SIX #2
He was already there, standing near the bed, adjusting something on the canopy. The skeletal mask gleamed faintly in the light, his black eyes turning suddenly to fix on me. But my focus was drawn to the rippling muscles of his naked back.
The way they shifted with each precise movement was hypnotic, a display of power that left me almost rooted in place. Every flex of muscle, every motion struck with a sweet and devastating purpose.
I forgot why I was here. All I could do was stare, mesmerised by the strength carved into every inch of him.
Silent, but somehow louder than words, his presence filled the room – tangible and overwhelming, commanding me without a single word.
My heels clicked softly against the floor as I approached.
My breath stuttered with every inch I closed between us.
My gaze fell briefly to the chair and the straps hanging loosely from its sides.
The sight sent a jolt of nervous energy through me, but I kept walking, my back straight, my chin high.
I stopped in front of it. Silent. Waiting. I could feel his attention assessing me already. My breathing was too shallow, the restlessness building in my knees, but I didn’t move. I knew better than to speak first.
Angling his head slightly – without a word – he lifted a hand and beckoned me closer with two fingers.
As if drawn by an invisible thread, I moved, my gait slow, my pulse louder in my ears.
He dipped his head as I approached, his height only intensifying his dominance. At my five-foot-three, his size was a reminder of just how easily he could overpower me.
His hand came up, fingers curling around my chin with a firm but careful grip, tilting my face upwards. The cold, polished surface of the mask loomed just above me, the scleral contacts giving away nothing of the man behind it.
He stayed like that for a moment, silent and unnervingly still, until his thumb brushed over my lips. The movement was slow, almost reverent, smearing the crimson lipstick with the faintest pressure. My lips parted instinctively, a soft gasp escaped.
Then he turned, his large hand guiding me by the elbow towards the bed.
My knees pressed into the mattress as I climbed onto it, the softness beneath me doing little to calm the electric charge between us.
I knelt there, breathless, as he reached up to the shackles hanging from the canopy – the ones he’d been adjusting when I first walked in.
‘We’re stepping up tonight,’ he rasped, the chain clinking as he pulled it taut. A shackle hung inches from my face, its metal catching the low light. ‘What’s the word?’
I froze, breath catching as the meaning sank in. My gaze followed the cold gleam of the links anchored to the beam.
‘Think carefully, little angel,’ he added. ‘After these go on, you’re mine.’
The shackle wasn’t just a prop – it was a line. A line I hadn’t crossed before.
My chest pulled tight. For a second, panic crackled through it – too sudden, too fast, too much. What if I couldn’t handle it? Travis used to—
But he wasn’t Travis, was he?
I remembered last time. How Ghost had handled me like I might break. How every command had been swathed in care. His strong hands had been steady. Patient.
I exhaled slowly, grounding myself in that memory instead. He hadn’t failed me then. And I wasn’t about to fail myself now.
I reached out, hand trembling, and curled my fingers around the metal.
He waited. Watched, as I felt the cold links beneath my fingers, allowing the silence to aid me in making the choice.
The click was deafening as I fastened it myself – my answer given in steel.
I wish I could have seen his face in the prolonged quiet.
He moved.
The metal clicked softly as he clasped another shackle around my left wrist. Each movement was calm and calculated, his hands brushing against my skin just enough to make my breath stall.
My arms hung suspended, leaving me stretched but supported, the faint tug of the restraints awakening something raw and dangerous inside me I hadn’t even known existed.
I wasn’t afraid – which was concerning. I should have been afraid. This man… I’d seen him once for half an hour with his mask gleaming and his knife as sharp as his intent. And yet here I was again, back in his claws. Wanting them to dig into me.
And then he moved lower. My focus had been so fixed on his hands at the canopy that I hadn’t noticed the straps at the base of the bed until he pulled them forward.
Slowly, methodically, he looped them over each knee, securing them with the same care.
My legs spread slightly as the leather cinched against my skin, locking me in place, leaving me open.
Cool air kissed the burning skin between my thighs. I hadn’t worn the underwear this time. What was the point?
My breath was coming faster as I knelt there, my body stretched and bound, entirely at his mercy. The anticipation was unbearable, like a coiled spring of tension and need ready to break.
