by Roz Lee
“No. Just imagining what would happen if I fall.”
“You won’t fall. I’m using a dual rigging—a primary plus a backup. If any single component fails, there will be another to pick up the slack.”
“I’m impressed.” I am. Heck, if I ever fall down a well, I want Colton to be in charge of the rope they send down to get me out.
“Don’t be. Man’s gotta have a hobby.”
“I tried crochet once.” Judging by his snort he’s figured out how that went.
“So, why did you quit cheerleading? Looked to me like you were doin’ good.”
It was my turn to snort. “First of all, the pay is shit. Between a part-time job in retail and the extra personal appearances I managed to get, I made ends meet. Barely. Then that clod stepped on my foot at the Super Bowl, broke a couple of bones, and there went my career.” Behind me, I sense Colton stop what he’s doing to stare at the back of my head. I don’t want his pity, just want him to know I, more than anyone, understand his loss. Other than the initial collision, which the entire world witnessed, little was made of the incident. The game went on, and the media forgot all about the girl in the skimpy uniform whose life would never be the same.
“I remember the play—the guy being shoved out of bounds and taking out the cheerleaders. Didn’t know you’d been injured.”
“They hustled me off the field in a hurry. The league offered me a nice settlement to not make a big deal of it. I took the money, packed up, and moved home.”
“You used the money to open your studio?”
“Yeah.” I’d really thought I could make a go of it. Stupid me.
“How’s it working out?”
Call it what you want, but I call it being a lousy actor. I could tell by the way he asked he already knew the answer. I sighed. “Who told you?”
“Travis might have said something.”
“Bailey Rose has a big mouth.” I should have known my best friend couldn’t keep her mouth shut. I guess I’d been hoping she’d have better things to do with it these days, since she and Travis were back together.
“They’re worried about you.”
“Is that why you asked me to do this? Because you think I need the money?”
“You do need the money, but no. I asked you to do this because I wanted you naked and at my mercy.”
I laugh. At least he’s honest. “I didn’t deposit the check you gave me yesterday.”
“Why not?” Ropes slide through pulleys above my head. “You earned it.”
“I don’t want your money, Colton.” As I intended, he picked up on the emphasis I placed on certain words.
Reaching above me, he clamps the ropes in his big hand, stopping the whir of the pulley. He’s so close behind me his heat surrounds me—his breath tickles my ear. I hardly dare breathe for fear of…something. With his free arm, he reaches over my other shoulder to grab half the ropes. He surrounds me. I’m naked and at his mercy, just the way he said he wanted me.
“What do you want?” His hot breath against my neck raises goose bumps on my skin.
I’d made up my mind the day before, and nothing he’s said or done today has changed my mind. I refuse to let him get away with saying he loves me and walking away.
It’s now or never. I close my eyes, take a deep, centering breath like I always do before a performance. Emptying my lungs, I tell him. “I want you.”
“Be careful what you ask for, babe.” The tone of his voice, deep, dark, and menacing is all the warning he gives.
He jerks down and back on the ropes. My feet leave the terra firma faster than a bull out of the chute. Looking down at the floor from a horizontal position, I scream.
He catches my flailing left foot, does some fancy thing with rope then repeats the process with my right leg. A moment later, more ropes attached to my thighs spread me wide. I’m hog-tied and dangling facedown and waist-high above the floor.
“That’s not too tight on your foot, is it?”
Fuck and damnation. The tender concern in his voice nearly breaks me in half. Which man is the one I’m in love with? The one who threatens/promises or the one who takes such care? “No. It’s fine.”
“Everything else?” He tests the rigging.
The feel of his hands on me, especially where gravity is pushing my flesh into the bindings, makes it difficult for me to think beyond the way my body craves his touch. The violence of the way he maneuvered me into this position should have frightened me, but I’m absolutely certain he would never hurt me.
“I’m good. You aren’t going to scare me away. You know that, don’t you?”
