the shibari was intense enough to make Megan actually use her safe word. She is way more experienced than me and one of the tougher submissives on the show; if she couldn’t handle it, I’m wondering how I possibly can. Luke must be thinking the same thing, because he barely restrains Tessa, using simple and loosely tied knots to bind her on the floor.
As soon as they’re finished, Roman pulls me up onto the stage with him. My stomach is churning with butterflies, and terror is suddenly clawing at me. I can’t do this.
“Kneel, Avalon,” he says, his voice firm.
His intention is clear, although I have no idea why he’s chosen this moment to institute protocol. I know he’s not particularly a fan of it, and none of the other Doms have required their subs to kneel before them first.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second, but his face is unyielding, and I can tell he means business. I lower myself to my knees and part my legs slightly, my hands resting on my thighs and my eyes downcast like he’s taught me. From this vantage point I can see
the hard bulge in his tailored pants.
“Look at me,” he commands softly.
My confused eyes meet his calm gray ones.
“I have you kneel when you need a reminder of your place, and mine. Stop thinking and wondering and worrying. Your only task as my submissive is to quiet your mind and accept whatever I ask of you. There’s freedom in that. Embrace it. I won’t pull back simply because Megan used her safe word, but I promise I won’t push you past what you can handle. Do you trust me to know that?”
I nod nervously.
He steps behind me, and I swallow hard. Here we go. He rakes his fingers through my hair, lightly massaging my scalp as he gathers my hair into a low ponytail.
“I’m not going to blindfold you this time. If you get scared, I want your eyes on me. Let go,” he murmurs soothingly. “Let the rope relax you.”
I don’t know about the rope relaxing me, but his hands in my hair do. I feel like dissolving into a puddle at his feet as he plays with my hair, wrapping the rope around the top of my ponytail and then tying it off into a knot, leaving a long length hanging down my back.
His hands slide around me to cup my breasts, and I melt into him.
“I love touching your breasts,” he says softly.
He picks up another length of silky-looking rope and rubs it over my skin languidly, caressing my flesh with the soft braided strands. Then with deft fingers, he begins to pass the rope around my torso and over my shoulders, looping it around me until he’s created a simple breast harness with the rope secured above and below my breasts, framing them. It’s not at all uncomfortable; in fact, it feels faintly erotic. He takes a third piece of rope and wraps it around the center of my breasts, right across my nipples so it lightly abrades them. That officially kicks the erotic factor up a notch, and I catch my breath at the sensation as the rope presses and rubs against my nipples.
“Clasp your hands behind you just above your ass.” His voice is almost hypnotic, and I wordlessly obey. The movement causes the rope that’s placed across my nipples to chafe against them even more, and I realize Roman knew exactly what he was doing; his intent in placing the ropes was to keep my breasts constantly stimulated, and it’s definitely working.
“Arch your back.” The sharp command has my nerve endings standing at attention.
I lift my butt off my heels to do as he says, and my breasts jut forward as the rope slides erotically over my nipples. A moan comes from somewhere deep within me. I never dreamed being tied up could be so arousing.
Using the ends of the rope from the breast harness, he ties my forearms together behind me with an almost military precision. He tugs at my arms and the restraints a few times, checking for who knows what, and then steps away to retrieve yet another piece of rope. I test the bindings to see how much give they have. There’s none; my arms are firmly bound behind me. I should be panicking, but instead I feel an odd, almost disassociated sense of relaxation and well-being.
“You still with me, Avalon?” I can feel him behind me, his warm hands caressing me, and my head lolls back against his shoulder. He kisses the side of my neck, and my heart stutters ever so slightly.
Then he’s wrapping more rope around my leg, binding my upper calf to my lower thigh so I’m tied into a kneeling position. I close my eyes as he wraps and pushes and pulls the rope until he’s satisfied, and then he stands and retrieves yet another length of rope. He repeats the process with my other leg, and when he’s finished, I realize I couldn’t stand up if I wanted to. I’m effectively immobilized and unequivocally at his mercy. I’m just grateful that Roman’s allowed me to keep my thong on. Emmett and Michael had both demanded Rebecca and Carly be completely naked and had taken advantage of that when placing their ropes. Roman, on the other hand, has steered clear of my girlie bits. I smile to myself. I’ve noticed he doesn’t like other men looking at or touching me there. His expression had been thunderous when he’d taken me off the pedestal in the Helix Room.
He begins to move around me, gathering the various ends of ropes and tying them to a steel ring suspended from the ceiling. He grabs the rope that’s binding my hair and pulls my head back until I’m gazing up into his eyes.
“Are you ready?”
Ready for what? Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Kincaid, the shibari expert, step onto the stage and stand next to the ring, double-checking Roman’s rigging. Oh, God. This can’t be good.
