He eyed it, and in those caramel orbs, she saw his hesitation, knew it for what it was: uncertainty.
"I won't hurt you," she whispered, needing him to know that. "I-I--" She licked her lips. "This isn't about pain."
At his nod, she reached for his hand. "Go lie on the bed."
He rolled upward in a smooth move, the various muscles flexing, as he did as bid, were like a show of their own. She'd never thought she'd be able to see him like this. Never thought she'd be so lucky, but she was looking at him, and for this time, for these brief moments, he was hers.
"Do you want me to lie down?"
"Please," she whispered, wondering where her strident tone of before had gone.
He nodded and lay flat out. His hands lay flat against the sheet. She eyed them for a second. Thought about the calluses, then the neat nails. He was so incongruous. He had the hands of a worker, but the nails of a man who rode a desk.
She loved those contrasts. They interested her, piqued her curiosity like no other man ever had. She wanted to know everything and knew she had no right to know it all.
Lucia picked up the rope then stepped closer to the bed. His tension rose with every step, and each time she saw the muscles in his arms flex, a voice shouted in her head. She wanted to ignore it, for the moment, chose to. Instead, she focused on his cock, surprised that it was bulging against his boxers.
Did something about this turn him on? Or was he big enough to constantly have that sort of bulge? Lucia wished she wasn't so damned inexperienced. Two boyfriends did not mean she'd had a fountain of wealth at her fingertips. Especially of the practical nature. As it was, she knew the theory, but that wasn't much help here. She doubted he was aroused, especially when he looked so against this, but then, as she'd already pondered, the body worked in mysterious ways.
She reached for his hands, put them on his belly. Studying them as she wrapped the rope around one of his wrists, Lucia murmured, "I can't imagine you having manicures."
He frowned at her. She felt the glower aimed her way even as she focused on sliding the hemp around his left wrist. "I don't have manicures."
"Your nails are smooth."
He grunted, obviously perplexed at the statement. "I clip them."
Josiah hadn't clipped them. They'd been long, for a man. Whenever she saw another guy with long nails, she was immediately dragged back to that time. A time when he'd raked those disgusting claws over her body.
Tensing her jaw, trying like hell to force the thought away, she grabbed her length of rope, folded it in half, and then, with the bight, wrapped it twice around his wrist, carried the loop over the top of the bindings, and formed a knot with the loose remaining length. When she was done, she eyed her work.
The three coils were pressed neatly together, and the binding between them was neat, but it wasn't as beautiful as she'd have preferred. Not like what she'd seen in the clubs, but it served her purpose. She raised his arms over his head. With the remainder of the loose rope, she separated the two lengths, hooked them over one side of the headboard, and tied them down. She did the same with the other side.
Lucia stood back, looked at him pinned down to the mattress, and felt something loosen inside of her.
She could do this. She could.
So, why did she feel like she was drowning?
Clearing her throat, she murmured, "Lift your hips. Keep them raised."
It was stupid to do it this way. She should have done it when he was standing, but she hadn't been able to risk him moving away from her. Having him trussed to the bed was the only way her stomach would settle.
He obeyed, but she could see more confusion in his eyes. It was easy to feel overwhelmed, to feel useless. This was her first time at taking control, and she was making a fool of herself. Tears pricked her eyes, but she carried on, feeling like she had to get this out of her system or the regret of failure would haunt her forever.
Lucia quickly wrapped the rope around his waist, loosely at first, knowing she could tighten it when he was more relaxed. Once everything was in position, it would be easy.
“Keep your hips raised.”
When Martinez complied, Lucia got to work. It was more awkward than she'd imagined, but she managed. Just. With every move she made, she felt him watching her and, even worse, was sure he was judging her.
She was incorrectly undertaking this act of rope bondage because he'd trusted her to do this to him, but she hadn't trusted him to follow through with it.
Feeling like a jerk but wanting to save face, she couldn't apologize or start from the beginning, and that shamed her all the more.
By the time she was halfway through her crotch rope, she was shaking and sure she was a failure at this. It would be so easy to start again, but this was Martinez. If she let him go, he'd know she was useless and might not agree to continue.
She couldn't risk that. She just couldn't.
Despite the awkwardness, she persevered. Having already halved the rope again and setting the coil at his waist, she blindly dissected down between his ass cheeks. Pulling the two lengths between his legs, she dissected his groin with the hemp, passed it through the binding at his belly, and tied a knot to keep it firm. She moved the two ropes around his waist once more, repeating the move on his ass, separating the cheeks, making almost a thong out of the coils.
With the foundation created, she began to plait around the bindings she'd made, tugging them together, tightening his bonds. Diamonds began to form, showcasing taut expanses of golden flesh, the gray-gold of the hemp highlighting his beautiful coloring. His cock was encased in the largest of these triangles, trapped by the rope, its only escape through the flap of his boxers.
She calmed down as she worked, a self-comforting hum, one that blotted him out of her attention span, escaping her as she completed the step by step process of binding his groin. She'd memorized it, praying that one day she'd be able to use it, but knowing it was highly unlikely. It was as keyed into her brain as was the key code to her safety deposit box over in Ecuador.