He grunts. Is that a yes or a no? I need to brush up on my caveman.
“You said you love me. Did you lie to me?”
He swings me around so I’m facing him. My neck is starting to hurt from holding my head up. As if he sees inside me, he lifts me by the chin. “I don’t have anything to offer you, Beth. I’m not the man you think I am.”
“Did you find the shovel?” If the bullshit gets any deeper, we’re going to need a front-end loader to scoop it out. He grunts again—something I’m going to have to work on. This time, I think he does it to keep from laughing.
“Look around you, babe. This is who I am now. I sell custom rope and leather goods to the rodeo and BDSM communities. My office is in a fetish club.”
“And you do on-air commentary for professional bull-riding competitions. You consult on the sport with every major sports-news outlet. You sponsor one junior rodeo I know of, and I suspect there are more. You hired me for photos you have no intention of using because you know I need the money. I know who you are, Colton Barnes.”
He releases my chin, and I let my head drop. If he ever lets me out of this rigging, I’m going to lasso his sorry ass, hog-tie him, and refuse to let him loose until he comes to his senses. This is beyond stupid. We’ve already lost years we could have been together. I don’t want to waste another minute.
“I had every intention of using the photos. You needing money had nothing to do with arranging the photo shoot.”
Stubborn ass. “But you aren’t going to use them now, are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Why not? Plenty of them are suitable for your advertising campaign. Isn’t that right, Wanda?”
The photographer has been snapping away all this time. It’s a wonder her ears haven’t fallen off, given the conversation she’s been privy to.
“That’s right. Don’t think we aren’t going to discuss your asinine decision, Mr. Barnes. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She moves out of my vision. The room is silent except for her retreating footsteps and the sound of the front door closing.
A loud crack splits the air behind me. I startle as if I’ve been bitten by a rattler. Something kisses my right buttock leaving behind a stinging sensation. It takes a moment for my brain to process the turn of events. You don’t grow up in Texas and not recognize a bull whip slicing through the air faster than the speed of sound. “What the—”
Three more ear-splitting cracks. Three more stinging kisses to my ass. I struggle against my bindings, not in fear, not in an attempt to run, but in an attempt to get closer. He’s trying to frighten me away from him, but God help us both, all he’s doing is making me horny as hell.
“Fuck you, Colton!” My words drip with venom.
The pulley above me whirrs as he tilts me into a semi-upright position, secures the ropes, and comes around to face me. “Welcome to my world, babe. This is a whole different kind of rodeo. Are you sure you’re tough enough to compete?”
He’s right, of course. I know nothing about what goes on in this kind of arena, but what I’ve seen the last few days has piqued my interest. I’ve always been an independent sort, determined to rely on myself, but giving over control to Colton feels right. He doesn’t take my submission for granted. In fact, his struggle to accept it is the only thing standing between us. I just have to make him see it.
“Aren’t
I supposed to have a safe word or something?”
“Fuck!” He walks away, scrubbing his hands over his face and scalp. When he turns back to me, anger simmers in his gaze, but the lines of his face are smooth as silk. He thinks he’s got me. “Yes, if we’re going to play, you need a safe word.”
I pretend to give it some thought. There’s only one that will do in this situation—the one every bull rider dreads. “Turn Out.”
He nods. “Withdrawing from competition. Don’t say it unless you mean it, and mean it when you say it.” As he walks away from me, toward his supply table, I admire the way the fabric of his western shirt stretches across his shoulders.
While he digs for something in his box of tricks, I contemplate telling him he won’t ever here those words from my lips. They’re a safety net for him more so than for me. He’s afraid he’ll hurt me, and I know he won’t. Those flicks on my ass? They’ve got me hotter than hell. There’s a fuckin’ oil slick between my legs.
Colton returns, holds up his loot for me to see.
“What are those?”
