Rope 'Em

by Delphine Dryden

  “Three,” he finally said between a lick and a swirl that left her head spinning. “Have you been laughing at me this whole time?”

  * * *

  Ethan pushed his tongue into a point, finding Victoria’s clit by feel and circling it slowly. He waited out her answer, knowing she was still more rope drunk than she realized. All her reaction times were affected and she tugged restlessly at the restraints, her body taut, her eyes closed as she sought a way back to the subspace she’d achieved during their scene. He probably should have just skipped the rope and gone straight to the sex; that would’ve been simpler. But given her unexpected revelations—holy fuck, how hadn’t he realized when he saw her at the ropewalk, plus she’d given him so many hints about the dye—he was unscrupulous enough to enjoy the advantage he gained by keeping her hovering at the brink of spacing out and making her try to think.

  She wasn’t really out of it. She couldn’t blame the scene or the rope later for anything she said or did. But she was influenced, and it made her vulnerable. More truthful, maybe, and more open to truths.

  Finally, she answered his question. “No. I haven’t been laughing the whole time, no. Maybe . . . thirty percent? Fifteen? I’m bad at math. I don’t know. Some percent but not most. I could have told you earlier, but I knew it was too late for the ReDuRan, and—”

  “The what?”

  “ReDuRan. The stuff you use if you get dye on something, to remove it. It’s safe for skin and most clothing fabrics. You have to use it right away, though. Um. Ohh . . .”

  He’d slid his index finger inside her. Testing her wetness, which was considerably higher than it had been before he’d started licking her pussy. Score one for licking pussy.

  Of course always score at least one for licking pussy. College had taught Ethan that, in addition to a great many other things. “Okay. I’ll make a note. Talk about percentages some more, that’s kinda hot.”

  “I’m the last person to go to for hot math talk.”

  He pushed his finger deeper, dipped his head again, suckled her clit between his lips. She whimpered, her hips moving immediately toward his mouth. She started attempting to talk about math. Hot math talk from an art nerd’s perspective.

  “Percents? I can’t . . . oh. Um. Okay. The . . . jacquard loom. You know, jacquard? It’s when the fabric . . . oh . . . it’s patterns woven in. And the guy, B-Babbage? You know, the computer guy?” She gasped, arching into his mouth as he started flicking his tongue across her clit in a rapid pattern.

  Babbage. His brain wouldn’t let that one go. He raised his head, ignoring Victoria’s immediate wail of discontent. “You mean the difference engine guy?”

  “Ngh . . . what? Um. Yeah. One of his . . . oh my God. Could you go back to . . . one of his influences was jacquard looms. They had these punch cards for the patterns, and . . .”

  She smelled good, and he couldn’t resist sucking her clit in again, relishing her grateful aaah as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bundle of flesh. Back and forth, back and forth, following the rhythm of his finger sliding in and out of her pussy, until she arched and cried out, her breath hitching, her thighs clenching by his cheeks, her body taut against the pull of the rope and the grip of his hands around her thighs.

  He could have seen it through, but he was selfish. Her body still formed a perfect arc of tension from wrist to hip when he shifted up a few feet, angled his dick with one hand, and slipped inside her clenching heat.

  Victoria locked her legs around his hips, arching again and crying out against her own arm as she rode out her orgasm’s second crest.

  Or a really great fake. Ethan always wondered, but he’d given up trying to know for sure. He did what he could, and he genuinely believed he was doing right by his partners. Without a mind-meld, there was no way to know for certain. Holy mother of God it’s good was all he knew at that moment, and he hoped with every brain cell available that Victoria felt the same way, and if so it was at least in part because of his efforts.

  He pulled out and thrust in again, relishing the enveloping warmth of Victoria’s body. Her body moved with his, responsive, receptive, right. And her face . . . the way her lips parted, the glance of moonlight off her cheekbone, the tumble of hair that had now mostly fallen out of its ponytail. Even her imperfections seemed perfect.