When she'd used all the rope, she sat back on her heels, surveying her work then whispered, "You can lay back now."
A smile creased her lips, because while it wasn't perfect, once he was settled down on the mattress, she could see she'd managed to recreate the image that had plagued her fantasies for years.
Her hands itched, just looking at his cock. She wanted to touch him, longed to see his cock against the bonds, and then, she realized she could see it. This was her show. She could do what she wanted.
Without looking at him, she reached through the boxer flap and grabbed his shaft. She didn't touch it, save for releasing it. When it flopped out, not hard whatsoever, Lucia frowned then nibbled her lip.
She looked up, saw his eyes were closed, and his jaw was tense.
Despite herself, despite her resolve to see this through, anxiety clawed at her.
He didn't want this.
Every line of his body screeched that at her.
Lucia sucked in a breath and settled on her knees. She bent over him, let her breath wash over his shaft, before letting her tongue dart out to trail over the soft glans. She sucked down hard, lashing the eye of his cock, and working her wet lips along his length.
It didn't even twitch.
Another frown creased her brow, but she tried again. This time, she settled astride him, and as she'd done before, let her cunt come into contact with his cock.
He'd had an erection before, why didn't he now?
Because this time, he had all his faculties? And for the first time ever, a man's mind was working over his cock?
She rocked her hips, letting the slick lips of her pussy cover him in her dew. His eyes popped open, and he peered down at their connected hips. She could see interest in his eyes, but his cock apparently felt none of it.
The tears of earlier reappeared. She didn't know why, she didn't even know where they came from, but they burned her eyelids as she worked herself on his
dick. Rocking and rocking until her hips ached with the motion, until her thighs burned as badly as her eyes.
No erection.
Flustered, she climbed off him, returned to the table, a bullet vibrator in hand, and as she turned back to the bed, something about his position on the mattress had her freezing.
Her stomach clenched, nausea wriggling along her gullet, as she stared at him. A sound escaped her, a wordless noise that escaped her lips as she fell to the floor. Her knees protested the move, but she didn't notice. Her attention was on him.
The last time, something had been different. He'd been aroused, almost helplessly. Like his body had been waiting to be with her for so long that he was willing to take her anyway he could get her.
But now, it wasn't like that. Something was wrong.
Who was she kidding?
Everything was wrong.
Everything.
Her mouth worked, and for a second, all she could remember was how she'd felt when Josiah had tied her to her gurney.
He'd done the same to her. Lovingly wrapped the rope around her wrists, separating them with those thick coils, then, holding them above her head, and tying her to the gurney from that one point.
She'd done that to Martinez.
She’d done to Martinez what Josiah had done to her.
Josiah had controlled her, taken her choices away. Just like she was doing to Martinez.
Josiah had trussed her up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Sometimes, digging bits of broken glass in the hemp, so it would tear into her flesh.
Almost like it was yesterday, she could feel the heat of the blood as it trickled from the wounds. She could feel the sharp pain as the glass dug in deeply, slicing cruelly into giving flesh.
She'd never hurt Martinez, she never wanted to. It wasn't about causing pain, degrading him, or subjugating him. It was about being in the position of power.
But what was the point of being in power sexually if the man she was topping couldn't get a hard on?
Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat. It was loaded with tears and agony, memories and pain. Martinez's head jerked up from the pillow at the sound, and his voice was rough as he asked, "Lucia?"
Her hands balled into fists, and she pushed them against her eyes. She felt her body begin to sway, almost as though she weren't in control of it. The rocking motion soothed her, but she needed more than that to calm her down.
For a second, a millisecond, she was back in that room. Tied to the gurney. No control. No say in what she could or couldn't do. The only control she'd had was her arousal. The lubrication that would have made it easier for Josiah to rape her.
And just like her body, Martinez's was screeching the same message.
She was sick.
Oh, God. She was sick. More than she'd realized. More than she'd ever believed.
What was she doing here? Trying to reenact what had happened to her onto some unsuspecting man?
But this wasn't just any man. This was Martinez.
Martinez who attracted her because he was so strong. Strong enough to handle her, strong enough to care for someone as fucked up as Lucia.
"Lucia? What's wrong?" Even now, tied down though he was at her supposed mercy, his tone was strong, in charge.
Hers had been filled with forced calm. Josiah had gotten off on her panic, and even though she'd been terrified, she'd had to clamp down on her vocal chords, take charge of them and battle them into submission.
Her jaw shook at the memory, and another keening wail escaped her.
"Lucia! Stop it. Talk to me."
His commanding voice had the balls of her fists lowering an inch. She peered at him through the sliver of space, a shudder of revulsion wracking her slim frame at the sight.
Why had she done this to him? Why?
Everything that attracted him to her was exactly the opposite of what she'd done to him tonight.
She'd tried to break this man. Brought him to his knees to force him to defer to her, to submit, when that was the last thing she wanted him to do.
No one deserved that. No one. Unless they wanted it. And Martinez didn't.