“Nipple clamps.” He demonstrates one of the alligator-clip devices. “I made these especially for you. The blue topaz matches your eyes.”
The gems are much prettier than my eyes, but I acknowledge the compliment. These took a while to make, which means he noticed my eyes before we began shooting. “I need to add jewelry making to your list of talents.”
“And you thought you knew me.” His lips lift on one corner. “Babe, you don’t know shit about me.”
He flicks his index finger over my left nipple. The obedient little bud strains toward him. “Safe word whenever you need to.”
That’s my last warning before he places the clamp on my tit. I close my eyes and bite my lip, inhaling rapid-fire until the pain becomes a dull throb I can live with.
“Again.” He repeats the process on my right breast. I know what to expect, but this pain is compounded by the trauma to my other nipple. It takes longer for me to open my eyes and focus on him this time. When I do, the expression of pure lust on his face as he stares at my clamped tits makes my pussy pulse with need. I can’t help myself. I whimper.
He jerks his gaze up to my face. “What is it, babe? Say it, and I’ll stop.”
“Fuck me, Colton. Please, fuck me.” Yes, I’m begging. Shamelessly.
“I say when we fuck. Not you.”
“Yes, Sir.” If only I could close my legs together, find some relief on my own, but his rigging prevents any movement. I know, because the second he turns back to his supplies, I try again. All I succeed in doing is jostling my tits, sending shards of white-hot pain straight to my pussy—which gushes with need in response.
“One more thing,” he says, coming back to stand in my line of sight. He plays with the jewels dangling from my nipples, smiling at the hiss issuing from between my teeth. “I made a matching jewel for your clit.”
Fuckity, fuck. I’d give just about anything to watch, but his broad shoulders block my view. As his fingers spread my outer lips and seek out my hidden pearl, I close my eyes and try to keep from coming. As wonderful a relief as an orgasm would be, I want Colton inside me when it happens.
“There she is,” he croons, toying with his find. Everything between my legs is hyper-sensitive, including the hood which he stretches between two fingers before attaching his clamp.
A hard shiver rocks me from my core all the way out to the tips of my toes. I nearly choke, trying to hold in the cry attempting to erupt from me. I do the same breathing exercise as before until the searing pain morphs into something less agony and more pleasure. This time, when I open my eyes, Colton is naked, and on his knees.
“Beautiful. So fuckin’ beautiful.” He taps the clamp a few times. I writhe and moan, accepting this new stimuli. Colton tilts his face so I can see the wicked gleam in his eyes then very slowly he moves his head toward me. I know what he’s going to do, and I’m helpless to prevent it.
“Say it, Beth.” His breath is hot on my mound.
“No.”
“You’ve got too much try in you, woman.”
“I won’t give up on you.”
“You should.” His tongue flicks my clamped hood then delves beneath.
I detonate. Straining against my bindings, bucking like a mustang, as spasms tear at my insides. Every movement I make agitates the clamps he’s put on me, sending darts of pain to my pussy, ramping up the intensity of my orgasm.
I scream my head off, but I don’t use my safe word. Because I know I’m safe. Colton holds me from behind, his big arms wrapped around my middle, my arms trapped between his chest and my back, his erection wedged between my legs. How he got there, I don’t know. One second he’s sending me into orbit, the next, he’s holding me.
“God, Beth.”
I shudder in his arms as the last tremors rack my body.
“I don’t deserve you.”
“I love you. I always have.” There it is, the truth I’ve known for years. “I always will.”
Readjusting the pulley ropes, he lowers me to my original position, a few feet off the floor, facedown. His blunt, callused fingers probe my sex, open me.
“Please,” I beg, letting my head drop. I need him inside me so bad I ache.
“This is probably only going to be an eight-second ride, darlin’, but I promise to make it up to you later.” Entering me hard and fast, he reaches around, releasing both nipple clamps at the same time.
“Oh, God!” I jerk my head up as a new pain spears through me.
