by Landra Graf
“I’m going to wrap you in a rope corset. It will go underneath your breasts and below the waist.”
Sig grabbed the blue skein. Once unraveled, he made a loop in the middle of the rope, holding it right below the waist with two fingers. Lauren’s breath turned shallow and he didn’t miss the little spark zipping through him when any piece of his skin brushed hers. He moved forward, choosing to ignore his aching cock, and focus on drawing the tied ends through the bight.
Then she moaned. “I’m hot.”
“It’s not nice to brag.” He made another pass around her body and another tuck through the opening, completing the Lark's Head. She kept squirming, jutting her breasts out by arching off the bed, and he positioned his arm just so the pointed tips of her nipples brushed against it. Torture so exquisite, yet the sharp huffs of breath she let loose didn’t make him move faster.
What would her breasts look like without the bra? Pale flesh with dark nipples? Or soft and creamy? Each rotation around her body, each encounter with the lace bra ratcheted his interest, until he had to unwind the corset. He needed her exposed to complete a more arousing bondage pose. “May I remove your bra?”
Her throat bobbed on a swallow. His cock rebelled, throbbing in his pants at her pink lips parting. “Please. Undo the clips securing the straps.”
The clasps at the back went first, and in his haste he found the problem. Bound wrists prevented the removal of any fabric. He searched and found the clips she’d mentioned. Once undone the bra could be whisked away, except he did it slowly, allowing the lace to scrape against her nipples.
She thrashed and groaned.
“I won’t touch you again until you stop.” The warning worked. All movement halted. The room went quiet. The only sound— her breathing. And he did his best to control his.
“How do you feel now?” Starting over, this time he formed a bight above the breasts, circling it around her body, sliding the ends through the opening and cinching the closure tight against her back.
“I want more.”
“Don’t be vague. More rope?” He smiled while forming the first ‘L’ shape in the front, her breasts secured between four lines of nylon above and below, a shinju. Her nipples were like twin cherries, larger than what he was accustomed to, and they called to him. Erect and firm. “I’m going to touch you now.” He tweaked one of them with a forefinger and thumb.
Her growl made him want to reach for the other one, but he held off.
“A pair of dark, red pearls. Perfect.” He straddled her now, moving his mouth down to engulf one of the pearls while he completed the same knotting system at her back, the final piece to the harness. Once done he moved away, letting go of the flesh he teased between his teeth.
“I’m going to remove the blindfold. When I do look to your left.”
Tugging the fabric off her eyes, she turned her head and gasped.
“Good?”
***
She couldn’t believe it. Her panties had remained damp from the moment he began fondling her body. Now, they were soaked. With her limbs tied, her chest wrapped in blue nylon… the sight of those ropes did something to her insides, and she bucked upward. “Yes. Now your hands.”
She wanted his tanned skin against her pale white. Those fingers and palms back on the pearls he’d complimented moments before.
Her limited verbal plea worked because his palms brushed over both peaks. A moan escaped her and she cried, “Please.”
His head came low then, the visual blocked by his hair, but she felt everything. Hot mouth replacing skin, teeth grazing. The seconds dragged on with the administered torture and pleasure to not one, but both of her nipples. Then he whispered, “Do you want me to touch other places?”
She nodded, and a feral smile replaced his neutral expression.
Hot, callused skin connected with hers, sliding down her stomach, past her waist, and heading for the juncture between her thighs. More adventures led her to waxing earlier in the day, and she had a perfect landing strip, trimmed for this occasion. Not that she’d planned on this, but she’d hoped.
“I don’t normally do this.” One hand slipped between lace and flesh.
She shivered. “Then I’m the lucky one.”
A single digit glided over her clitoris and flicked the nub. Panting became her natural state like a dog, and she didn’t dare move for fear he’d stop. Another finger joined the fray, tracing the outside of her labia minora— holy hell! She’d reverted to high school biology terms. The slow movements, the careful exploration, made her crazy. The urge to scream, to cry out for penetration sat so close to the surface and the best way to stow the impulse involved reviewing what he did to her, how he did it.
Finally, he plunged both fingers inside at once and she let out a cry, some insane mewling noise. Her orgasm grew closer. Closer than she expected, but John had been right— delayed gratification increased the satisfaction.
He moved quickly, pumping in and out while tweaking her nipples. The pressure rose, a coiling sensation in her lower back and abdomen preceding the coming eruption, like a balloon ready to explode. She tugged at her bindings, straining against them and loving the burn, the pain they left while the peak rose higher.
As she crested, she called out “John!”
“No,” he said, his voice guttural and rough. “Call me Sig.”
Before she could ask what the hell? her release rushed forth, her legs jolting against the ties and moisture coating the fingers inside her. Eyesight blurred momentarily, the force stronger than ever before but all too soon reality came seeping back in. The name in her mind, the name she’d called, wasn’t real? “Who’s Sig?”
“I am.” He stared her straight in the eyes. The words were true and she felt exposed, manipulated, and embarrassed.
“Red.”