  The ponytail holder was caught under her raised arm, and Ethan saw that a few strands of hair were pulled too tight. Her eyelashes fluttered and she winced as she twisted her head, apparently startled by the sudden, unexpected pain.

  Ethan lowered himself to his elbows and carefully unraveled the elastic, freeing it from the strands and setting it on the floor. By the time he was done, Victoria had opened her eyes. She watched him, a sleepy smile on her lips. “Thank you.”

  “It looked uncomfortable.” He stroked a lock of hair, twisting it around his fingers, then releasing it and moving his attention to her face. Her cheek was soft and the slightest bit damp, either with sweat or humidity. When he moved his fingertips to her temple to smooth back a final loose tress, Victoria blinked, and he felt the muscles jump under her skin. He worked his hips again, unable to resist the impulse to move, and she blinked again, then hummed in pleasure as she let her eyes close.

  Ethan kissed her softly, wishing he could freeze time, knowing his body was already too far along to prolong things anymore. He sped up, so primed he was there within moments. He released her lips and gasped as the climax took him, flooding his body with sensation even as he emptied himself. Spiking thrills of pleasure chased after each other, lancing through his balls and belly, pulling a grunt from his lips as the orgasm wrung him dry.

  “Mmm.” Victoria pressed her lips to his cheek, his ear, his neck. “S’good.”

  “Yeah.”

  He meant a lot by that yeah. But words weren’t forming, not in his brain, not in his mouth. The orgasm had melted his brain, even more so than he was used to. He had just enough awareness and willpower left to lift himself up, holding the condom safely in place while he slid out of her body. She whined an inarticulate complaint, and he knew what she meant because separating their bodies—like, ever again—seemed like the worst possible thing. Covering her gorgeous form with the fluffy throw, while the chivalrous thing to do, made him even sadder.

  Also, he didn’t have a damn trash can.

  He had to settle for tying off the used condom, wrapping it in a few of the workshop-style paper towels he had by his toolbox, and stuffing it into an outside pocket of his duffel bag. He’d have to chuck it tomorrow.

  Hope and realism set in; he brought over the paper towel roll and set it on the floor by his bag, because if he had any say in the matter, there would definitely be a round two at some point.

  Next, he set to untying the rope, first from the wall stud and then from Victoria’s wrists. She was limp, languid, practically purring. When he’d freed her hands and tossed the rope aside, she reached for him and pulled him down, tugging the throw aside, then flipping it back over both of them.

  Of course he kissed her—softly, sweetly, sharing sighs of contentment and laughing gently when she yawned halfway through. He rolled to his side, coaxing her to roll as well so her back was snuggled against his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spooned. He couldn’t remember ever wanting to cuddle somebody to sleep either. This didn’t even feel so much like wanting, though, as it did like . . . simply the way things would be.

  Fate. This whole past year . . . Buying into the ranch. The sudden, game-changing success of Giddyup. Finally getting to build the house. The timely arrival of Marguerite so he didn’t even have to feel guilty about leaving his old practice in the lurch. And now . . . Victoria. Appearing as if by magic, through an improbable string of circumstances, presented to him by the universe as the obvious next step in his year of things going spectacularly well.

  Ethan didn’t believe in fate. He didn’t think the universe granted you wishes or handed you people like prizes. When everyt
hing seemed too good to be true, you were probably missing something important, in his experience. It was time to be cautious, not complacent. Which made absolutely no difference to the overwhelming amount he wanted to wrap himself around Victoria, entwine himself with her. Not just fuck her but get inside her.

  He had no idea if she was anywhere close to feeling the same way—she seemed pretty casual about the whole encounter—and he knew he should probably be concerned with that. But his brain was too fried to get into the possible implications. And his body was too relaxed for him to stress out about it.

  He only needed one thing, and he had it: his arms around Victoria as she nestled, trusting and sated, against him.

