by Abigail Grey
He stepped away briefly, returning with a simple black blindfold. He held it up in a silent question, to which she bowed her head to him in response. He slipped the elastic band over her head, bending before her to check that it was fitted well—comfortable, not painful.
Seated at the edge of the bed, blindfolded and gagged, Marcy’s senses sharpened. She jumped at the creak of the floor under his footsteps. She shivered at the breeze when he walked by her, across the room. She moaned quietly when she realized he had opened a drawer and taken something out, and she would perish from the curiosity before he would let her see.
The bed dipped behind her. Aaron’s body pressed against hers and he drew her gently to turn and crawl forward. He positioned her knees around his hips and placed her hand on his cock. She ran her fingers over him, making a pleased noise when she felt the condom to ensure safety. At his halting groan, she gripped him more surely, giving a stroke along his length.
His hand grasped hers, pulling it away from him. “I think I said no, little one.”
Marcy’s hips moved restlessly, her moan longing.
“But I didn’t say no to that.”
Then he grabbed her hips, lifting them and prompting her to reposition where she straddled him. She found his shoulders with her hands, her nipples brushing against his chest. Slowly he urged her to lower, her body accepting him, splitting her lips with his cock and filling the hole they hid.
Marcy couldn’t contain the tortured gasps at his slow pace, but released a moan of pure indulgence as her hips met his. She welcomed the sensation of fullness that she’d waited for. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, even as she squeezed her cunt around his dick.
In her blindness, she could tell he’d leaned away from her. He kept his hands at her hips while she used her fingers to trace from shoulders to chest, over his ribs and stomach until she braced her hands there.
“Ride, Marcy. Take your pleasure. Let me watch your body move.” He thrust his hips upward, giving lie to the idea that Marcy would be the one in control. She tipped her hips, rolling against him deep inside her. They groaned in unison, so she did it again.
In her mind she imagined what she must look like. When she rocked her hips, she knew it lengthened her torso, arching her spine. When she rotated, her breasts moved and she wondered if he was looking at her there. She moved faster, feeling his cock rubbing deep inside her, and her ass shook with the fervor of how they moved. Her movement became jerky as the driving force of his hips against hers pounded his dick into her grasping pussy.
She panted into the lace between her lips as she began to climb once more. He removed his hand from her hip, which she noticed as a passing observation in the torrent of pleasure filling her mind. He pressed his thumb against her clit as she rocked into his thrusts.
Marcy screamed into the gag, digging her fingernails into the flesh under her hands as her mind emptied and went dazed once again. The wetness gushed from her even as her cunt convulsed around him. As she rode her orgasm, she welcomed the stiff pumps of his hips as he drove into her one last time, his dick flexing against her tightened inner muscles.
Their gasping, rough breath was deafening as Marcy tried to regain her equilibrium. She let her head drop back, feeling the heat of her exertion through her entire body. It made her limbs and breasts heavy.
“Little hellcat,” he murmured from under her. “I’ll need to keep your claws out of me this time.”
Marcy smiled at the label, chuckling breathlessly. He circled her wrists with his fingers and her mind drifted on the lovely feeling.
The texture changed suddenly—a familiar interruption of sensation, the slow draw, the movement of hands around it. Tension and slack.
Marcy snapped back to reality as she felt the jerk of a well-tied knot. She pulled at the rope, struggled against the binding, tried desperately to pull her wrists apart. She blinked behind the blindfold, a chanting “no, no, no, no” muffled by the gag.
Thighs, she thought. Thigh. Where the fuck is his thigh?
She slapped her hands down on his skin repeatedly until he pulled the lace from her lips.
“Caramel,” she snarled. “Get me the fuck out. Caramel!”
“Whoa,” she heard. Aaron’s voice softened. “Hey, relax. I’ll get you out. I—”
“Now!” Marcy demanded. She could feel her body trembling as he worked the knot.
“Talk to me,” he said while unwinding the coil. “Talk to me and we’ll work it out. Just tell me what happened. I’m getting you out.”
