Chapter 14
The bedroom is dim when we slip inside, firelight still flickering low in the fireplace. The storm hums faintly beyond the windows, but in here it's calm. Close. Like the world’s pressing pause just for us.
Sam doesn’t lead me to the bed. He guides me, hand at the small of my back, fingers warm through the fabric of his sweatshirt. When we reach the edge, he pulls the covers down with one hand and gestures toward the space with a soft smile.
I climb in, curling onto my side, and he joins me a moment later. We face each other in the glow of the fire, legs brushing beneath the covers. Neither of us speaks at first.
Because we don’t need to.
His fingers find mine under the blanket, lacing them together before his other hand drifts to rest on my waist. His thumb strokes gently over the thin cotton, over skin that feels far too sensitive for something so innocent.
“You warm enough?” he asks, voice low, almost a whisper.
I nod. “You’re a furnace. ”
He chuckles, leaning in just enough to kiss the corner of my mouth.
It’s soft.
Barely there.
But it lights something up inside me.
My hand drifts up to the collar of his flannel, fingers toying with the open edge. I feel the heat of his chest beneath, the slow, steady beat of his heart. And when I inch closer, the movement is inevitable.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, but still slow. Still careful. Like he’s memorizing me. His hand slides up beneath the sweatshirt, fingertips brushing bare skin at my waist, my ribs, up the slope of my back.
I shiver.
Not from cold.
From how seen I feel.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his forehead resting against mine. “This okay?”
“More than okay,” I whisper, voice unsteady.
My hand slips beneath the edge of his shirt now, palm flattening against his chest. He’s warm, solid. The heat between us curls tighter as our breathing syncs, both of us trying not to get carried away and both of us failing.
His lips return to mine, and this kiss is deeper. More open. My tongue brushes his, and he groans low in his throat like it undoes him. His hand slips higher under my shirt, tracing the underside of my breast, but never quite touching it fully.
I arch into him. Just a little.
He breaks the kiss with a shaky breath, eyes dark and heavy. “Charlie…”
“I know,” I whisper, thumb brushing his cheek. “I feel it too. ”
We stay wrapped in each other, breath mingling, hands wandering just enough to tease but not enough to break the spell.
And when he kisses my neck, slowly, carefully, I let out the softest sound and hold him closer.
Because this?
This is the kind of foreplay that ruins you from everything else.
His mouth is at my neck, lips trailing slow kisses along the curve of my throat, and I feel the shift. That barely there moment where everything changes.
His breath hitches, his hand stills beneath the sweatshirt.
“Charlie,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, like gravel soaked in honey. “If we keep going…”
I nod before he finishes.
“I want to.”
His eyes search mine for the briefest moment, and whatever he sees there, it undoes him. He kisses me again, slower than before, deeper, his hand cupping the back of my neck like I’m something precious. When he pulls away, his voice is wrecked.
“Wait here.”
I blink, breathless, dazed. “Where are you?—?”
“Tack room,” he says, already halfway to the door. “Don’t move.”
He disappears, and the moment stretches, anticipation curling through my belly.
My skin buzzes with it. By the time he returns, something has shifted in him.
His movements are more deliberate. The coil of soft, natural rope in his hands makes my heart stutter, breath catching low in my throat.
It’s not just the sight of it. It’s the way he handles it.
He pauses at the edge of the bed, eyes locked on me .
“This is just for restraint,” he says, the low rasp of his voice making heat pulse between my legs. “Not for pain. You say the word, and I’ll stop everything.”
I nod, already breathless. “I trust you.”
His jaw tics. He swears softly under his breath, like my words hit somewhere deep. “Fuck,” he murmurs. “You saying that? That means the world to me, darlin’. You have no idea.”
He kneels onto the mattress, fingers brushing my wrist, dragging heat in their wake. “Let’s get you out of this shirt.”
I lift my arms without hesitation, letting him strip the fabric over my head. My bra follows with a flick of his fingers, and the way his eyes drag over me makes my skin tingle.
“Give me your hands,” he says, voice low and steady.
I offer them, wrists up, and the moment the rope touches my skin, I shiver. Not from fear. From want.
He binds me slowly, methodically looping the soft cotton around my wrists with the kind of care that feels more intimate than any kiss. The knot is firm, final. A gentle tug confirms I’m not going anywhere.
And God, that turns me on more than I ever imagined.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, fingertips trailing down my arms.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “More than.”
He leans down, brushing his mouth against the shell of my ear.
“Good,” he growls. “Because I’ve been fantasizing about this since the moment you opened that smart mouth of yours.”
His hands drift lower, palms rough against my bare skin as they cup my breasts. I moan as he rolls my nipples between his fingers, teasing them into stiff peaks, each flick sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth down my neck. “And now? You’re all mine.”
His lips trail lower with a slow, unhurried wet kiss over my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, down my stomach. Each press of his mouth sets me on fire. Each pause makes me ache.
When he finally settles between my thighs, his hands grip my knees, spreading me wide. His eyes flick up, dark and hungry, a wolf about to feast.
“Bet you wish you had free hands,” he says, that wicked grin spreading. “But trust me, baby. You’re not gonna need ’em.”
Then his mouth is on me.
The first swipe of his tongue sends my back arching, my cry caught in my throat. I tug at the ropes instinctively, needing something to hold, something to ground me, but I have nothing. All I can do is the feel his mouth and the pressure of his tongue.
He eats me like I’m his last goddamn meal.
Slow at first. Tasting me, learning me. Then deeper. Harder. His tongue flicks, circles, presses, and I can’t stop the way my hips roll against his face.
But I’m bound.
Helpless.
At his mercy.
And that makes everything more intense.
