Gathered Up

by Annabeth Albert

  “This is cotton silk bondage rope.” Dropping the condoms and lube to the mattress, I held up the hank of black rope. “And these”—I held out the gold scissors—“are for cutting me loose if you can’t untie fast enough. Always have scissors or a knife nearby.”

  “Hols. I read tips online. Less lecture, more doing. Lose your pants and get on there.” Sawyer gestured to the bed, which was a low, modern-designed platform.

  My stomach wobbled precipitously as I took off my pants. “Just my hands tonight, if you please.”

  “Relax.” Sawyer came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. “I’ve got you, Hols. You’re safe.”

  That’s what I’m worried about. I didn’t want to feel safe with Sawyer. I didn’t want to trust him this much.

  “Kneel on the bed.” Sawyer took off his shirt and shoes but left his pants on. I knelt on the edge of the bed, clasping my hands behind my back.

  “Oh, Hols, you are…perfect.” Sawyer breathed against my ear.

  Instead of uncoiling the rope right away, as I’d expected, he brushed the hank over my shoulders, then my chest, teasing my nipples with little flicks before giving attention to my neck and back. It was extraordinarily soft rope, which was why I’d kept it. Sawyer kept his touch light as butterfly wings caressing my skin. He carried on for so long that my sudden attack of nerves fled, replaced by the quiet hypnotism of wondering where he’d touch next. He brushed the rope up and down my arms while whispering filthy little nothings in my ear about how perfect I was and how hard I was going to come for him.

  “God, the things I want to do to you.”

  “Yes.” My voice shook.

  Slowly he wound the rope around one wrist, then the other, stroking with his fingers as well, a sensuous unfolding the likes of which I hadn’t experienced since my first few times. He used his nimble fingers to check tension as he made his way up my forearms a bit. I couldn’t see, but I could tell from his sharp intake of breath that he was pleased by what he saw.

  “You make me want to take a class in this, do it right,” he whispered. My heart sank a bit because taking a class was usually the death knell of whatever new hobby had gripped Sawyer. “I want to learn to make you look like the pictures on Tumblr.”

  “Yes, well, most of those are far more flexible than me, and you’re not suspending me from anything.”

  “Oooh. I may need a trip to the hardware store.” Sawyer ignored my warning, his hands soothing my back muscles, quieting this new tension. “Can you bend forward comfortably?” Sawyer arranged the pillows in front of me so my head and shoulders were supported.

  “Yes,” I said. He moved back behind me, fingers tracing the ropes again. I wasn’t crazy about how the position pushed my ass in the air, but I was already starting to float on the endorphins of giving up control to Sawyer, letting him bind me. I tested the bindings, pulling a bit, but whatever Internet research Sawyer had done had paid off with secure knots that didn’t dig in or cut off circulation.

  He licked his way down my spine, then proceeded to lick and kiss the exposed skin in between the bindings. I’d had no idea that my wrists were erogenous zones, but Sawyer’s attentions had me softly moaning. He gently raised my arms so he could lick at the small of my back before letting my arms fall. His tongue slid lower.

  “I’ve never…” The bindings on my wrists loosened my tongue, made me admit things I’d usually keep quiet about. “That is…”

  “The fancy ex-boyfriend didn’t eat your ass, Hols?” Sawyer’s breath was a warm tease against my skin. “That’s a shame.”

  The sound I made next didn’t seem human as he licked his way down to my rim. The man wasn’t kidding about being seriously orally inclined. All the dexterity he’d shown on my neck and my nipples came out to play as he quickly had me moaning into the pillow. My hips rocked up into him, my dick getting nothing but air. This was the most intimate act I’d shared with anyone, the most exposed I’d been for another person, and my whole body trembled, coalescing into a single raw nerve.

  I floated on sensations, losing all track of time, of everything other than the rope around my wrists and that maddening tongue. My muscles softened for him, but it wasn’t the deliberate relaxing I had to do for sex; this was an unconscious unwinding. At some point Sawyer worked a thumb in, then more, licking and fingering until I was an incoherent mess.

