Chapter 77
Darcy
I blink at my sketch pad several times, slowly lowering my arm to my side, the sketch I’ve been working on finally feeling finished. Tingles prickle in my hand as I drop the graphite into the tray with the rest.
The piece in front of me isn’t quite perfect, nowhere near good enough for display in a gallery, however it is perfect for me to work with and to display in my home.
Emmy is stunning like this. Hanging from the ring, hair falling down until it is barely an inch from the floor, eyes closed, mouth parted like she has just slipped over the boundary into ecstasy.
She was made to give herself over to the hold of the ropes.
I can’t wait to show her how exquisite she looks on paper.
Pushing my seat away from the easel, I stand and stretch out my back. If I hear a pop or two, I ignore them because I am not old.
A prickle of shame runs up my spine. I shouldn’t have bite-kissed her like that. I didn’t have her consent, and she wasn’t in any state to give it.
But fuck, she looked perfect, bound by my ropes, seconds away from tumbling headfirst into subspace. It’s not hard to imagine her in the exact same position, but without the modesty clothes.
Hopefully, one day I will get to see that.
For now, though, I need to get her down and untied.
After retrieving the red cushion, plus a few others, I place them directly beneath Emmy, arranging them so that once she is down, she will be reclined at a comfortable angle, then I get to work on lowering the supporting ropes.
I’ve done this a million times, so I allow my muscle memory to take over, easing her down with slow, controlled movements.
I’m not sure how much longer we can all keep giving her the space and time she needs.
But the fact that she asked me for information about us, our history, how we became us, that has to be good, right?
She’s trying to fill in the gaps, trying to make sense of our situation, trying to understand how she fits.
She wouldn’t be curious about us if she was done.
At least, that’s what I’m choosing to believe.
It doesn’t take me long to have her down on the pillow.
The way her body sags with the cushioning is an indicator of how deeply she has fallen into subspace.
If she has gone deep, I have a sneaking suspicion that the chocolate bar and soda I have waiting in my minibar are not going to be enough sustenance for her aftercare.
Pulling out my phone, I order some burritos, then start on the rest of the ropes. I try to keep it as clinical as I possibly can, not allowing my fingers to go on side quests or to linger in place, but it is fucking hard.
I know what that skin feels like. I know what it looks like covered in perspiration, hot and flushed right before she comes. I know what it tastes like.
Sighing at myself, I force my mind back to the task at hand, gently moving her body around so she isn’t left lying on the ropes.
She still hasn’t stirred by the time I start on her arms. Her limbs are cool, but not alarmingly so, and once I have her completely free, I move back down to her feet and begin gently massaging, starting with her toes and working my way back up her legs, making sure to work over any of the skin still holding a rope imprint.
It’s not until my hands are mid-thigh on the second leg that I hear a quiet whimper.
Her eyes are still closed, but there is a V between her eyebrows and her fingers twitch with every swipe of my thumb.
Dragging my hands back down toward her knee, I reverse and push up, smoothing over the anchor mark that seems to be causing her discomfort.
Emmy’s lashes start to flutter, and she lets out a tired moan.
If this was any other time, if our relationship was a fraction more repaired, I’d have her bundled up in my arms, using my entire body to soothe back the aches as she resurfaces.
But it isn’t and we aren’t, so I barely maintain contact as I skim over her outer thighs and hips before circling her waist and starting to massage again.
Kneeling by the cushion, I use my thumbs to soothe over her ribs, then gather the arm closest to me from where it rests by her shoulder.
Stretching it out, I start with her bicep and work my way down past her elbow, forearm, wrist, palm, and fingers, only to have her hand close around mine, halting my movement.
Looking up, I find two hazel eyes watching me.
Without breaking eye contact, I resume the massage up her forearm.
Her hand falls away from mine, her arm supported by my hands.
Once I make it up to her shoulder, I lower her arm to the cushion, stand, and go around to the other side of the cushion, then repeat the process all over again.
Emmy’s eyes never leave me.
I’m not sure if it is one-sided or not, but the swelling tension is oppressive. I focus my attention on my hands, giving this arm what is most likely a little too much attention, but I wasn’t ready for her to be awake yet.
I know we need to talk, but I thought I had a few more minutes to figure out the right words.
When there isn’t a single inch left of her arm to touch, I lower it onto the cushion.
My heart is fucking hammering in my chest as I slowly return my eyes to hers.
The intensity there is so damn overwhelming. She’s locked in on me like it’s the first time we are seeing each other. Like it’s the first time she is really seeing me.
Swallowing, I force myself to check in with her, to make sure that she is comfortable and doesn’t need anything while we wait for the food to arrive. “Hey, princess. How are you feeling?”
Emmy doesn’t blink, but her eyes focus on my mouth, watching each word fall from my lips. Her throat works over several swallows before she manages a small twitch of a smile. “Floaty but heavy.”
I make myself more comfortable on the floor, leaning into the pillow by her hip. “Are you feeling droppy?”
She shakes her head, eyes sliding shut, a dreamy expression on her face. “No.”
I’m starting to regret not having Hudson here.
Not because I need his help with aftercare, but I have a feeling that a little good cop, bad cop would be pretty perfect right now.
“Keep your eyes open for me, princess. No going back to sleep.” I reach out and stroke a finger down the back of her hand. “I’ve ordered some food and it will be here soon.”
And like speaking it out loud has summoned the delivery person, there is a knock at my studio door.
Emmy reopens her eyes, which are still a little hazy, but there is interest in them as well. “Food?”
Grinning, I get up. “Yeah, burritos.”
She hums a noise that lets me know I got us the right thing. I make quick work of getting the food and paying the delivery driver, adding a thank you to the admin staff for sending them straight up. One-handed, I grab two cans of Coke from the minibar, then go back to my girl.
