Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Here we go,” he says, looping one of the ropes around one of the vertical spindles on the headboard and then sliding my hand through. “Grab here,” he says, showing me where to hold the loop, before he expertly cinches the rope to the spindle.
When he’s done, I experiment with the tightness. The rope is secure, but it’s not going to hurt me.
“You solid?” he asks quietly.
I nod jerkily.
“You’ll let me know if this isn’t working for you,” he says, moving around to the other side of the bed to secure my left wrist.
“Okay,” I whisper. It’s wild having my hands tethered like this. And yet I’m not panicking. My heart is doing gymnastics, sure, but not out of fear. It’s exhilaration. It’s the thrum of being seen so clearly. All my usual defenses are blown to shreds.
Because Eric didn’t laugh at this idea. And he didn’t hesitate. He just remembered that dumb, flirty thing I said—and then he made it real. It gives me the ridiculous, overwhelming urge to tell him everything I’ve never said out loud.
Like: I’ve never trusted anyone else to do this for me.
Or: I don’t usually let go like this.
Or maybe just: I really, really like you.
But I zip my lips together and watch him through my lashes instead. He’s focused, methodical. His hands brush my skin with deliberate care, and even now—when I’m technically at his mercy—he makes me feel powerful.
“Still good?” he asks, his voice low, warm.
I nod again, throat too tight to answer. But I am. Good, I mean. Better than good.
I’ve never felt so much like myself. And maybe that’s the wildest part of all.
Meanwhile, Eric is also living his best life. With my hands secure, he climbs back onto the bed—all golden skin and ash blond hair and a jutting erection. He smiles wickedly down at me from all fours, like this is something he does every Friday. And maybe it is.
“You’re awfully good with those knots,” I point out.
He gives me a smirk. “I took a lot of sailing lessons as a kid. Preteen me had no idea how useful that would one day be.”
I let out a little yelp of laughter.
“You know what else would be fun?” he asks. “How do you feel about blindfolds?”
I blink up at him. “Um… I don’t know?” Honestly, it seems like a crime to be in the same room as Eric and not admire his naked body. “I wouldn’t mind trying it.”
He’s off the bed and rummaging in his suitcase a moment later. “My bow tie is really too short for this,” he says. “But I have something else that would work.” He holds up a necktie—red with a gold chain design across the silk.
“That’s Hermès,” I blurt out as he dangles it over my head.
“Yeah, and I can’t think of a better use for it,” he says, slipping it under my head and preparing to tie one more knot. The silk slides coolly across my skin, settling over my eyes, blocking out the sunlight and Eric’s beautiful face.
My world narrows to sensation—the whisper of fabric against my skin, the sound of his breathing, the weight of the mattress shifting as he moves. Without sight, everything else becomes amplified. The scent of his cologne mixed with the salt air from the open window. The brush of his fingertips as he adjusts the tie, making sure it’s comfortable but secure.
“There,” he murmurs, and I feel his breath against my ear. “How’s that?”
“Different,” I admit, testing the silk with a small shake of my head. It stays put, soft but effective. “But comfortable enough.”
“Perfect.” His fingertips trail down my arm. “Because now I get to surprise you.”
“Okay.” Except he already has. Every minute of this weekend has been a surprise.
But this is something else entirely. I get goose bumps as his fingertips continue their journey down my arm to the place where the rope holds my wrist. I feel his gaze on me, even if I can’t see it.
“Breathe,” he whispers from very nearby. I exhale suddenly. “Good girl.”
But I hold my breath again as a kiss ghosts over my collarbone, so soft I almost think I imagined it. I wait, straining to guess what he’ll do next.
A kiss brushes the inside of my wrist, just above the rope. My breath catches, and I feel him smile against my skin before he pulls away again.
He turns it into a game—surprising me with each new point of contact. His lips find the arch of my foot, then my ankle. I gasp and then quiver with surprise. A firm hand settles on my calf, holding me still. The kiss that follows lands on my knee, gentle and warm.
He’s silent, though. Stealthy. And it’s a mind fuck—I’m hyperaware of every inch of my skin, waiting, wondering where he’ll touch me next. The anticipation is almost unbearable. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.