Chapter 9 #2
Harper’s jaw tensed as she stared at a point beyond Reed’s shoulder and continued. “He found me when I was young, stupid, and too damn fast for my own good. Taught me everything I know about slipping into places, finding what didn’t belong, and walking out with it like it was mine.”
Her mouth twisted into something like a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“I thought he was dead. Two years ago, I received news that a warehouse fire in Istanbul had burned and killed him. Intel was solid. Even the Curator believed it. I grieved for him, Reed. I buried the version of me that needed him.”
She exhaled sharply. “But if he’s alive—and I’m right—then none of this is an accident.. it’s him. He’s back. And he’s using me to get to someone bigger. Or to prove a point. Or both.”
Reed’s gaze sharpened. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely sure? No. But I know him. And it fits, so I'm pretty sure. He always played the long game. And this? This is exactly his style.”
Reed was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. “If he’s coming for you, he’ll have to get through me first. Don't run, little thief. Stay.”
She wanted to argue. Instead, she stepped in close, nodding her head slowly.
“Then take me,” she whispered. “Not because you have to. Not because I’m still here, but because I want to be.”
He looked down at her, jaw tense. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “But I want rope... your rope. I want to feel it. I want you to tie me down and make me stay.”
He didn’t hesitate. He led her to the playroom, closing the door behind them before turning to her "Strip."
"Naked?" she squeaked, her cheeks heating.
She wasn't sure she liked being ordered around—at least not outside of her own terms. But the way he said it, the quiet steel in his voice, made her pulse skip.
Part of her bristled, but the rest of her, the part that clenched low and throbbed harder with every commanding word, couldn't deny how much it turned her on.
"That's the general idea."
The thrill of surrender curled under her skin. It wasn’t just a command—it was possession. It made her stomach flip, her breath catch, and arousal curl low and tight inside her.
So, she obeyed.
He tied her—slowly, reverently. Silk against skin, the rope slithering in whispering coils as he worked it across her body.
Each knot was a pledge, a silent declaration that she was his in this moment.
He wrapped her with precision and patience, circling her wrists, drawing lines around her hips and under the swell of her breasts, until the rope formed an intricate pattern that was as much art as restraint.
He drew her arms back just enough to keep her vulnerable.
Her spine curved with tension and anticipation.
With every cinch, her breath grew more uneven, heat blooming low and spreading through her limbs.
Her nipples pebbled in the cool air, exposed and throbbing, and she could feel the wetness building between her legs, slick and insistent.
Her heart pounded in her throat, but it wasn’t fear—it was hunger.
To be seen, held, taken. To be owned, just for this breathless stretch of time.
He slowly peeled his shirt off over his head, revealing a torso sculpted by years of discipline and war.
Muscles rippled across his chest and abdomen, each movement deliberate, powerful, meant to be seen and felt.
His skin gleamed in the low light, a contrast to the black leather trousers that clung to his hips like a second skin.
The sight of him like that—bare chest, dominant, utterly in control—sent a hot rush straight through her core.
He towered over her, the heat of his body blanketing her, and she felt the rasp of his breath along her collarbone. The ropes tightened with each inhale she drew, but the true restraint was in the way he looked at her. Like she was the only thing he saw. The only thing that mattered.
When the blindfold slid over her eyes, the world narrowed to sensation. She felt his breath before his fingers. Then the first touch—fingertips tracing the edges of the rope, her ribs, the soft underside of her thighs. He kissed each spot like a vow.
His mouth found her breasts. His tongue circled one nipple, then the other, drawing a sharp gasp from her throat. He moved lower, hands firm on her hips as he nudged her thighs farther apart. His mouth met her slick heat with a groan that vibrated through her bones.
He used his tongue like he was tasting worship. Slow strokes, teasing flicks. Every time she got close, he stopped. Kissed her inner thigh. Breathed against her folds until she sobbed.
Then his fingers joined—inside her, curling perfectly. Her body bowed. The rope dug just enough to remind her she couldn’t move. Couldn’t run. Didn’t want to.
"You’re mine like this," he said into her skin, his voice low and rough, vibrating against her flushed flesh. "And I’m going to make sure you feel it."
Harper whimpered, her voice barely a thread. Still, he didn’t move to take her—not yet. He needed her to burn. To ache. To break open so he could put her back together his way.
His fingertips grazed her sensitive skin, tracing intricate, invisible patterns down her abdomen like a painter delicately crafting his masterpiece.
Her breath hitched and caught in her throat as his hot breath fanned across her exposed thighs, the warmth sending shivers along her skin.
His tongue teasingly glided over her slick folds, leaving a trail of liquid fire in its wake.
He pressed his lips against her quivering inner thighs, leaving a trail of gentle, feather-light kisses that caused her to shudder in anticipation, like tremors before a seismic event.
As he continued to explore her body, her moans grew more desperate, a symphony of longing and desire, begging for the sweet release she craved.
