Chapter 56
Istare at the door my friend just exited. There is no way he just walked away from this conversation. Liv is a whimpering mess in my lap and I’m stuck. Do I console my girl or go after my friend? My pulse is fluttering and my head is starting to spin. I have no idea what to do.
And then the door opens again. Archer steps inside and he has a black, velvet bag with him. My eyes widen and Liv's head snaps up to him. Her cries have slowed but her breathing is heavy.
He silently steps up to the edge of the bed and tosses the bag into her lap. She looks down at it and then back up to Archer. Neither of them say anything. It’s so quiet for so long. Finally, Liv looks down at the bag and rubs the fabric between her fingers.
“Open it.” Archer chokes out. His voice is strained. This is a lot for him. He is about to show her everything that he has hidden from everyone except me. Even Rafe doesn’t truly know this secret.
I place my hand on hers before she can get the bag open. She looks up at me concerned. I want to warn her. I want to tell her that this could break everything. But I’m not sure I could walk away from either of them if this doesn’t play out. So I just remove my hand and say nothing.
Liv takes the corded tie in her hands and undoes the basic knot. She sticks a few fingers into the cinch and gently loosens it. My heart is about to beat out of my chest. I can only imagine how Archer feels in this moment. He hasn’t wanted to show this to anyone before. Never.
Liv reaches her delicate hand inside the bag and her breath hitches. She slowly retrieves her hand, holding a length of black rope, coiled neatly, dark as ink against her pale skin.
Archer’s gaze sharpens.
The rope isn’t coarse like something from a hardware store — it’s smoother, softer, almost luxurious. The tight weave gleams faintly in the low light, catching each subtle movement as it unfurls in her fingers. Thick enough to be strong, yet pliable, bending easily as she tests its weight.
The way she holds it… careful, almost reverent. Her thumb drags slowly along its length, tracing the fibers, savoring the texture. It folds effortlessly over her palm, draping like silk but carrying the quiet promise of restraint.
A knot tightens in my chest. I’m not sure if she knows what it’s for. She rubs her finger tips along the rope again, just feeling it. Her gaze returns to Archer.
Archer’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and steady. “Do you know what that is?”
Liv shifts slightly on my lap, her weight warm and soft against me. She looks at Archer, brows drawn a little, a faint crease of confusion between them.
“It’s... a rope,” she says carefully, like maybe it’s a trick question.
I can almost see Archer fight back a sigh — the way his jaw tightens, his eyelids flutter like he’s this close to rolling his eyes but reins it in at the last second.
“Yes,” he says, voice clipped but patient, “but it’s not just any rope.”
Her gaze drops again, back to it, fingers brushing over the black coil like she’s trying to figure it out. Contemplating.
She looks so serious, so quiet in this moment — perched on my lap, still flushed from crying, hair falling forward, fingertips dragging slowly along the soft black braid.
She doesn’t get it yet.
I reach forward and take it gently from her hands. My fingers brush hers as I do, deliberate but unhurried.
Without a word, I guide her wrists together in front of her, loose and delicate, then wrap the rope slowly around them — not tight, not tied, just enough for her to feel it.
I watch her face as I do it.
The way her lips part slightly, breath hitching again.
The way she finally starts to understand.
And even though I’m helping her piece it together, my pulse kicks up — because there’s something about this. About her. About holding her wrists that way while she sits in my lap, confused but curious, vulnerable but utterly trusting.
I glance at Archer, catching the way he’s watching too — sharp, focused, waiting for her to get there.
Liv’s face twists, frustration curling through her features. Then she suddenly slams her hands down into her lap, the loose coils of rope sliding from her wrists as her shoulders tense tight.
Her eyes glisten again, fresh tears pooling fast. “I don’t understand what this has to do with why you don’t want me,” she blurts, voice cracking at the end, raw and breaking.
Archer exhales hard, rolling his shoulders and neck like he’s trying to shake off tension, licking his lips as if buying himself a few more seconds before he speaks. He rubs the back of his neck, the muscles there pulling tight, before finally sitting on the edge of the bed.
His voice is softer this time, almost careful. “I do want you, Liv,” he says, turning to meet her gaze. His eyes darken, something deeper swimming there. “I want you in ways that I’ve never wanted anyone before. In ways I’ve never taken anyone before.”
Then he falls quiet.
And for a moment I’m staring at him, at the rope, at Liv still curled in my lap — but my mind drifts, unbidden, back to the first time I saw that carved hole in the footboard of Archer’s bed.
I’d noticed it right away back then, curiosity gnawing at me. I’d asked — blunt, amused — what the hell he used it for.
At the time I figured it was… well… something pathetic. A teenage boy thing. And I’d teased him for it — “You can’t be that desperate, Archer.”
He’d laughed at me, shaking his head, but not in denial. In amusement. “No, Silas,” he’d said. “It’s not for that.”
And then he’d shown me.
He’d grabbed that same black velvet bag — the very same one Liv just pulled from — and drawn out that same black rope.
Calm as anything, he’d looped it through that hole, working his fingers with practiced ease, knotting it with precision. Then he explained.
Bondage.
It was the first time I’d heard anything about it — the first time I’d even thought about it. And God, I’d been intrigued. Captivated by how precise, how deliberate, how controlled it all was.
But even then, Archer had brushed it off with a smirk. “Doesn’t matter, though. Girls aren’t into that,” he’d told me.
His voice had sounded certain. Absolute.
But here we are now. And I can’t stop watching the way Liv holds herself. The way Archer is watching her, like she’s unraveling every lie he’s ever told himself about this exact thing.
Archer’s voice pulls me back, cutting through the haze of memory.
“I’m afraid you won’t accept me,” he says quietly, almost too quiet — but the weight of those words lingers heavy in the air between them.
Liv freezes for half a heartbeat — and then scoffs, sharp and disbelieving.
Even I blink, caught off guard by her reaction, and I can feel Archer stiffen too, thrown by it.
She turns fully toward him now, still sitting in my lap, her voice trembling but fierce as she snaps, “Have I ever made you feel that way? Have I not done everything you’ve asked… everything you’ve commanded?”
Her words hit him harder than anything I could have said.
Archer’s gaze drops instantly, shame written all over his face. He stares down at his hands, his fingers curling inward, guilt tightening his shoulders.
Because she’s right.
Completely, devastatingly right.
He swallows hard, but when he speaks again, his voice is softer, almost breaking. “You have, Liv… you have.”
A pause.
Then he lifts his head, eyes dark and conflicted, and adds, “But it’s not just that.”
That stops her.
I can feel the tension coiling through her body, the confusion sharpening behind her wet lashes.
And then her voice is smaller, almost pleading now: “What could be so bad?” she asks. I can hear the tightening of her throat as she forces the next question out, her pain raw, vulnerable, cutting straight through me as I sit there holding her. “What did I do… that makes you not want me like that?”