by Lisa Henry
“It’s not.”
He gave me the Gabe what the fuck, man? look. “It already has.”
I shook my head. “This isn’t you hurting me. This is me getting over shit I should have gotten over months ago.”
Gabe rubbed his thumbs against my arms, and I could see the wheels in his brain clicking toward the words I did not want to hear: Maybe we shouldn’t do this. Maybe I should go.
“Gabriel,” I whispered. “Trust me.”
His mouth opened a little, and he shivered. “That’s usually my line.”
“Works both ways, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. It does. Very much.” He glanced over at the pan. “You need to check that?”
We separated, but Gabe didn’t move very far. Just waited while I moved the chicken around. “Probably needs fifteen or so minutes.” I put the cover back on. “Your turn.”
Gabe gave a small laugh. “For me, it’s all about trust.” He looked up, and our eyes met. I don’t think I could have turned away if I’d tried. The intensity of his expression, the passion, the honesty, bound me where I stood. “It’s a gift. An amazing gift. Even when someone lets me tie them up fully clothed at a party, they’re giving over so damn much trust. That I won’t hurt them. That I know what I’m doing.” He took a breath. Exhaled. “I love domination, control, bondage—nothing gets me higher than that. What more can anyone give you than themselves?”
“Their heart.” The answer came out of my mouth before my brain could stop it.
“Goes both ways,” Gabe whispered.
Oh God. Did he? Did I? Shit.
I opened my arms this time. But rather than walk into them, he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me into a kiss that nearly made me crumple to my knees. Submit? Oh hell yes. I let him take my mouth, gave him my moan, and didn’t complain at all when he bit my bottom lip.
By the time he was done, he was practically holding me up. He leaned back and lifted an eyebrow. “Also, I don’t even own a whip.”
“Thank God,” I breathed.
“Safeword?” He nipped my neck, and the scrape of his teeth against my jugular sent blood straight to my balls.
“Platypus.”
His laugh rumbled through my chest. “That’s different.”
“Banana is so overused.”
“True.” Light danced in his eyes, but the glint wasn’t innocent at all. “You haven’t asked about punishment.”
Oh fuck. If not a flogging, then what? I mean, I had hopes. “Um . . .”
“Denial. CBT.”
Bingo. I breathed out. “I can handle that.”
Another rumble of laughter. “You say that now.”
Oh shit. “I’m all yours.”
He stepped back and took my hands in his. “Are you sure?”
Never been more sure, actually. Gabe was . . . well, Gabe. “Yes.”
“I expect you to listen.” He drew his fingers down the side of my neck. “Closely.”
“Of course.” He’d try to trip me up, I was sure. That was also part of Gabe. “If I don’t?”
His shrug was calculated and devilish. “I’m not unreasonable. First time, you’ll probably enjoy the punishment. But the next?” That devilish quirk to his lips widened. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy that.”
I tried not to groan. Failed.
Gabe looked over my shoulder. “What more do you need to do for dinner?”
“Not much. I have pasta, but it’s the really thin stuff. Two minutes in boiling water. Then it’s just putting the chicken and veggies on top.”
“Get the pasta and a pot out for me, then.”
Wait. “What?”
“Do I need to repeat myself already?”
Oh. Oh. Shit. “No.” I moved and did as he’d asked.
“Plate. Table setting. On the dining table, please.”
Singular? I nearly asked, but the sly look Gabe gave me . . . He was counting missteps. Both a trap and a test of how well was I listening. I pulled one plate and one set of silverware and one glass too. Arranged them at the table.
He ran a hand down my spine. “Strip.”
I froze. Now? Before dinner? “Bu—”
“Two.” Then he fucking grinned.
I peeled my shirt over my head while kicking my shoes off. The rest of my clothes followed. I pushed the pile over by the couch.
“Oh,” Gabe breathed. It was almost a sigh of pleasure. “Shit, that was worth the wait.”
My cock stood out from my body and a nice flush was now working its way up my torso to my neck. He touched my chest with his fingertips and ran them over my abs. Not exactly a ripped six-pack, but I was in decent enough shape. I sucked in a breath as he slid near my ticklish spot on the left, then trembled when he hit it. He paused.