My thighs tremble, my toes curl, and I’m babbling his name between desperate moans. The pleasure builds fast, sharp, and blinding and when it breaks, it crashes like a goddamn tidal wave.
I scream. I shatter .
Despite that, he doesn’t stop.
He licks me through it, slows only when I’m trembling too hard to take more, kisses the inside of my thigh like he just won a prize.
When he finally lifts his head, his mouth glistening, eyes full of possession and satisfaction, I’m ruined.
I’m still gasping when Sam kisses the inside of my thigh, his mouth lingering like he’s not done. Like he’s just getting started.
Spoiler: he is.
He runs his hands up my legs, slow and lazy, then presses a kiss just below my navel before crawling up my body. His lips brush my ear.
“You’re trembling,” he whispers, voice all smoke and sin.
“Y-you think?” I manage, still breathless, my wrists straining slightly against the rope. Not because I want out. Because I want more.
He smiles against my cheek. I feel it.
“Oh, I’m just getting started, darlin’,” he drawls.
His mouth returns to mine. Soft at first, then deeper, messier, hungrier. I can taste myself on his lips, feel the hard line of his arousal pressed against my thigh.
I shift beneath him, needy and desperate, trying to rock my hips, trying to pull him where I want him.
He doesn’t move.
Instead, he pulls back just enough to look down at me. His eyes are dark, glinting in the low light.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “I’m not done watching you squirm yet.”
I let out a strangled sound.
“You tied me up and left me hanging?”
He grins. “No, sweetheart. I tied you up so I could take my time. ”
His hand slides between my thighs again, brushing across my clit, and I whimper.
“Still sensitive?” he asks, too innocently.
“Sam…”
“Yeah?” He strokes me again, light as air. “You gonna come again just from this?”
My hips buck, or try to. The ropes tighten at my wrists as I pull against them, desperate to grind against his fingers.
But he doesn’t give me friction.
He gives me torture.
Soft touches.
Barely there brushes.
Just enough to make my whole body ache.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Please what?” His voice is thick, wrecked, turned on beyond belief but still controlled.
“Touch me. Really touch me.”
“Oh, darlin’,” he groans, pressing his forehead to mine. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
And then?
He does.
Two fingers, slow and slick, sliding in.
My back arches, another broken moan spilling from my throat.
“That's it,” he murmurs. “Take it.”
He thrusts slowly, his thumb circling my clit in maddening little strokes, and I am gone. No thoughts. Just feeling. Just heat.
Just him.
“Think you can come for me again?” he whispers.
I nod, desperate. “Yes. God. Please.”
His fingers pick up pace, stroking just right, his mouth back on mine as I come again, this time harder, shaking beneath him, crying out into his kiss.
But when I open my eyes, panting and undone, I see the way he’s looking at me.
Like he’s nowhere near done.
And I am so, so screwed.
In the best way.
I’m still shaking, every nerve raw and pulsing, when Sam leans over me again, his breath hot against my cheek and lips brushing my ear.
“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he growls, voice thick, low, wrecked. “Tied up, dripping, trembling from how many times now?”
“Two,” I whisper, breathless.
His hand slides down my thigh, gripping it tight, dragging it up around his hip. “Let’s make it three.”
I gasp, head tipping back, wrists pulling against the ropes as he lines himself up—thick, hard, and so ready. My body aches for it, already clenching in anticipation.
He rubs the head of his cock through my folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in my slick. The tease alone makes me moan, hips jerking upward.
“Sam, please?—”
“You want it?” he rasps, his voice breaking with restraint. “Say it.”
“I want it,” I pant. “I want you to fuck me. Please.”
And that’s it.
That’s the moment the leash snaps.
He thrusts into me hard and deep in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt, and we both break.
“Fuck—you’re so goddamn tight,” he groans, forehead pressing to mine. “Still soaking wet for me.”
I scream, arching beneath him, unable to do anything but feel. The ropes hold me firm, every muscle locked, every breath shallow as he begins to move, slamming into me with punishing precision.
There’s no teasing this time.
No slow build.
Just filthy, relentless fucking.
Skin slapping skin.
His name breaking from my throat over and over.
His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he thrusts harder, deeper, grinding against the spot that makes my vision go white.
“You feel that?” he pants. “Right fucking there? That’s us, baby.”
I nod, babbling incoherent pleas as his pace increases, the friction sending sparks through my veins. He brings his thumb back to my clit, rough and fast, and I lose it.
The orgasm rips through me with brutal force, my whole body bowing off the mattress, screaming his name as I shatter around him.
But he doesn’t stop.
He keeps going.
“Just like that, Charlie,” he growls, hips snapping into mine. “One more. Give me one more.”
“I can’t—” I sob, trembling.
“Yes, you can,” he says, kissing my temple. “You’re gonna come one more time while I fill you up. Gonna feel me everywhere.”
He reaches under my thigh, adjusting the angle. And when he hits that spot? I scream again.
And this time, when I come, I swear I black out for a second. Vision blurred, body clenching so hard around him it drags him right over the edge with me. He groans deep and broken, slamming into me one last time as he spills inside me, panting, shaking, his whole body locked over mine.
For a long, breathless moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our heartbeats crashing in sync, the creak of the mattress, and the distant crackle of the fire.
Then, slowly, he leans in, brushing his lips over mine.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You destroy me.”
I smile, wrecked and shaking and completely blissed out.
“Untie me,” I murmur, breathless. “And then hold me. Or I swear I’ll cry.”
His grin is soft. Tender. Still breathless.
“On it, darlin’.”
And he does. With kisses and with hands that tremble just a little as they free me.
He climbs beside me, pulling me into his arms. “You okay?”
“I’m perfect,” I whisper, voice shaky and full.
And when he holds me tighter, whispering that I’m his and he’s not letting go?
I believe him.
Every word.