He'd go through with this, for their deal, just like she'd tolerate tomorrow, but what was that? Endurance? That wasn't hot. That wasn't sexy. It was a chore. A task set to someone, one they didn't want to do.
Was that what she wanted?
Unlike before, she couldn't control her vocal chords. She heard the sounds escaping her throat, and from the concern on his face, she knew he was worried about her. She would be too. She sounded hysterical. Either that or just plain insane.
Seeing that concern, she jumped up on shaky knees, not wanting that worry to turn to discomfort or fear. Heading to the table once more, she looked for the scissors she'd put there just in case her memory had failed her, or she'd tied a knot too tightly.
When she couldn't see them, she swiped the thousands of dollars’ worth of sex toys onto the floor. A screech escaped her, one of rage, pain, and anguish. She dropped to her knees again, feeling the carpet burn into the thin skin. She ignored the discomfort, eyes wildly searching through the mass of shit they'd bought to try to entice the other.
This wasn't right. It wasn't right.
That was all she could think. The litany rolled through her head, an endless song until she found the scissors. The glinting silver finally peering up at her.
She darted over to the bed, and even though a quiver ran through her as she neared him, neared what she'd done to him, she got to work. Her panting breaths were loud in the silent room, but they were soon overtaken with the sounds of the clipping noises of the special shears as they tore through the thick rope. It was demanding work, would probably have been easier to unfasten the coils, but she couldn't do that.
They had to go now.
She had to destroy them, destroy this image in her head.
"Off, off, off," she whispered. "No more, go. Go."
As she sawed at the rope, she knew his eyes were on her. She longed to ask him to stop staring at her, fearing the judgment she'd see as his gaze trailed over her.
Had she destroyed any potential they had?
Had she done what she always did? Wrecked something pure?
When the rope finally gave way around his hips, she pulled it free from him, leaving his cock and his lower torso to the freedom it should always have had.
She darted to the head of the bed, cutting at one side of his bonds. The tension in their length helped, and each one gave way quickly, but it wasn't fast enough for her. As she went to work on the rope around his wrists, he grabbed one of hers and stayed her hand when she went to move.
Her gaze lifted to his, before it flickered away. Deep in those golden depths, there was a question, and she didn't have any answers.
"Calm down," he murmured, his voice utterly controlled.
"Calm down?" she yelled. "How can I calm down?"
He grabbed her chin, holding it with his still-bound hands, and forcing her to look at him. "Stop this. Tell me what's going on."
Another quiver trembled through her lips. "I can't."
Her whisper had him sighing. "Lucia, tell me."
Her eyelids fluttered shut as she turned her head away, jerking out of his hold. He didn't force the position, like she'd done to him, but he took control in another way. She felt the air around him shift, and as she opened her eyes, his arms came down around her. Wrists still bound, she was between his arms. He used their position to force her against him, into his embrace. He made her lie down, urging her into relaxing into him.
"Let me cut you loose," she whispered, trying to sit up, but there was no use. He'd bound her to him with the simplicity of his hold.
"No. That can wait."
"I can't tell you. If I tell you, you'll hate me. You'll be disgusted. Everyone's always disgusted."
Martinez shook his head and settled deeper into the mattress. The move had her rolling closer to him so her chest rested against his, and her
own head fell into the curve of his throat. "I won't be disgusted. I'm a murderer, Lucia. I've done some bad things in my time. I'm no innocent."
"You're not a torturer."
"No," Martinez conceded.
"Josiah tortured me."
Her whisper had a gust of air whispering over her cheek. "He was the man who abducted you, wasn't he? It's the first time you've said his name."
"You knew it anyway. It was in all the files."
"No." He shook his head again. "Josiah wasn't."
She peered up at him. "'Course, it was. That was his name."
"It wasn't. It was Michael Delaney. Josiah came up in context, but not as much as Delaney's."
"Why did he lie?"
"Didn't you go to the court case?" He studied her for a second. "It was all in the files."
She licked her lips, their dryness pulled at the soft flesh, making them itch. "No. I-I,” she paused, blowing out a breath. It was always difficult talking about this time. Not because of the trauma, but because she couldn't remember it.
The time with Josiah, oh yeah, she remembered most of that. But not the aftercare. It was like a blur. After leaving the hospital, it was all down to what she'd been told rather than what she remembered experiencing.
“My parents didn't think I could cope with the real world. They shoved me in a convalescent home. My grandparents tried to get me out, to go on the stand, but my mother would only agree to letting me answer the attorneys' questions via video."
"Josiah was your torturer's torturer."
Lucia blinked. "What do you mean?"
"He was a pedophile. Josiah was Michael's father. He, well, he abused him from a very early age."
She swallowed. "From seven years old?" At his nod, she clenched her eyes shut and buried her face into his throat.
"How did you know that?"
Her words were garbled when she whispered, "The number's all over my body. He cut it into me, over and over again. The scars get fainter every year, thank Christ. But they're there. If you look carefully."
As tension riddled his frame, his hold on her tightened.
"I told you you'd be disgusted," she cried, jerking away from him. A frantic panic overcame her, made her want to run away, get away from him.
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