“Don’t move.” Then he stroked my skin again in the same spot, lighter this time. My brain nearly exploded trying not to dance away from him. I whimpered through my teeth. God, my cock ached so fucking much already and he hadn’t even touched it.
“That’s going to come in handy,” he said. “Especially later.”
Fuck. I had a feeling I knew what “later” meant, and I couldn’t breathe. Hell, I could barely feel the carpet beneath my feet. I was pretty much flying already.
Felt so fucking good. Like summer wind in my hair. Shit. Hair. I nearly reached for the elastic. Stopped myself.
Must have flinched because Gabe crossed his arms. “Yes?”
“I forgot about the band in my hair.”
“Yes, you did.” His grin sent chills from the base of my skull to my feet. “Too late now.”
This. God. I had missed this. The headspace. The delicious burn of not knowing what was coming, but trusting—trusting—that I would enjoy every second of it.
Gabe pulled out one of the dining table chairs . . . not the one in front of the plate. “Sit. Arms on the rests.”
I groaned when my warm ass hit the cold wood. Not from the shock, but because I knew what was coming next. They really were very solid chairs, after all.
Sure enough, Gabe fetched the duffle he’d brought in. He knelt down, then looked up with his bright-blue eyes. “Do you trust me, Thomas?”
“I do.”
Gabe sucked in a bit of air and watched me for a moment, his lips parted. I’d startled him somehow. The grin returned, and he reached into the duffle. The bundle of rope he pulled out was the same color as the one in the glove box—pale blue. He tugged at one piece and the whole length unraveled, along with every one of my nerves.
Gabe ran the rope through his hands until he found the midpoint, then walked behind me. The heat of his body radiated through the slats of the chair back. When he wrapped the rope around my chest, his scent, musk with traces of pine, overpowered the smell of dinner. He kissed the top of my head, then the rope tightened, and my pulse pounded in my ears. Pinpricks raced down my limbs as one loop, then another, and another forced me back against the chair. In the end, five loops of rope from my armpits to my hips held me firmly to the chair. But my head was free.
Gabe hummed as he worked, tying my hips next, then my legs. Every inch of skin felt like Gabe had set it on fire. My nerves jangled with his touch. He had stroked every part of me except for my cock and balls. Those, somehow, he managed not to touch. Even by accident.
Lastly, he bound my arms to the rests.
He stepped back. I couldn’t move. Oh, I tried, almost out of habit. But nothing happened. My nose itched, but tight bands held my arms to wood. Glorious. Horrifying. My heart pounded in my chest. Completely bound. Before me stood Gabe, just watching me. I shuddered against the rope.
This wasn’t anything like the games I’d played with my lovers in bed. With cuffs and scarves, I could still move my elbows, raise myself, and twist my legs a bit. Even the cross on which I’d been bound when whipped and caned was less restrictive than this. I flexed against the ropes and groaned. Exhilarating. I’d never been so fucking hard in my life. I’d also never been so exposed and help
less. Imagining being bound so carefully was very different from the real thing. I wanted to stop fighting. Couldn’t.
Gabe stepped forward and stroked my cheek. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” My voice sounded like broken gravel. “This is just . . . intense.”
“I know.” He kissed my forehead, then murmured, “Can you take a bit more? For me?”
Could I? Gabe brushed his lips against my head, his breath warm and calming.
“Yes,” I said.
“Even if it’s punishment?” I felt him smile, his lips grazing my skin.
Punishment. A chill ran down my spine and my breath caught in my throat, but not from fear. Gabe wasn’t Dominic. He wasn’t even close. I needed what Gabe offered. The yielding of my control, the delight in letting go completely. I twisted my arms against the chair . . . or tried to. Gabe knew his art well. The ropes holding my arms and shoulders against wood, just enough to keep me from twisting, not enough to numb or hurt—well not much.
I gave up fighting and surrendered myself to Gabe. “Yes. I didn’t listen to you.”
Gabe stepped back, equal parts desire and amusement in his eyes, on his lips. “No, you didn’t.” He moved behind me. “Lean your head forward.”