He stepped back, his head slanting a little as he regarded me in silence.
My lips parted, desperate for something – anything – but no words came. His gaze alone was enough to make me shiver, and I knew, without a doubt, that I was his to control.
If he didn’t touch me soon, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could take it.
The air in the room seemed to grow thicker as he fished out something small from the depths of the duffel bag – a small box, unassuming in size but heavy with implication.
It fitted snugly in his palm, and when he flipped it open, I caught a glimpse of sleek metal glinting inside.
He extracted a silver ring, slipping it onto his forefinger with ease.
Then, tearing open a vacuum-sealed pouch, he pulled out another small and delicate object – something that looked like a clip or even a hairpin.
He raised his head, the mask tilting slightly to take in my reaction. And then he began to move towards me.
He held my gaze for a beat, silent, the question unspoken but heavy in the air.
I nodded, my breath faltering. ‘Green.’
Stopping just short of the foot of the bed, he loomed over me like a shadow made flesh. Lifting his hand, he brought the clasp close to my face.
It nestled between his middle and forefinger, cool and smooth – almost delicate, but there was something in the way he held it that made my stomach twist in anticipation.
Then he touched my lips with it. The metal brushed against my pebbling skin as he traced a slow, agonising path from my jawline to my neck, down to the collarbone. Then lower, circling over the sensitive bud of my breast – the faint pressure enough to coax a shudder out of me.
I watched him, wide-eyed, every nerve-ending alive with anticipation as his hand travelled lower, leaving trails of heat in its wake.
‘Safe word?’ he asked, voice frayed, gravelly. The heat in me flared, already coiled too tight. Right on the edge – barely caged.
Fuck… what happens when the leash snaps?
‘God, Ghost… Green,’ I gasped, the words tumbling out like a prayer.
When he finally reached the slick warmth between my thighs, my knees shook.
‘Oh… little angel,’ he rumbled. The vibrations seeping into me. ‘Where is the lace?’
A moan escaped my lips, unbidden and desperate.
In an instant, his other hand was at my throat, delicately keeping my chin angled so he could watch every reaction play across my features.
‘It was…’ I tried, failing to find my voice as he spread my folds, positioning the clip over the most sensitive part of me.
‘Hm?’ he murmured into my ear, the mask muffling the sound.
‘It was in the way.’
He chuckled low and slow.
The steel pressed harder against the delicate bundle of my nerves, startling me, and I gasped, my gaze snapping to his.
‘What…?’ The word quivered on my lips, my voice barely audible, my mind too scrambled to form a full sentence.
He didn’t answer. Just stepped back with an almost lazy grace, retreating to the chair I’d occupied last time. Sinking down, he sprawled like a predator at rest. Only then did he reach for his belt, sliding the leather free with aching slowness.
The button. The zip. Every sound a countdown.
And when he freed himself, I couldn’t stop my mouth from falling open. He was thick, rigid, unrestrained. The sight sparked a hunger that burned through me – but I wanted to mirror his control. So I held my breath.
‘I don’t want a sound from you,’ he commanded, lifting his ringed finger, the silver glint catching the low light as he pressed the button.
For a moment, nothing happened, but then he swivelled the circular piece slightly, and I felt it – a soft, pulsing vibration between my legs that sent shockwaves through my body.
A broken gasp tore from my throat, my back arching involuntarily as the sensation intensified. My eyes snapped to his, wide and disbelieving, but his gaze was unreadable behind the mask.
He stroked himself as I whimpered and writhed against the chains, a rough sound breaking loose from him. The way his hand slid along his length matched every shift of my hips.
The metal cuffs bit into my wrists as I arched again, helpless under the rhythm he drew from us both.
His chin dipped slightly and I felt it – what drew his attention – the glistening trail running along the inside of my thigh.
A low sound dripped from him, something animalistic. He was watching every tremble, every twitch of muscle beneath my skin – memorising it, owning it.
‘Be a good girl and come for me, Scarlett,’ he growled, the sound grating low and raw, its edges torn with his own rising need.
My gaze locked onto him, and the sight only tuned up what was building inside me.