Chapter 49 Emily
EMILY
The rope moved over my skin like water.
I knelt on the floor of our hotel bedroom, wearing nothing but black lace panties and a blindfold, my breathing slow and deep.
My mind had gone quiet somewhere between the third and fourth pass of rope across my shoulders, and now there was just this: his hands, the rope, the steady rhythm of him working.
The jute was softer than I’d expected, warm from his hands as he wrapped it around my arms and bound them behind my back. I felt the pressure increase as he secured the knot, then the whisper of rope sliding over my skin as he brought it forward over my collarbone, under my breasts, around my ribs.
Each pass was deliberate and careful, his fingers brushing against me as he worked, sending little sparks of heat through my body.
I was so fucking turned on I could barely think straight.
My pulse thrummed in my ears and between my legs, and everywhere the rope touched, my skin felt hypersensitive, alive in a way that made me want to arch into his touch.
But I stayed still, letting him work and trusting him completely.
The rope tightened across my chest and I sucked in a breath as the pressure sent a bolt of pleasure straight to my core. Cam’s hands stilled for a moment.
“You good?” His voice rippled over me like hot molasses.
“Yeah.” The word came out breathy. “Really good.”
“What’s the safe word?”
“Green for go, red for stop, amber for slow down.”
He made a sound that might have been satisfaction and continued with more rope. When he finally stopped, I was floating.
I heard him move behind me, then his hands were on the blindfold, gently lifting it away.
Soft light flooded my vision and I blinked, adjusting, and then I saw it in the mirror.
He’d positioned me directly in front of the full-length mirror and now I could see everything: the intricate rope work covering my torso and crisscrossing over my stomach and chest in geometric patterns, my arms bound behind me, my breasts framed by rope.
Each loop and knot was placed with deliberation, transforming me into something beautiful and bound and his.
And the scars were right there, visible through the gaps in the rope work, pale lines against my skin that told the story I’d tried so hard to hide for so long.
My throat tightened. “I thought you were going to cover them.”
Cam’s hands settled on my shoulders. They were heavy and warm, a solid anchor against the flighty panic in my chest.
“There’s no need to cover them.”
His fingers traced down my arms and followed the rough texture of the rope until his palms flattened against my stomach. He didn’t avoid the damaged skin. He sought it out. His thumbs brushed over the raised lines, light and deliberate, effectively rewriting the map of my body.
I stopped breathing. I couldn’t look away from the sight of his large, capable hands claiming the parts of me I hated most. He touched me like I was precious art rather than damaged goods.
He pressed a kiss to my neck, just below my ear. Then my shoulder. Then that sensitive spot behind my ear that always made me shiver.
“Open your legs for me.”
I obeyed without thinking, my knees sliding apart on the carpet. The movement made the rope shift against my skin, tightening in some places, loosening in others, and I bit back a moan.
His hand trailed down over my stomach, following the rope patterns until his fingers reached the waistband of my panties. He didn’t rush, just kept touching me while his other hand came up to palm my breast through the rope.
In the mirror, I watched his big hand cup me through the black lace. Watched his fingers press against the damp fabric, and felt my face flush at the evidence of how turned on I was.
“You have no fucking clue how hot you are, do you?” His voice was gravelly against my ear, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
Before I could answer, his fingers slipped beneath the lace.
The first touch of his fingers against my clit sent a jolt through my entire body. I gasped, my eyes trying to close, but his other hand left my breast to grip my jaw gently.
“Eyes open. Watch.”
I forced my eyes to stay on the mirror. On the sight of his hand moving beneath my panties, his fingers stroking me in slow, deliberate circles. On the way my chest heaved with each breath, making the rope shift and tighten. On the flush spreading across my skin.
His other hand returned to my breast, fingers toying with my nipple. The sensation shot straight to where his other hand was working, and I moaned.
“That’s it.” He kissed my neck again, his fingers never stopping their movement. “Look how beautiful you are like this.”
Every slide of his fingers created a slick, wet sound that echoed in the quiet room. It was obscene. It was perfect. The friction was a live wire sparking against my nerve endings, dragging a cry from my throat that I couldn’t suppress.