With the last trace of the rope touching her skin, Marcy bolted off the bed. She pushed the blindfold off and scrambled frantically for her dress. She didn’t bother with the bra or panties, but shoved into the cotton garment unceremoniously.
“Marcy, I’m sorry. What happened?” Aaron followed her off the bed, trying to quickly remove the condom and console her simultaneously. He reached for her, brushing her left arm as she moved to leave the room.
Numb. Nothing. No feeling. She couldn’t feel her fingers. She whirled on him, her eyes wide and fearful. “Don’t,” she growled.
The images flashed in her mind. The twisted ropes, the pinched skin, the tightening of it around her arm. Damien’s face close to hers, winding his arms and ropes around her. She took a deep breath and felt it closing her throat.
She gathered her sweater and purse and slipped on her sandals, not stooping to buckle them. The walls seemed too close and Marcy gasped for air. Memories came back to her from the accident, inspired by the familiar sensation of rope against her skin. The suspension had constricted the ropes more, pulled them tighter into her arm, cutting off the nerves. One stupid knot, just one stupid knot to support the tension, and that experience from her past wouldn’t have done the damage.
“Marcy, wait! Where are you going?”
Marcy turned at the door, seeing Aaron hop into his shorts, trying to catch her. “Stop. Just don’t. I have to go.”
Aaron stopped a few feet from her. “I’ll take you back to your car. Just wait. I’ll help you.” He leaned forward, looking as though he intended to close the distance between them.
Marcy turned to the door, putting her back to him. “No. Caramel.” She opened the door then slammed it behind her.
Chapter Sixteen
Aaron dropped the bag onto the desk with a soft thud. David looked up at him in surprise.
“Um. You shouldn’t have?”
Aaron took his chair, turning toward his own desk. “Just something I need you to do, okay?” Hearing the rustling of tissue paper, he looked over his shoulder. “You probably don’t want to—”
“Dude! Why are you dropping lingerie on my desk?” David used one finger to push the bag to the far corner of his desk.
Aaron sighed heavily. “They’re Marcy’s, all right? She left kind of in a hurry and, uh…left them behind.”
The squeak of a chair told him that David had spun around to face him. “And why exactly are you not returning them yourself?” came the question, asked with a dark and dangerous tone.
Staring at the screen of his computer, Aaron responded weakly, “She won’t take my calls.”
“What the fuck, man? What did you do to her?” David demanded.
“I don’t know. I have absolutely no idea. Everything was perfect—absolutely fucking perfect—and she freaked out completely. I tried to talk to her, tried to get an answer, tried to fix it or help or something, and I have no fucking clue what happened.” Aaron sighed again. “Can you just get those to her, please? I’d hate for her to miss them.”
“Yeah, man. I’ll get them to her. I’m leaving right now and I tell you, if she’s hurt, you’d better not be here when I get back.” David stood looming over where Aaron sat, bent with his head in his hands.
“I’ll be here. If she’s hurt, I’ll deserve it.”
Aaron worked woodenly after David’s departure, on autopilot through as many projects as possible without human contact. He let the p
hone go to voicemail, emailed clients he should have called, ignored the shouts from other offices about liquid lunch and drinks after work.
Fifteen minutes before quitting time, he heard the gentle buzz from his personal cell phone. In the anticipation of a returned call, finally, he dropped the phone twice before answering.
“Marcy?” he answered, hopefully.
“Better.” David’s voice was absent of the darkness from earlier. “You’re coming to dinner.”
“Really, David, I’m not—” Aaron inhaled slowly. “I’m really not fit company.”
“Wasn’t asking. Be here. Trust me.” With those short commands, David hung up.
It could be that he had gotten through to Marcy, Aaron mused, so perhaps it would be worth stopping by at least. At worst, he could say hi and leave. Aaron closed up his work station then switched off the lights to leave the office.