  “Fuck me, please fuck me. Sawyer. Oh God, Sawyer, I need you.”

  “Right here, babe, right here.” He rubbed his face against my thighs, bristly cheeks abrading the sensitive skin there. His hands went to my arms again, fingers tracing along the bonds, probably checking circulation, but it also seemed like some deeply held need he had to continually touch where he’d bound me.

  There was the snick of the lube opening, then a soft, “Hey, this is nice stuff. I’m getting this brand next time.”

  I laughed, which had never, ever happened with my arms bound before. Laughing did something to my chest, made it both tighter and looser at the same time—tight with emotions I didn’t know what to do with and loose with a giddy sort of pleasure I’d never known before.

  “I’ll put some in your stocking,” I said, rocking my hips back to meet his fingers. A few thrusts and he had me back to begging.

  “Now. Please now. I need to come.”

  “You know I’m not going to let you. Not yet.” There was a quaver to his voice, a sexy sort of strain, and his thighs brushed mine as he teased me with the head of his dick a bit. He’d taken care of the condom at some point, but I’d been too floaty to notice the crinkle of the wrapper.

  Sawyer pushed in slowly, my already sensitive tissues resisting the intrusion even as I hissed with the pleasure of it. Hands bound. Nothing to do but take this, open myself up to the sensations.

  “That’s it.” Sawyer’s hands were back on my bonds, gently pulling me back. I wanted to make a quip about how I wasn’t a yogi, but I was too far gone, pleasure licking every nerve ending, the tightness in my arms only magnifying it.

  His thumbs caressed my bonds and he moaned softly. “Can’t believe you let me…so fucking hot,” he muttered.

  Each thrust dragged me closer to the edge, especially when his hands moved to my hips, finding the perfect angle to nail my gland.

  “Please touch me,” I begged.

  “Not yet.” His hips snapped faster and his breathing started to sound like the whoosh of a MAX train. “Not yet.”

  One of his hands crept around to my stomach, maddeningly close to my dick but not touching it. “Please.”

  “I’ll tell you when,” he ground out, panting between each word.

  I tightened my internal muscles, milking him hard. “Oh, holy fuck, Hols. Do that again.”

  I obliged, working more deliberately now, determined to see him unravel as much as I was, but the action was also getting me perilously close to orgasm. “Please, Sawyer. Please.”

  “Now.” His hand found my dick. “Now. Fuck. Now, Hols. Do it now. With me.” His hips jerked and his voice devolved into a shout as he came. A single tug on my dick and I was joining him, my body spasming and shaking, continuing long after he pulled out. Without him to hold me up, I collapsed onto the mattress, scarcely aware of him untying me until he was rubbing circulation back into my tired muscles. He kissed my shoulder blades, then my wrists.

  “Not much marking. It’ll fade by morning.” He sounded like he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

  I gave a shaky chuckle. “Denser rope like hemp marks more. If you’re into that.”

  “I might be.” He sighed happily. “Damn, Hols, I had no idea I was into this, but you…you make me want more.”

  That was precisely the problem. He made me want more, too. More of him, more of this blissful surrender, more time before he moved on to whatever—or whoever—caught his fancy next. He made my December funk f
ade, made me want more than fleeting pleasure, made me feel worthy of feeling good for the first time in a long time, but I knew in my bones that such feelings couldn’t last.

  * * * *

  I wasn’t sure exactly what one wore to babysit, but I was pretty sure my wool pants and H&M shirt were not it, so I hurried home from the shop to change. It was bitingly cold with the possibility of snow on Christmas, another cold snap that had me hunkering in my thickest coat and drinking vats of tea and craving my blankets. Of course my blankets weren’t as much in demand these last few days, not with Sawyer-the-space-heater sleeping over and chasing even the most persistent chill away. I knew I should have put a stop to things after our lesson in bondage, but somehow the words never made it past my throat—not when there was early morning sex to be had.

  And in the evenings, when I should be putting my foot down, Sawyer kept plying me with all my cold-weather favorites—soup from the soup bar place that kept winning awards, udon from the Japanese restaurant downtown that we’d been to with Tucker and Char last year, and a seemingly endless supply of seasonal drinks from People’s Cup in the afternoons, most accompanied by more bad limericks and shockingly awful haikus.

