Dangerously Bound

by Eden Bradley

  “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.

  CHAPTER

  Five

  MICK 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 pu
ll 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.

  * * *

  IT 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.”

  “Good night, Mick.”

  She waited but he didn’t budge.

  “I’m not leaving until you’re safely inside.”

  “Oh. Oh.”

  She made a useless fluttering motion with her hand, realized what she was doing and turned away from him, went into the house and shut the door behind her. She leaned her back against it, her gaze on the plaster ceiling as she let out a long, sighing breath.

  Jesus, this man! How could he have come so close and then not kissed her? Pure torture, and not even the kinky kind, she felt certain. But it was all her own damn fault. Her body was buzzing with need, but her mind was buzzing even harder. With doubt. Guilt. Questions.

  She would do as she’d promised—for herself as well as for him. She moved from the entry hall into the living room and emptied her small purse onto the low coffee table, found her cell phone and dialed Marie Dawn.

&n
bsp; “Allie? What’s up, chérie?”

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s late.”

  “Never a problem, honey. Talk to me.”

  “We went to the club, Mick and I. And at first everything was just flowing. It was too perfect being there with him. Knowing it was finally happening. But Marie Dawn, I fucked up.” Her breath caught, and she curled her free hand into a fist, letting the nails bite into her palm. “I shouldn’t have tried to con him into this.”

  “Well, there may have been other ways to go about it, but we both know Mick Reid is one of the most stubborn human beings on the planet, so really, this may have been the only way.”

  “That was my thought, too. That was how I justified it.” She paused, swallowed the tears that burned in her throat. “He was so damn nice about it, apologetic, but the scene was ruined.”

  “Allie, you can’t blame yourself for this. He started it years ago—you’re just trying to repair the damage. So, the scene went wrong. So what? That doesn’t mean you two never talk again, or maybe even try the club again. Does it?” Marie Dawn asked.

  “No. I mean, there’s nothing in the kink handbook that says we can’t try again, if we want. But . . . this whole thing obviously messed with his head, and I don’t think he’ll want to.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  “I don’t know.” She moved to the lace curtains at the window, let the streetlights outside blur into a wash of pale amber against the tears pooling in her eyes. “He told me that being there with me tonight brought up how he used to feel, and I think he was talking about our relationship, back when things were good between us. I think. I just don’t know.”

  “Are you okay? Do you need me to come over? Because I can come right now. You just say the word.”

  “No, I’m okay.” She bit her lip. “I’ll be okay. I’m confused and . . . I’ll be fine. I just need to get some sleep and try to work this out in my head. He did make me promise to call him tomorrow.”

  “Good. It’ll give you a chance to talk. You do want to talk to him?”

  “Yes. Of course I do. I just couldn’t talk to him tonight. I couldn’t stand to face him.”