He made the short drive, his mind in turmoil. What if he had hurt Marcy? Not just something fleeting, but had really injured her? He thought he had been paying close enough attention, but maybe he had missed something? Something important?
The beep of his Jeep locking followed him up the driveway. David waited on the front porch, sitting with a beer. He extended another unopened bottle to Aaron and nodded to an empty Adirondack.
Aaron stood at the steps, hesitant to take the bottle. “Is she okay?”
David’s nod was grave. “She’ll be okay. Sit down. Have a beer.”
Aaron took the suggestion, sitting back in the chair. After twisting the cap off, he took a long drag of the beer. The two men sat in silence until Aaron noticed a muffled noise.
“What is that?” He sat up, looking at David turning a dial on what appeared to be a baby monitor.
“Oh, this? We use it to check in on Jen in the studio. If she’s busy, we don’t bug her. It must have gotten left out here.” David took a sip of his beer, an innocent expression painted on his face as he raised the volume.
The sound was slightly static-broken, but Aaron stared at the speaker when he heard Marcy’s voice.
“David, what did you do? She’s not going to be happy that I’m here.”
David smacked Aaron’s arm and raised a finger to his lips. “Listen, stupid.”
Jen’s voice came over the speaker. “Marcy, how was he supposed to know? I didn’t even know. All you said is that it was bad. Has the feeling come back at all?”
“It’s spotty now. Sometimes it’s there. Sometimes it’s not. I just couldn’t breathe, you know? I had to get out, I couldn’t think straight.” Marcy’s voice sounded thick with tears, and Aaron felt like breaking the beer bottle with his bare hands. He had hurt her.
“Injuries like that can take years to heal, Marce. Some never do. Even if they do, there’s latent emotions and psychological effects. If you like him, you need to talk to him. There’s no way around that.”
“Jen, I stormed out of his house, safeworded his offer of help and haven’t answered my phone since I left. How can I? He’ll just think I’m some sort of psycho bitch with too much baggage.” Her sniffles were loud.
Aaron looked over at where David sat, reclining restfully. “It wasn’t me?” he asked. “I’m not the one who hurt her?”
David shook his head, staring up at the clouds. “Nah. Just scared her pretty good.” He tipped his head to glare at Aaron assessingly. “Still going to fix it?”
Aaron set his beer down, stood up and walked to the front door. “In the studio, right?” At David’s nod, he opened the front door to their home.
Aaron took the stairs slowly. What could he possibly say to fix it? Blame would send her running, and it wasn’t her fault. She would be afraid as soon as he walked in. Would she feel betrayed by Jen and David?
He reached the door and opened it slowly. He stood in the doorway, waiting. Jen looked up at him and nodded encouragingly, but with that slight movement, Marcy’s back tensed.
“Jen…” She sighed. “You didn’t.”
Aaron knew the only thing he could say. “I’m sorry. I did something without your consent and I’m so sorry, Marcy.”
Her shoulders squared, her back still to him. “You didn’t have to come. David gave me my things back.”
“I know,” replied Aaron. “But, yes, I did.” He entered the room, walking slowly closer to her. “I needed to see you were okay. I needed to know I didn’t hurt you. And I’d like to know who did.”
Aaron watched Jen place a comforting hand on Marcy’s knee. “Talk to him, hon. I’ll be right downstairs.”
Marcy stayed seated, facing away from Aaron. He didn’t push—instead, retreating to lean against Jen’s worktable. Jen gave him a thumbs-up before closing the door behind her.
“I am, really—” Aaron started.
“I used to live in Chicago.”
Aaron clammed up quickly, wanting to hear her story.
Marcy continued, “Well, not really Chicago, but close, you know? Big enough to call itself important, but a small enough community. Everyone knew everyone sort of thing. You know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean,” Aaron affirmed.
“So I was the new kid. Went to a couple munches, couple classes, thought I knew things and people. I went to this great class on rope suspension. And it looked so fun, just being able to be up there in the air, held that way. I thought it was so beautiful. I watched this girl do dynamic suspension on a swivel and she looked like she was performing ballet in mid-air.” Marcy sniffled. “And I wanted to try it.”