From the none-too-gentle tugging against my scalp and the slide of hair up my back, Gabe was pulling my ponytail out. A moment later, he held the elastic band in front of my face. “That’s fine for the office. But when we’re alone, when you’re mine, I don’t want to see it. Understood?”
My heart fucking skipped a beat. No anger, but the sharp bite of his command raised goose bumps on my skin. His. “Yes, Gabe.”
He drew the band back. More tugging on my scalp, then the slight pain separated into three points and— “Fuck.” It came out as a whisper. I’d had enough girlfriends who had loved to play with my hair that I recognized the sensations. He’d pieced it into three sections to braid.
“I’ve spent hours daydreaming what I’d do with your hair.” He pulled the lengths back until my head couldn’t move, caught against the tall back of the chair. Then he yanked a bit harder and the prickling against my skull went straight to my balls. I couldn’t help the moan.
I fucking loved having my hair pulled. It was one of the things that had led me to believe I might have been a masochist. But to be rendered immobile as well? My hips moved involuntarily, trying to thrust my cock against anything.
The pressure only increased as Gabe braided my hair around one of the wooden slats, I assumed. He finished and the sound of the elastic band snapping back on filled the room. As did the sound of my stuttered breathing. Gabe touched my shoulder, then he was back in view, leaning in, his other hand pressed against my chest. His lips hovered just out of reach of mine, and I couldn’t move to close the distance. I groaned in frustration and desire.
“How are you now?” His lips brushed mine, but didn’t stay there, damn it.
“I want you so bad.” The words poured out of me.
He backed away and smiled. “I can tell.” Probably because my cock was so hard one stroke would have done me in. “Dinner first.”
Dinner. I’d forgotten all about dinner. How the hell was I going to eat like this? My head rested almost normally against the back of the chair, but I couldn’t move at all. “Gabe—”
He pressed his index finger to his lips, and I fell silent. “I’ll be a few minutes,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.”
With that, he was gone, and I was alone.
Well, not really. Gabe moved in the kitchen. Put a pot on the stove. Poured water. I just couldn’t see him. His scent lingered. My lips burned from his almost kiss, and my heart hammed against my ribs. Cock too hard, balls too tight. And everywhere, the ropes pressed like Gabe’s hands, his fingers. Holding me, surrounding me, caressing me. I closed my eyes and gave in to the sensations, the heady intoxication of no control. And I flew through the dull throb at the back of my head, the chill in my ass, the strain in my shoulders and hips. None of it mattered.
An eternity later, Gabe touched my shoulder. “Thomas?”
“Hmm?” I opened my eyes and dinner was on the table. Along with a glass of water. “Hi.”
He laughed. “Hi yourself.” He moved the other chair to face mine and sat. “You’re beautiful.” He traced his finger between the rope holding my thigh to the chair, and I shuddered. “I never dreamed you’d be so into this.”
I tried to shrug, and only managed to hurt my scalp. “Well, here I am.”
“Yes.” There was a tremor in his breath. “Here you are.” He scooted a bit closer to the table, picked up a knife and fork, and cut his chicken breast into pieces.
My stomach didn’t growl so much as flip. Was he going to leave me like this and eat? In front of me? Was that my punishment? When he’d said denial, I’d thought he’d meant orgasm, not food. I pressed my lips together.
He took a bite. “This is really good.” He stabbed another piece and turned.
Oh. Oh. God, he held his fork out to me. My body flamed to my toes, and I opened my mouth to accept the chicken, then closed my mouth around the morsel, and Gabe pulled it back slowly, tines pressing against my lips.
The chicken was good, but that wasn’t why I moaned. When I finished chewing, Gabe offered me more food. Same effect—curled my fucking toes. And that went on and on, until we’d cleaned his plate and drank the water in his glass.
He put the fork down. “There’s still more in the skillet.”
“I don’t think I could take any more.” I didn’t mean the food. I’d been on edge forever and every piece of me hurt in a good way, but much more and I’d be a wreck. Well, more of one. Part of me wanted to stay here forever. The other part wanted out of these ropes so Gabe would fuck me already.