  Which I, fool that I was, was coming to look forward to. I grabbed a rarely worn pair of jeans from the back of my closet and paired it with a charcoal Johns Hopkins sweater advertising my alma mater’s crest.

  Buzz. I was just pulling on my boots when Sawyer texted that he was down front. I could have walked to Char’s place, but Sawyer’s car was much warmer, and I wouldn’t have turned down a ride even if we weren’t…whatever we were doing. Or so I told myself as I rushed down my steps, much too eager to see a man I’d seen only hours earlier.

  “Wow, Hols, you look…” Sawyer shook his head slightly. He wasn’t double-parked this time and didn’t seem in a hurry to pull away. “I haven’t seen you this casual since school. I like it. Love how that sweater makes your eyes gray.”

  I did, too, actually, but Sawyer wasn’t supposed to notice tiny details like that. It disarmed me, made me all twitchy. “Aren’t we going to be late?”

  “We’ve got a minute.” Sawyer used the lapels of my coat to drag me closer. “And you won’t let me kiss you at Char’s house, I’m sure, and you had customers this afternoon so all I could do was drop off your latte.”

  “I’m having to tack on extra miles to my runs,” I grumbled. “All these sweets.”

  “You love it and you know it. Speaking of, I brought cookie dough to bake after dinner. Aria can help roll it out.” He looked so supremely proud of himself that for once I was the one to move first, kissing him lightly, if only to knock that look off his face.

  “Missed you, Hols.” He pulled me back for a second kiss, this one longer, with him firmly in charge. He tasted like the mints he always carried and coffee and something achingly familiar. “Guess what?”

  “What?” I said cautiously.

  “I found a rope workshop in January. It’s a small group thing so it shouldn’t be too crowded for you, but the guy also does private lessons if you really don’t want a class with other people.”

  “But you do? Want a class, I mean?” He’d mentioned it before, during sex mainly, and each time it filled me with dread for when this thing between us ended.

  “Well, yeah. I learn best hands-on, and YouTube is only so helpful.” He gave a rueful laugh. “And as patient as you are with me, I still think it would be fun to get better at the fancy stuff.”

  “Is it a couples-only class?” I asked.

  “Well, no, but I’m taking it for you. For us really.”

  That didn’t reassure me at all. Sawyer’s résumé of dropped hobbies were often externally motivated: the baby pictures he wanted to snap for Char, the trumpet player he’d wanted to blow, the knitter he’d crushed on. His wanting to do this for me was sweet, but it was also yet another sign that his fascination was temporary and would likely be over before the class even finished.

  “Come on, just say you’ll check your calendar and think about it.” His tone was his most wheedling one, the one I found hardest to turn down.

  “I’ll see,” I said at last.

  “Thanks.” The kiss he gave me was worth the discomfort of agreeing to think about this outing. But then, lately all Sawyer’s kisses felt worth it, and that scared me enough to have me pulling away from him and straightening my coat.

  “Did you feed Bunny extra before you left?” he asked as he finally pulled out into traffic. “I wanted to spend the night at my place. I put some lights up in the windows and on the balconies to show you.”

  We’d been at my place all week so I supposed it was only fair, but what was I doing thinking about fair like we were in some sort of relationship. Now. End this tonight. But I didn’t. “He won’t starve,” I conceded.

  “Good. Now I’ve got something to look forward to.” The streetlights had nothing on the force of his grin.

  “You better not be planning on wrapping me in lights,” I warned.

  “Don’t give me ideas, Hols.” He laughed. It was funny; we seemed to slip effortlessly between sex that was more free-flowing and that which was more…adventurous. I’d never had that before. With Yuto nearly every encounter had been a scene, and with my few hookups fast was really the only appropriate adjective. But with Sawyer, as impatient as he was to try new things, he also seemed equally happy to lie together under a pile of covers and make out while grinding off together.