“Don’t you dare hang me from the ceiling,” I mutter.
“Remember who’s the Dom and who’s the submissive,” he warns me with thinly veiled amusement. He nods to Kincaid, and then I’m being pulled by the ropes that are attached to me and lifted off the floor until I’m hovering prone about five feet over the stage. It’s terrifying. With my arms tightly bound behind me and my legs frog-tied together, I’m completely helpless, like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. There’s no way to break my fall should the ropes not hold me, and I want to grab on to something—anything—but I can’t even move.
“Eyes on me, Avalon,” Roman reminds me firmly.
My wild-eyed gaze meets his.
“Trust me,” he says, and I swear I can hear a plea hidden in the command.
Although he’s pushed me further than I’ve ever been pushed before, both physically and emotionally, I have never felt as safe or secure or cared for as I do with Roman. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past four weeks, it’s that I’m stronger than I think I am, a fact that Roman seems to have known all along. I take a deep breath and will my muscles to relax. Once I do, I begin to feel the freedom in the suspension. When I trust that they’ll hold me, the protection of the ropes feels like an embrace, and I slowly surrender to the sensual peacefulness.
My peace is short-lived.
“Bottoms up, sweetheart,” Roman says. “Next time you’ll remember not to tell your Dom what to do.”
I gasp as the ropes binding my legs are pulled up and out, spreading me open while tilting me forward until I’m hanging almost completely upside down, my arms pointing toward the ceiling and my knees held wide by the rope. I feel totally exposed even with the thong on, and with my chest forced forward, the rope across my nipples tightens deliciously.
Roman comes to stand in front of me. Even from my vantage point upside down, I can see the heat in his eyes as he admires his work, enjoying both my exposure and discomfort.
“God, the things I want to do to you,” he says, his voice a caress. “I want to tie you up like this and then warm that milky-white skin of yours with my flogger until it’s flushed with color and arousal. I can imagine it perfectly—the way the flogger would feel hitting your body, the look on your face as I send you spinning with each strike, the way you’d dance on the ropes as my whip marks your body.”
I shudder, but I’m not sure if it’s in fear or arousal at his carnal words. His finger traces my slit through the sheer, silky fabric of the thong, and then he crouches down so his face is next to mine. “But I’d have you alone and naked, spread like this with your pussy open and accessible, and I’d whip your sweet little cunt until you screamed.”
My thigh muscles contract at his words, my legs desperately trying to close, but his words are fuel for the fire that’s simmering in my veins.
His voice is a low whisper near my ear. “Luckily for you, we’re not alone, so I’ll have to be content with my fantasy.”
MY DICK IS throbbing as I lower Ava and release the ropes after the photographer is finished. Her skin is beautiful, the marks made by the rope creating an intricate pattern over the smooth white canvas of her body. I gather her into my arms and carry her over to a love seat, grabbing a blanket to wrap around her as I hold her in my lap. I’d swear she was close to subspace, and some serious aftercare is in order after what I put her through. Pride surges through me at how much control and trust she just relinquished to me, especially given her fear after Megan freaked out in the ropes. Logan tells all the contestants we’re welcome to stay and play o
r return to the hotel. It’s almost two in the morning, and Ava looks decimated, so although both my dick and Ava protest, I take her back to the hotel and tuck her into bed.
The next morning, we fly back to Las Vegas and have the afternoon to rest and relax before the next event is announced. While Ava’s showering for dinner, I run downstairs to the boutique for a few things I plan to use tonight, and bump into Logan. He looks around the empty hallway briefly.
“You have a sec?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, following him into his suite. I sink down into one of the plush leather chairs, stretching my legs out in front of me. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know if you’re stupid or brilliant. That was a hell of a risk, doing a suspension like that with Ava after Megan safe-worded. But it worked! You’ve managed to build an amazing rapport with her, especially given how inexperienced she is.” He taps his nose thoughtfully. “You know, there’s something extraordinary between the two of you.”
“It’s called a functioning D/s relationship,” I retort drily.
“You can’t hide behind your protocol and D/s conventions and guard your heart forever,” he says quietly. “She’s not Natasha.”
“It’s not my heart I’m guarding; it’s hers. Is this seriously what you wanted to talk to me about? Because if so, you of all people should know better.”
He studies me for a minute, and I can practically hear the gears turning. Then he abruptly leans back and says, “No. We’re getting some heat from a politician in Washington who’s making a bid for the presidency. He’s trying to shut down the show, claiming it’s a violation of human rights, and specifically women’s rights. Apparently this guy’s platform is built around women’s issues—stopping sex trafficking, antipornography, yada, yada, yada. He’s keeping the fight on the down-low right now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes it public and makes it his crusade to win the more conservative votes.”
“What do you need?” I ask curtly, my attention fully focused on him now.