Gabe’s huff of laughter was full of joy. “You have no idea how proud I am of you. This is a lot to take in for your first time in ropes. A lot to trust.”
“But it’s you.” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Gabe’s expression morphed between surprise and—oh God—love. Before I could process anything, Gabe practically crawled into my lap and kissed me. That I couldn’t even move my head, that I could only accept his mouth, his tongue . . . God, I nearly lost it. Especially when he wrapped his hand around my dick.
“Gonna come,” I said around his lips and tongue.
He broke the kiss, but kept stroking. “No, you’re not.”
Fuck. I shut my eyes as his mouth met mine again. That delightful need for release turned hard and sharp, and I fought against the growing fire in my balls. My cock ached with every stroke. Gabe leaned back and grinned. “God, you’re amazing.” He slid off me, finally letting my cock be. Or so I thought. Next thing I knew, his mouth was around the crown. I struggled against the ropes and actually managed to rock the chair a bit. “Gabe!”
He went down on me. Repeatedly. No gag reflex, either, because he took every inch inside that fucking hot mouth of his. Desire thrashed in me, and I had no idea how I managed not to come. My skull stung from trying to wrench my head off the back of the chair.
Gabe didn’t stop.
“I can’t.” I practically sobbed the words. He’d break me. There wasn’t any way I wasn’t going to come. I was barely holding back, my willpower all but gone. My balls drew up.
Gabe pulled off long enough to say, “Come.”
He swallowed me to my root. The world went white, and I spilled everything I had down his throat. He took it, stroking me with those lips the entire time. My whole body shook and kept shaking, even as my orgasm subsided. Adrenaline. Pain. The inability to shift even an inch. My lungs ached.
Gabe moved, tugging at the ropes as he went, and the bindings slackened. “Stay with me,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes and floated in the chair. Where would I go? Of course I was with him.
“Thomas.” A sharp call.
“’M here.” Slurred words. My head lolled forward. Gabe must have freed the braid.
&n
bsp; “You are so not here.” A hint of laughter, or maybe worry. Couldn’t tell.
He helped me from the chair, and I slid to the floor and into his arms. Everything felt so heavy. So light. “That was really . . .” I ran out of words. “I dunno.”
“It’s okay.” He held me against his chest. Warm breath caressed my cheek. “We’ll just hang out here for a bit.”
That was fine. I closed my eyes and listened to the thump of his heart. So calm, so perfect. Gabe.
Someone was stroking my hair with slow, gentle movements while I came out of the peaceful, floaty high I’d been in. Once I recognized the design of the T-shirt on the chest I was lying against, knowledge flew up my spine. Gabe. Holy hell. Gabe. Every muscle in my body ached in a way that threatened to send me straight back into subspace when I remembered exactly what we’d done. I closed my eyes and let headiness overwhelm me.
He touched my cheek, drawing me into the world. “Welcome back.”
“Not sure I am entirely.” God, my throat was coated in sandpaper.
His chuckle vibrated against my head. “Probably not. Think you can stand long enough to make it to your bed?”
Bed. With Gabe. “I hope so.” I didn’t know if I could come again after the orgasm Gabe had given me, but I still wanted him inside me. I wanted his pleasure, his desire, wanted to be his. I sucked in a breath and waited for the world to stop floating so much.
Another laugh. Gabe shifted, then helped me sit up. Every muscle protested. Bands of indentations from the rope biting into my flesh crossed my arms and legs, and I touched my thigh where the ghost of the rope lay. “Wow.”
“One of my favorite parts.” Gabe pushed my chin up, then kissed me, and the world tilted again. He stood and offered me his hand.
“You keep doing stuff like that, and I’m not gonna be able to stand.” I grabbed his arm, and together we managed to haul me to my feet. Well, mostly. I slumped against him for a bit until my legs felt strong. “I can make it.”
I did, with minimal help. Still, I was more than happy to collapse onto my bed. My body buzzed, and my head felt like it had been shoved full of cotton balls, too fluffy and light. I’d never had this much trouble shaking myself out of subspace before.