He adjusted his angle, two fingers sliding down to press inside me while his thumb worked my clit. In the mirror, I saw my mouth fall open, saw the way my body arched into his touch despite the rope holding me in place.
“Fuck.” His voice was raspier now, more strained. The hand on my breast squeezed, rolled my nipple between his fingers. “This is what being tied up does to you? Knowing you’re completely at my mercy?”
“Yes.” A pathetic, needy whimper dripped from my lips.
The mirror captured it all. The pale lash of scars, the intricate knots of the rope, the flush of arousal blooming across my chest like watercolor on canvas. It was a masterpiece of carnality, and I was the subject.
The sight of it, combined with the relentless pressure of his fingers, pushed me right to the edge. I stared at our reflection, at the concentration on his face as he worked my body like he’d memorized every response.
“Cam.” His name came out broken, desperate.
“I’ve got you. Let go.”
His thumb pressed harder against my clit and I shattered.
The orgasm ripped through me, making my whole body shake against the restraints.
I watched myself come apart in the mirror, watched the way my face transformed, the way my body moved, the way Cam held me through it all, his fingers never stopping until I was boneless and gasping.
When the aftershocks finally faded, he slowly withdrew his hand. In the mirror, I watched him bring his fingers to his mouth, watched him taste me, and felt a fresh wave of heat roll through my sated body.
He pulled me back against his chest, arms wrapped around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder as we both looked at my reflection.
“We don’t cover the scars, do we?”
All I could do was shake my head, tears pricking at my eyes for reasons I couldn’t fully name.
He kissed my temple, his arms tightening around me. “Good girl.” He paused, his lips brushing against my hair. “What color are you at?”
I locked eyes with him in the glass. “Emerald.”
He smiled against my skin. “Of course you’d give me a shade.”
I shifted slightly in his arms, turning my head to look at him instead of our reflection. His eyes were dark, his pupils were blown wide, and his hard cock pressed against my back through his jeans.
“Will you do something for me?”
“Anything.” He said it instantly, without hesitation.
My heart hammered against my ribs, and I had to drag in air to give me courage. But I wanted this, more than anything; “I want you to fuck my mouth.”
His breath caught and I felt him tense behind me. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at me with an intensity that made my skin flush hot.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He stood slowly and I felt the loss of his warmth immediately. Then he was moving around to stand in front of me.
From this angle, kneeling at his feet with my arms bound behind my back, I’d never felt more vulnerable. More exposed. But I’d also never felt safer, because this was Cam, and he’d proven over and over that I could trust him with every part of me.
He reached down and cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “You tell me if it’s too much. Any color but green and we stop. Understand?”
“I understand.”
He held my gaze for another long moment, then his hands went to his belt. The sound of the buckle, the rasp of his zipper, made my mouth go dry with anticipation. He freed himself from his jeans and I couldn’t help staring at the thick length of him, already hard and flushed dark with arousal.
He wrapped one hand around the base, the other sliding into my hair. Not pulling, just holding. Grounding.
“Open.”
I parted my lips and he guided himself inside, slow and careful. The taste of him flooded my tongue and I hummed in appreciation, the vibration making him groan.
“Fuck, Emily.” His fingers tightened in my hair.
The look on his face nearly undid me. There was hunger there, yes, but also tenderness, reverence, like he couldn’t quite believe I was real.
He started to move, shallow thrusts that let me adjust to the feeling of him in my mouth. His hand in my hair guided me gently, and I relaxed into it, letting him set the pace while I focused on breathing through my nose and taking him as deep as I could.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Just like that, sweetheart. So fucking perfect.”
My fingers twitched, desperate to run up his thighs and grip the hard muscle there, but the rope held fast. The helplessness was a drug.
Being unable to touch him only made the sensation of him in my mouth more consuming.
I could taste the salt and musk, feel the way his stomach muscles rippled against my cheek, and I was drowning in it.
His other hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking along my jawline in a gesture so tender it made me ache. The contrast between the raw physicality of what we were doing and the gentleness in his touch undid something inside me.
“So good for me,” he breathed, his hips moving a fraction deeper. “Taking me so well.”