Colton grabs my ponytail, pulls hard, and removes the clit clamp.
I buck, not trying to throw my rider, but trying to hold him as close to me as possible, for as long as I can. We come together, me panting and writhing, him pounding me with quick, hard thrusts.
In a flash, he takes me down, strips me of the beautiful rope harness that made me feel so loved, so safe, replacing it with his arms.
“I love you, Beth.”
“I love you, too.”
Eight seconds of bliss? I’ll take it any day, as long as it’s Colton riding me.
∞∞∞
Please read on for Jennifer Lynne’s shibari rope bondage offering:
Alpha Submissive.
ALPHA SUBMISSIVE
A Not Vanilla (Bondage) novelette
by
Jennifer Lynne
1
I’m not that sort of woman
“Your model might be expecting a baby?” I struggle to draw in oxygen as I process what Roane has just told me. “And she’s still in hospital?” Throwing up your guts several times a day is a legitimate way for someone to get out of a shibari session. I guess. But I booked this world-renowned rope bondage team months ago, and their performance is scheduled to be held in front of an international crowd of guests and visiting media in only three days’ time.
Well, hell. One more problem to add to the growing list. How am I going to fix this?
I take a deliberate slow breath, hoping to convince my heart rate to head back down to somewhere near normal. Then I realize what I haven’t actually said. “Oh. Congratulations to you both.” I sound churlish and I don’t want to, but in my wildest dreams I simply can’t imagine the rope Master leaning casually against my office wall in the role of an expectant dad. My rope Master. At least, he’s supposed to be for the next week or so, until the Avant-garde lifestyle festival I’m in charge of is over and I can finally get some rest.
Who am I kidding? I can’t remember what R&R feels like, anymore. For the first time in its five year history, this festival has caught the attention of the international media, thanks to the reputation of the bondage expert standing across from me, and I haven’t had more than three or four hours sleep a night for weeks.
I lean forward, clenching my hands together on the desk when I notice the tremble in my fingers. I know its stress, but it’s damn annoying. Last week got so bad I finally visited my doctor but she just told me what I already
know. “Cut yourself some slack, Ava. If you keep going at this pace you’ll make yourself seriously ill. I know you made a promise to your brother to keep his festival going, but—” I raised my hand and cut her off at that point, not wanting to hear the rest. Her words won’t bring Connor back. And resting won’t help me get things done for this blasted event that seems to have taken over my life.
Since that visit, the muscle tremors have gotten worse. It irks me beyond belief that I can’t control my bodily responses. Don’t show weakness to anyone. That’s what Dad said to Connor and me, over and over when we were kids. If you do they’ll find a way to exploit it. We never knew who “they” were, but it was drummed into us so often that we both tucked away our weaknesses where no one else could find them.
Last year it all became too much for my twin brother and… No. Don’t think about that now. I frown at my traitorous hands, then lift my eyes to the man in front of me, giving him my best executive stare.
“Your show is the keynote performance, Roane. A baby is wonderful news and I’m pleased for you both, of course. It’s a shame Nicole is unwell enough to be hospitalized, but at least she’s getting the right care. Surely—”
“It’s not mine.”
I blink at the blunt statement. “Sorry, I just assumed—”
“Everyone does. Nicole and I don’t have that kind of relationship. She’s my public shibari model, but that’s as far as it goes. She’s married.”
Oh. My brows descend again. How can that be? Nicole, who happens to be slim and beautiful, is naked when they perform, Roane partially so, and quite frankly he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever met in my life. How could there not be some kind of chemistry or spark between them? “Well, um, surely you have someone else you can call on to step in? Someone in the lifestyle, perhaps, who likes being, you know…tied up?”
My voice trails off and I lose my train of thought in the intensity of his gaze. No one has that effect on me. Ever. And yet here I am, drowning in the depths of his stare and wondering what it would feel like to be tightly bound and completely at the mercy of a man like Roane.