  Chapter 12

  Victoria liked to think her own priorities regarding what to install in the tiny house first would have been a bit different. Whatever else went in there, in whatever order, the toilet should have come first. Especially since, as a composting or possibly incinerating model, it would probably be self-contained rather than relying on a plumbing hookup.

  Of course with no finished interior walls or doors, she would have had less privacy peeing that way than in her current situation—a few yards downhill from the house, behind some scrub, wearing only her boots and Ethan’s shirt and hoping like hell nothing climbed up her leg or bit her ass before she was through. She felt the odds worsen as she waited enough time to feel mostly air-dried. Any second, a snake or scorpion or even just a scary possum would happen by, and she’d scream, and then Ethan would come running and see her squatting ignominiously among the bushes, and she’d probably feel compelled to make some anxious, nervous joke about golden showers and everything would be horrible forever.

  A minute or so passed without incident or animal involvement, and Victoria finally stood up, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering as she headed back toward the house.

  A few steps later she was distracted by the view, which drew her gaze down the hillside and out across the vista of the starlit landscape. A few lights twinkled here and there below—the inevitable signs of civilization—but for the most part the hills were dark sweeps of black-on-blacker, only the faintest contours visible.

  The sky, though . . . was breathtaking. Clear, sparkling stars on a field of midnight blue, like a childhood memory of an impossibly beautiful night sky. She imagined it as a field of dark silk, shot through with silver, and then chuckled at the idea of how many artists must have stood under night skies contemplating how to capture the feeling of awe at this unearthly beauty. How to represent it without reducing it. Impossible, maybe, but she knew she would have to try at some point. The idea was already taking root.

  The door squeaked behind her, but she didn’t bother to look around. A few seconds later, Ethan’s solid chest pressed into her back, and his firm arms wrapped the fluffy blanket around them both. She tucked her hands around his forearms, warming her fingers. Stepping back into the embrace, she could feel the waistband of his jeans, the knock of his boot against hers. At least he wasn’t naked. She might have giggled at the idea of him strolling around in the dark in only his cowboy boots.

  When he pressed his lips to her temple, she leaned into the kiss, trying not to think about whether all this affection was only for tonight. She could get used to it far too easily. And then what? Stick around cleaning up horse shit and making cakes because of a guy?

  Her mind was full of stars and her fingers knew ways to weave them into lasting artifacts. At her best, she really could capture a feeling and share it with others. She wasn’t too good for the work she was doing—she even enjoyed a lot of it, in a way—but if she didn’t make art, design things, create, she wouldn’t be herself anymore.

  Still . . . tonight, a few nights, a few weeks. There was nothing wrong with enjoying this while she was here. If it seemed perfect, too good to be true, all the better, right? She would enjoy it even more. It didn’t have to change who she was or who she wanted to be.

  “Amazing view,” she finally whispered.

  “I picked this spot for a reason.” He tilted his head to rest it against hers. “I like to be starstruck sometimes.”

  “Good choice.” The hillside even blocked most of the firelight and other light sources from the event in front of the main house, though an occasional voice or whipcrack still reached them on the breeze. “Have you been to the Round Top music festival? Or Shakespeare at Winedale? When you get away from the buildings, the sky there . . .”

  “Yeah. I love both of them. I go most years, when I can. One of my friends from college did a summer at Winedale.”

  “That’s cool. I wish I could get back to both. I’ve only been a few times. I love how . . . subversive the whole thing is. I wish more people outside the state knew about stuff like that. It would give them a completely different view of Texas.” Both the music festival institute and the Shakespeare program at Winedale had a great deal of fun with the contrast between the small-town Texas setting and the stereotypically highbrow cultural entertainment being presented. World-class string quartets playing in a lush old-fashioned music hall with carved Texas lone stars set in the ceiling. A group of college students from all over the country performing various Shakespeare plays in a converted nineteenth-century barn.