When she paused, Aaron led her on. “Okay. Did you get to?”
Marcy nodded. “There was this guy.”
Aaron felt himself tense.
“His name was Damien. I had seen him at all the same stuff I went to, talked to him about rope and wanting to try things. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about. And I watched him at the class, do a great tie with someone else I knew. So when he asked if I wanted to try it with him, I didn’t worry.” Marcy took a shaky breath.
Aaron couldn’t stay away. He strode to her and sat in front of her. “Marcy, whatever happened, I’m here, okay? Just tell me.”
“He tied the harness, just a box tie, but tried to do it too fast. I felt the ropes were twisted and I thought he’d missed something, but maybe it was me, maybe I’d missed it. I couldn’t be sure. But the ropes around my arm got tighter. He put me up in the suspension and my arm went numb. I told him and he said it would be fine, that it would get better, but it didn’t.”
Aaron grasped her hands, watching the tears roll down her cheeks.
“My doctor said it was good that someone caught it when they did and got me out, or I could have had permanent radial nerve damage. As it is, I just can’t use my left hand all the time. My fingers go numb. And now, rope scares the holy hell out of me. It isn’t pretty anymore. He took that from me. Then I freaked out on you for something so simple and I’m so sorry.” Marcy tried to turn away, pulling her hands from Aaron’s grip.
They sat, him in silence, her sobbing for a moment before he moved. Quietly he lifted her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, letting her bury her face in his shoulder and sob. He kept his touch gentle, petting down her hair.
As she quieted, he tipped her chin up so he could look at her eyes. “You sweet, beautiful thing. I am so sorry you were hurt. And I am so sorry I scared you.” He wrapped both arms around her again, rocking her slightly. “Thank you for telling me.”
Marcy sniffled into the shoulder of his shirt. He could feel the dampness from her tears making the shirt stick to his skin, but tried to ignore it for her comfort.
“You aren’t mad?” she whimpered. “That I just ran?”
“Marcy, I spent all of last night and today being furious. Not at you, at me. I was convinced I had hurt you and you would never want to talk to me again. No, little one, I’m not mad. I’m so grateful that you’re okay.”
Marcy nodded. “Okay.”
Aaron lifted her chin ag
ain. Those golden hazel eyes beckoned him, but he settled for a small kiss to her sob-swollen lips. When she met his eyes and seemed to gather a steady breath, he smiled. “So… Do-over?”
A shocked laugh erupted from her and she nodded. “Yeah. That would be good.”
“And no rope. I promise. We’ll take it easy and talk more. Okay?” At her nod, Aaron gave her another assessing, but lighthearted glare. “If you tell me leather cuffs are out…”
Marcy smiled more steadily than before. “No. No, leather can be fun.”
“That’s good. Because I happen to know someone who makes the best custom-designed cuffs on the market.” Aaron smiled, tipping Marcy’s chin up once more to capture a deeper kiss. “You, little one, will not get away so easily again.”
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
Bound for Justice: Against the Odds
Tori Carson
Excerpt
Chapter One
Fear pervaded every cell of her body. Alexa’s throat closed, refusing the smoke laden air. Flames raced through the studio, devouring her dreams. Bolt after bolt of custom woven fabric, designed for her new clothing line, gone in the blink of an eye. Her head throbbed from the beating she’d endured at the hands of her protector and guardian. She pushed away the pain and betrayal. Nothing mattered now but survival. Sliding in and out of consciousness, she lay still, biding her time until she could escape.
One last kick to her ribs, and a muttered obscenity, signaled his departure. Her attacker had ripped her files from the cabinet and scattered them along the floor. Her once priceless, ‘one of a kind’, designs were now ruined. He’d taken a sledgehammer to her computer’s hard drive, wrapped it in a bolt of embellished silk and set it ablaze.