Harper was bound in Reed’s rope—lush silk wound tight against her skin, each intricate pattern hugging her curves with possessive elegance.
The knots pressed into her flesh, promising they'd leave their mark, even after they were gone.
Every movement made them pull tighter, a perfect reminder that she was held, claimed, his.
Her body writhed instinctively, hips grinding helplessly against the air, seeking contact.
Her nipples throbbed, swollen and aching, exposed to the cool air and the heat of his gaze.
Each time he edged her close to release and then denied her, the tension inside her ratcheted higher.
Her muscles quivered. Her breath came in ragged bursts.
Her thighs trembled, wide and open, slick with need.
His mouth, hot and relentless, tormented her with slow licks and deep sucks that made her cry out.
She couldn’t see him, couldn’t brace for where his mouth or hands would go next—only feel the raw, dragging tease of his tongue, the way he hummed dark approval against her clit when she squirmed.
She heard him—those low, guttural sounds he made when he tasted her, and the quiet, filthy praise he murmured into her skin as she begged.
The pressure was unbearable. Each moment stretched thin with hunger, every nerve in her body lit with arousal.
She wasn’t just desperate—she was unraveling.
Her whole being longed for him to finally possess her, to fill the unbearable void within with the only thing that could silence the desperate longing in her veins: him.
Her orgasm hit like a wave breaking against rock—sudden, violent, undeniable. She screamed his name, shattering around him as he held her there, bound and undone, exactly where she belonged.
He didn’t move right away. Instead, he allowed her to float back down to reality, kissing her temple as she trembled, her body still shivering from the high. Then, with slow, reverent care, he began to untie the ropes.
Each pull loosened the silk, easing away the tension, but not the heat.
His fingers traced the red impressions left behind, and then his lips followed.
He kissed the faint rope marks on her wrists, her thighs, the soft valleys beneath her breasts.
His tongue dragged slowly over each indentation, soothing and igniting her all over again.
She moaned softly, too spent to fight it, too full of him to care. Every caress felt like a vow—his way of telling her she wasn’t just something to bind and fuck. She was something to honor.
“You wear my rope as if it were made for you,” he murmured, mouth against her skin. “And you take every damn knot like it’s a gift.”
Harper’s eyes fluttered open, the blindfold gone now, her vision hazy with afterglow. “Maybe it is.”
His smile was wicked and soft. “Then I’ll keep giving it.”
Trembling in the aftermath, Harper let herself sink into the quiet buzz beneath her skin.
Reed didn’t give her time to fully recover.
He bent down and scooped her up into his arms with ease, his body radiating warmth and strength.
She gasped, her breath catching as the motion jostled the still-tingling ache between her legs.
His bare chest pressed against hers, hard and hot, his scent a mix of salt, sweat, and sex.
He carried her through the hall with a quiet command, each step steady, sure. She could feel the brush of his skin against her own, the lingering throb of rope marks making every movement feel like a brand.
As they reached the door at the end of the hall, he nudged it open with his foot.
“No other woman has ever slept in this bed,” he said, his voice deep and low, almost reverent.
Harper blinked up at him, stunned—not by the words, but by the way they made her feel.
“You’re not like anyone else,” he added, eyes locked on hers as he carried her across the threshold, laying her on the bed and divesting himself of the rest of his clothes.
And just like that, her last wall cracked, splintered by heat and something dangerously close to hope.
As he positioned himself between her legs, she felt the head of his cock teasing her entrance, making her crave him even more. He slowly pushed forward, and she could feel the stretch as he penetrated her. Her breath hitched as he filled her completely, their bodies flush against each other.
Darkness cloaked the bedroom, with only moonlight filtering through the windows.
It heightened every touch, every sound. Each time he pulled back, almost leaving her before returning with a powerful thrust, she knew exactly where he was by the noises he made: the groans and heavy breaths.
She matched his movements with her hips, guiding him deeper, their bodies slick with sweat.
His hand slipped between their intertwined forms to find and gently stroke her clit in rhythm with his thrusts. The building pleasure made it difficult to hold anything back: the moans escaping her lips and the quivering anticipation in her body.
Her orgasm built like an approaching storm, lightning crackling through her veins as she clenched around him. As she reached the tipping point, she cried out his name with a wild abandon – "Reed!" Her muscles spasmed around him, feeling waves of pleasure rippling through every inch of her body.
In response to her release, Reed's pace quickened; each thrust became more urgent and powerful. Gasping for air between their passionate kisses, they lost themselves in each other's embrace until they both shared in the blissful aftershocks of their love-making.
Outside, someone watched the house from the woods.
A silhouette cloaked in black stood just beyond the tree line, motionless, barely more than a shadow among shadows.
Their breath fogged briefly in the cold air, disappearing almost as fast as it appeared.
Eyes sharp behind dark lenses, they observed the bedroom window—silent, patient, and very much alone.