Emmy has changed positions, rolling onto her side and curling a little in on herself. Her smile returns when she sees me, and my heart starts to soar but comes crashing down when she reaches out with grabby hands, making it very clear that she is more delighted in seeing the food than me.
Fragile male ego, me? No.
“I got a beef and a chicken,” I state dryly as I resume my previous spot on the floor and offer her both foil-wrapped rolls.
Her eyes are twinkling, just like when we offered her the six-month contract, like she can’t quite believe her luck. “Chicken?”
I check the handwritten notes on each and then pass her the chicken one. She immediately tears into the wrapping and takes a huge bite as soon as the tortilla is revealed. Her eyes widen in ecstasy and practically roll into the back of her head, moaning with heavy satisfaction.
Blood rushes to my cock so fucking fast, I almost need to trade places with her on the cushion. She swallows and takes another bite, putting me through that torture again.
Clearing my throat, I start unwrapping my burrito. “Good?”
“So good,” she replies, mouth full, eyes closed again.
I stay silent as I attempt to eat my burrito with Emmy’s pornographic soundtrack. My lack of self-preservation is noted, but I ignore the shit out of it and wonder if it would be possible to get my phone out and record the noises she is making for future listening.
Probably a bad idea.
Which reminds me—I still need to apologize for earlier. The thought takes some of the edge off the need burning through my veins.
“Done,” she declares with half the burrito gone.
Stuffing my balled trash into the bag it came in, I take hers and do the same.
“Ready to try standing?” I ask, not making a move to stand myself.
Emmy lets out a heavy sigh. “Not really, but I should probably get going soon. What time is it?”
Her eyes glance over my shoulder to the windows, which are now reflecting the light of the room back to us, the sun having set while we were eating.
Pulling out my phone, I check the time. “It’s after seven.”
Her eyes widen, in shock this time. “Long session.”
I tip my head from side to side and offer an explanation. “Actually, the modeling session itself was shorter than some of our other sessions. Being your first full-body suspension, I didn’t want to keep you bound for too long. You took a while to come back, which is fine. I would never rush you.”
Her lower lip disappears into her mouth, something turning over in her head. I give her the time she needs, waiting her out until she is ready to let the words out.
Luckily, I don’t have to wait too long.
“Thank you,” she starts, but must see the confusion on my face, because she clarifies, “for answering my questions.”
“Ah.” I nod, my heart suddenly pounding again. I push to standing, an antsy feeling flooding my limbs, and offer her a hand. “Of course. It was your favor. You could have asked for just about anything, and I would have given it to you.”
Emmy takes my hand and allows me to pull her up. Grasping both her elbows, I hold her while she steadies herself.
“What if I’d asked you to purchase me a car?” she asks playfully, a smirk on her face, like she can’t possibly believe that’s something I would do for her.
I shrug. “Then I would have bought you a car. Something small and agile. A MINI Cooper, maybe?”
Her mouth pops open. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” I reply, voice as deadpan as I can make it. “Princess, if it’s something you want, I’ll get it for you if I can. I’ll always get you what you need.”
Emmy searches my eyes, like she is trying to determine if what I’m saying is true. It is. Every word.
She lowers her eyes, and I wonder if I’ve said too much. Her silence plays havoc with my nerves, but I remain still, waiting.
I’m rewarded when she turns her arms over in my hands and her fingers wrap around my forearms, eyes turning back up to mine as she looks at me through her lashes.
“What if I’d asked to tie you up for a change?” The impish little flirt from that day in my office on campus, when she stripped down and bratted her way into my classroom, is back.
It’s my turn to smirk down at her, because two can play at this game. “Princess, if you want to tie me up and have your way with me, I’m one hundred percent here for that.”
Bubbles of happiness explode in my chest as I watch what are clearly dirty thoughts filtering through her mind. Her eyes become unfocused, and that beautiful lower lip disappears again before a shiver rolls down her spine and she comes back to the room.
“Ah, well, okay, then,” she murmurs, clearing her throat as she takes a step back and unlinks our arms.
A dull ache pulses through my center at the loss of contact, but it’s more than I’ve had in weeks. Baby steps.
“I’m just going to…” She trails off as she tosses a thumb over her shoulder, and I nod in reply, still working through the ache.
I’ve barely finished coiling the ropes when she reappears fully dressed and hair in a messy bun that’s already threatening to beat its hair tie.
Dropping the pink length onto the floor, I stride over to her, not really sure what my plan is, but knowing I don’t want this goodbye to be her running from me again. “Do you have all your things?”
Emmy nods. “Yeah, I’ve got the nude set as well. I’ll come dressed in them on Saturday.”
“Okay,” I reply, searching for anything to prolong our conversation. “You know, you can come back on other days, if you like.”
Emmy’s eyes light up, but a cautiousness soon follows. “Yeah?”
A buzz of excitement fills me at where this totally random idea is taking me, and I bounce on the balls of my feet. “Yeah, there are two spaces downstairs that are currently vacant, and the studio next to mine will be free next month.”
The want that takes over her features is so strong and vivid that I’m completely shocked when her expression shutters, her desire melting away, and she shakes her head. “N-no, no. Thanks, but no. My art is just a hobby. I need to concentrate on getting my degree.”
“Emmy—” I start, but she cuts me off with a quick smile and a sidestep.
“Thanks, though. Anyway, my ride will be here in a minute, so I’m going to get going. See you on Saturday.”
Before I can stop her, she’s out the door and gone. As the door clicks shut behind her, I realize I never apologized. Although, she did fantasize about tying me up, so maybe she isn’t upset about it?
I’m still going to have to tell the others.
Dropping my head back, I stare at the ceiling. “Fuck.”
But then a smile creeps onto my face; she fantasized about tying me up.
She still wants me.