  “Of course you’d love them both,” Ethan murmured with a soft snort against her hair. “Such a good fit . . .”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. Um, if you like stargazing, the McDonald Observatory’s worth a visit, too. Bit of a drive but very cool.” He tucked the blanket around them more snugly.

  Victoria nestled into his chest, grateful for the warmth. She was getting drowsy again, now that the pressing call of nature had been answered. “I do want to go there. It’s on my list. I have a . . . I guess a bucket list of places to go and natural phenomena to see. I saw a few on the drive from Rhode Island, actually. Cardinal tracks in fresh snow. At least I think it was a cardinal. And a true, live, unfiltered golden hour. I use a lot of natural influences in my work.”

  His chest bounced against her back as he chuckled. “Your work. Man, I was an idiot.”

  “Eh.” She shrugged. “You had no way to know. By the way, I have a portable spinning wheel in my cabin if you want to learn to spin your own yarn from fibers.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Nope. It was one of the few things I didn’t sell. I couldn’t bear to. For one thing, I do actually use it, and for another . . .”

  He gathered up her hair in one hand, scooping it to one side of her neck. The draft sent a chill through her, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

  “For another?”

  “It makes me feel like Sleeping Beauty. The whole bit with the spindle, you know.”

  Breath warmed her exposed skin, then heat descended in the form of lips and a scrape of stubble below her ear. “Jesus. You really are a freaking Disney Princess.”

  It sounded like he’d had this thought before, even without knowing about the spinning. She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or irritated. The things he was doing with his tongue along the muscles of her neck, and the stealthy way he’d managed to unbutton the purloined shirt she wore, argued in favor of flattery. “Are you implying you’re Prince Charming?”

  “Nah. Logan’s more the type. So this list . . . that’s a weird assortment. Stars and bird prints and the golden hour. What’s the theme, there?”

  It was getting harder to concentrate with his teeth scraping on spots he’d missed in their earlier session. “Oh, well . . . mmm. They’re all visual influences, I guess. But either with texture or particular light qualities, and . . . God, could you just bite me like that but everywhere, that’d be great? And like . . . shapes that nature gives you and you see nowhere else, like the four-pronged angles of a bird’s foot, or the way a cloven-hoofed animal’s footprint has deep and shallow imprints in the mud and it’s . . . aaah.”

  He had bitten into the meat of her neck, below her ear, and whatever she’d had
to say about animal tracks disappeared into the growing aura of lust that encircled both of them. He whispered into her ear: “The aurora borealis.”

  “Mmm.” She reached back, finding his hips, clutching at his jeans in an effort to leverage herself more tightly against him. “Man, you’re good at dirty talk.”

  He cracked up, obviously caught off guard, and Victoria turned around in his arms with an unrepentant smirk that quickly turned to a giggle. She patted his chest, then nodded past his shoulder at the house.

  “I’m heading back inside.”

  Halfway to the door, she heard the all-too-familiar buzz of her phone. When she got inside and found it—it was lighting up the outside pocket of Ethan’s bag—she discovered a string of new text message notifications on her screen.

  All from Alexandra, who seemed to have sent them one after the other within the past minute or so. A chill went up Victoria’s spine as she poked the screen with a shaking finger, navigating to the text app to read all of them in order.

  Vic call me ASAP 911

  nvm Piper fell asleep in here watching a movie w/me so can’t talk anyway, reply to text plz URGENT

  OK I gotta just tell you bc I hv to get her upstairs. You nd to get away from Hilltop this weekend—hope it isn’t too late. I’m so so so so sorry. Just found out the private party is some weird sex thing. SO SORRY. I DIDN’T KNOW.

  Please get in touch. Hope you are safe and not up there for that. Love you.

  “Are you okay?” Ethan stepped up behind her, touching her shoulders lightly.

  Victoria showed him the screen. “Well. I need to figure out how to answer this. Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the show . . . ?”

  “Oh, fuuuuuck.” His grip tightened, then he pulled her into a backward hug.

  A new text slid onto the screen, and they both drew a sharp breath as they read.