Chapter Four
Fear gripped him, but he sliced through the bindings regardless. Some Doms cared more about the rope, but in his mind things mattered less than people did. With the last of the color cordage discarded, he helped her to a standing position. “Are you all right?”
Her balance appeared unsteady as she bent to pick up her bra, and she regained it with a hand against the wall. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Right through there.” He pointed toward a doorway set near the closet and stepped back to let her pass, gripped with an urge to offer assistance, but he fought against it.
The ruined date left him with a mass of guilt and a rather painful erection. Just what he deserved. When she’d called out his fake name, the one on the hotel registry books, the one designed to give him anonymity for the evening, it worked against him. When she said “John” he’d spoken without thought. He wanted her to cry out his name. To be his, not some fake persona’s. Her reaction to the bondage stunned him. She enjoyed seeing herself restrained or she’d been too far gone, lost in some agonizing state of arousal, to want to stop— begging for connection, for release. Words weren’t needed for him to discern what she craved. His instincts about her needs were triggered the moment she walked in the door. A strange connection and now he’d wrecked it.
When she came out of the bathroom, bra and panties in place, skin still pink around her wrists and the indentations from the pearl harness still present, he had the urge to tie her up all over again. This time though, the idea of having her envelope his cock, not his fingers, came to mind. First things first. “I’m sorry.”
“Who the hell are you?” Hair pulled back into a simple ponytail and a frown told him the post-orgasm glow had been washed away.
“My name is Sigmund Bermudez. Friends call me Sig.”
Shaking his hand in a firm grip, she replied, “Lauren Elser. Let’s try this again, shall we?”
The physical connection sent a buzz of lust zinging through his body. Once they extinguished the shake, she stalked out of the bedroom. He followed. Thank goodness he’d kept most of his clothes on.
She’d already tugged the dress over her
head and into place, and stood at the small bar along the wall pouring herself a glass of water. “Thirsty?”
The atmosphere changed, as if he no longer held control and instead signed up for examination by microscope. “I can get my own drink.” A snappy response, sure, but he didn’t like ceding control. Ever.
“Fine. Would you mind telling me what you do for living?”
“I own a business.”
“The notes I received said as much.” She took a sip of water. “But again, it said your name is John and you’ve told me otherwise. So I have to ask, because I need to know what else you’re lying about.”
He grabbed a glass and dropped some ice cubes and a splash of whiskey into it. A quick throwback and his throat burned. The sting of the alcohol would give him the courage to come clean.
“Wait… Bermudez? As in Isle of Bermuda Hotel and Casino?”
At least Madame Eve had selected a woman with a brain. In fact, he admired her intelligence along with her body. No sense in denying it. “I’m the CEO as of last October.”
She glanced up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “Wow. A year as CEO and now you have the sudden interest in a date? I’m sure you get plenty of girls.”
“How about we sit down?” He motioned toward the couches, choosing to take one and hoping she’d take the other. She did, crossing her legs. Those legs. Hell, he wished they were wrapped around him instead of closed off.
Lauren cleared her throat and he stopped staring.
“I guess you could say I don’t have time to date or find someone who’d be interested in my type of activities. The whole application on Madame Eve’s site happened because I lost a bet.” Being honest sucked, more so when she rolled her eyes.
“A bet sounds a little far-fetched.”
“Believe what you want, but when I saw Madame Eve’s description of you I became interested in learning more. Meeting you tonight has been the highlight of my whole year, beyond getting my casino out of the red. I’ve enjoyed our time together, but I understand if you want to leave. Lying is something I don’t agree with. Yet…”
Confessions were good for the soul right? Talking about the past and clearing the air, territory he’d steered clear of until now.
“Go on.” She prodded, setting her glass on the coffee table separating them.
“I’m familiar with the pain falsehoods can cause. My ex told me she got off on my kind of kink. She fell in line with it, pandering to every whim and rope idea I had. Feelings got involved, and then when I was ready to offer her more she brought another man into our bed before confessing to despising bondage.” Old anger and memories drifted to the surface. One reason he didn’t talk about it in detail.
“I’m sorry. Does it make you angry?”
Sig ground his teeth. “A little. She screwed me over. Your ex did the same thing, right? Drew you in, made you care, and then told you you weren’t good enough.”
“I can say I’m still sore about how things played out, but I try to look at the situation from a positive side too. If it wasn’t for my ex I’d have never filled out an application on Madame Eve’s site and I’d still be at home instead of in this amazing hotel with you.”
He glanced up. The smile on her face held him sway, along with the genuine honesty he found in her gaze. Regardless of his lies, she appeared to still be happy with the evening… happy with him. “Even though I lied to you.”
The light in her eyes dulled. “I’ll admit I’m still a bit frustrated that you hid yourself from me. Not the best way to go about this. I make it a habit to know who I’m allowing access to my body. And I feel like you took advantage of my honest nature.”
He rose from the couch, circumvented the table, and pointed to the cushion next to hers. “May I?”
She nodded.