  My breathing did a funny hitch as we entered Char and Sawyer’s neighborhood. A lot of the neighbors had lights up, as always, and my chest ached to see such old familiar sights. Sawyer gave me a concerned look. “Everything okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tucker’s not as good with lights as your dad was.”

  “That’s true.” It was funny how I dreaded talking about them and yet how at the same time Sawyer’s easy reference to them helped ease the tension in my chest. Dad had had a knack for lights, and it was. . . reassuring that I wasn’t the only one who remembered. Somehow having Sawyer with me during this darkest part of the year made my grief more manageable. And lord, I did not want to depend on him this way. Needing Sawyer would be the height of foolishness.

  “Ready to go play superuncles or do you need a minute?” He parked on the street so that Char and Tucker would be able to back out of the driveway.

  “Bring it on.” I tried to channel his usual enthusiasm, even if inside I had no such confidence.

  Chapter 12

  “I’m sorry; we had a really late nap so I’m just now trying to find her some dinner,” Char apologized as soon as we came in the door.

  The living room was decorated for the holidays now—probably had been since fifteen minutes after Aria’s birthday party ended. Tree in the same corner Mom always put it, real because Dad wouldn’t let us get anything else. The felt menorah was new, as were a set of solstice-themed candles on the mantel. Also new were all the toddler holiday crafts everywhere, and somehow that saddened me, too. Aria wasn’t a baby now—time just kept right on marching forward.

  “Hey, we can feed the munchkin, no problem,” Sawyer said as he added his coat to the pile on the hooks by the door. “Aria, do you eat pizza yet? Uncle Sawyer—”

  “Is not feeding her Bellagios,” Char said firmly. “She has some gluten-free meatless nuggets and potato wedges in the freezer.”

  “Are potato wedges the same as fries?” Sawyer asked, scooping Aria up and flying her around.

  “No junk food, Sawyer. You know the rules.” Char turned to me. “You’ll be a good influence right?”

  “Not sure.” I shrugged. “Uncle Hollis is hungry, too. Maybe she eats sushi? That’s healthy.”

  Char, Tucker, and Sawyer stared at me.

  Tucker broke the silence at last. “Hollis, did you just make a joke?”

  “Wha
t? I have been known to make them.” I shrugged out of my coat and hung it on the rack. “And what good is a babysitter if he or she doesn’t eat your best leftovers and fill the child with junk food?”

  “We had the Murphy family for that growing up.” Char laughed. “And now I’ve got two of them trying to corrupt my kid! And you’re not helping!”

  “We’d better get going,” Tucker said before he clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s wonderful to see you be…well, you.”

  “Don’t kill Sawyer,” Char said as she put on a velvet-lined cape.

  “At least not in front of our kid,” Tucker added. “And hide the body.”

  “Tucker.” Char followed him out to their car.

  Tucker popped his head back in thirty seconds later. “Save me the last piece of pizza.”

  “We aren’t ordering pizza,” I said once they were finally in the car and on their way for real.

  “Just because you’re the one—”

  “Second—” Char and I might not share much else in common, but neither of us had the stomach for pizza.

  “Second person on the planet who doesn’t like pizza doesn’t mean the rest of us have to suffer.” Sawyer still had Aria under one arm, and she squealed as he tickled her.

  “No pizza!” she said, laughing uproariously at her own decree. “No pizza!”

  “Unca Holly is a terrible influence.” Sawyer shook his head and set her down. “What do you want, sweet pea? Your nuggets?”

  “Pancakes.” She clapped and twirled. “Baby pancakes!”

  And thus Sawyer and I ended up making silver dollar pancakes together on my mother’s old griddle, the one where you had to jiggle the plug just right. I knew all the tricks for making little pancakes on it, having watched her, then later Char, through the years. The memory hurt a little less, pain muted by Aria’s boundless enthusiasm. And Sawyer knew how to make the batter, adding cinnamon and pumpkin pie spice “for fun.”

  “Make a snowman,” Aria ordered.

  “Just pour your circles closer together,” Sawyer said, looking up from the bacon he was supervising on the stove. He’d found a package, probably Tucker’s, in the back of the freezer. “We can use blueberries for the buttons and eyes.”