Sitting next to her he breathed in her scent, apples and cinnamon, Fall personified. How to make her understand? Did he want to let her in so deep? “Everything, except for the name and keeping my career to myself, is me. The bondage, the wine tasting, football-loving and ex-military life is me. Hiding my name and career is just part of -”
“Keeping yourself from being hurt.”
Damn. She called him out without provocation. Then she sunk in for the kill, and boy, did the verbal blade hurt.
“I’m not in high school nor am I some early twenties drama queen who surrounds herself with people playing make-believe games. I walked through the door tonight expecting someone to be real with me, to show me adventure, and keep things honest.”
No one ever set him down in such a way, except for his mother. She’d been gone a lot longer than his father, but taught him to stay grounded. “I’m sorry. Deeply sorry, and I want to make it up to you.”
“How?” Her turn to challenge. Those blue eyes still simmered with anger, and with something else as well. If he read her right, it would all work out.
“Sneak out with me. Let me show you who I am.”
She thinned her lips, the action equal parts adorable and teasing. Her foot waved in the air, some nervous tic and he loved making her nervous. She whispered, “Yes,” pairing her verbal agreement with a single nod.
“All right, take my hand,” he said, standing up.
She linked her palm in his and he tugged her off the couch.
“Let’s go.”
***
Lauren didn’t know where Sig planned on taking her. She should’ve asked, but stopped short, afraid to break the magic of the moment or his courage. Sneaking down the hallway to the elevator brought out memories of the teenage girl from yesteryear who tiptoed to avoid squeaks in the floor when she escaped to late-night parties. When the elevator doors shut, she giggled.
“What?” He grinned.
“This secret agent aspect of getting out of here reminds me of my younger days. But why are we creeping down the halls?”
The grin disappeared. “My job and the hazards involved mean I have a bodyguard following me around all the time. For once I want to do something without him knowing about it. To be able to show you what I am minus the part of who I am.”
“Where are we going?” She loved how he kept their connection and refused to let go of her hand. How he squeezed it before he spoke, as if re-establishing how they were together in this.
“Where I spend most of my time… Isle of Bermuda.”
All right. He planned to show her things and she’d driven him to an edge. Hell, she’d expected him to kick her out or agree to the night being over. Instead he broke down a wall, one she hadn’t noticed until he told her his real name. Then the signs appeared larger than an elephant. Caught up in the moment she’d put aside her job instincts at the beginning of the evening and believed she could relax without analyzing. After the truth about his name those ingrained therapist parts came back involuntarily, but her emotions were already involved and with someone who didn’t have room for another person within their crap-to-deal-with sphere.
His car turned out to be some fancy thing, black, sleek, and with plenty of power. She shrunk into the passenger seat and ran her fingers across the leather details. Surrounded by such luxury dropped her mood into a place of inferiority, until he reached over, caressing her with his fingertips and forging a connection between them once more.
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“For encouraging me to talk. I can say I’ve felt more alive since you walked into the hotel room tonight than I have in over a year.”
Those words sparked a flash of hope like the initial spark in a light bulb. Such a statement fed the part of her searching and clawing to be more adventurous. The sentence implied she’d inspired him the entire evening, and encompassed the insanity-inducing moments when she’d been at the mercy of his ropes and his clever fingers.
“How are we going to avoid attention when we get to your casino?”
He smiled. “A secret entrance. My father had it commissioned when the plans were first drawn. He wanted a way for him and his
family to come and go without being bombarded by gamblers and attention seekers.”
“Sounds like an amazing man.” How often did she deal with those suffering from parental neglect or absent father and mother figures? More times than she could count on fingers and toes.
“He had me beat. Always spent time with me and cared about my future.” His words were stunted and soft.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sig shook his head and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m better now and it’s been a year. Do you deal with a lot of death in your profession?”
Deflection, a well-known, well-practiced art by those who wanted to avoid their own emotions. She’d let him get away with it, for now. “Depends on how you define death. People, I say, are always facing some sort of death— whether personal or professional. It can be physical or emotional. It's non-discriminatory, really. When it comes to the dealing part, there is no right or wrong way, though I tell everyone peace terms must be set.”
Silence ruled for the rest of the trip. They pulled into the casino parking lot twenty minutes after leaving the hotel. Lauren undid her seat belt, moved to open the door, but Sig snapped his fingers, grabbing her attention. “I’ll get it.”
He displayed his dominance again, opening not only the car door, but also the secret entrance, after pressing in the required key code. An elevator waited on the other side and they rode in the black, leather-lined interior up two floors.
She accepted his proffered treatment and let him wrap her arm in his, escorting her down a sterile, ivory-colored hallway with a red patterned carpet. Another door, another code and they entered a dark room. Her eyes adjusted and flitted over the wood desk and bookshelf, cherry leather loveseat and chair. Those things failed to command the attention of the room, they weren’t the centerpiece. The objects served their purpose, but her focus turned toward the window overlooking the casino. People played slot machines and threw dice down a craps table. The glass spanned at least twenty-four feet and cast a glow over the whole room. Not enough to light it up like the casino floor, more like a nightlight projecting muted illumination. Sig didn’t say anything, and she heard the door shut, the lock twist and click.