50. TheRope
TheRope
Playlist: On My Knees (Cassian Remix) - Rufus Du Soul
Lyra
“I’m going to work out...if that’s okay?” Kael lifts off the sofa and heads toward his bedroom. I nod and pick my sketchbook back up, hoping that drawing more will stop my racing thoughts.
When he reappears, I can’t help but stare. He’s shirtless, black joggers slung low across his hips, tattoos in full view. He steps up to the corner dojo and has a seat on the mat. Legs crossed, the lines of his abs still, his eyes close in some sort of meditation. He probably needs it.
I glance across from the wall of weapons to his collection of Asian masks.
They seem to be watching over him from above, with a silent judgment that feels ancient and eternal.
Painted mouths curve in fixed expressions, some grinning with trickster mischief, some twisted in rage, others serene.
Their lacquered eyes catch the dim light and glint like they could come alive at any moment.
There’s something unsettling in the way they hang, like old guardians, or perhaps witnesses, complicit in Kael’s dark endeavors. I wonder if he trains beneath them to be reminded of restraint, or to remind himself what happens when restraint is lost.
The centerpiece is impossible to miss: a kitsune mask.
White lacquer gleams like bone, bold red lines curl across its surface, and the slitted eyes are painted the color of blood.
It stares down at me, a reminder of that night in the RedRoom, the mask gleaming under artificial starlight, the stranger who tied silk around delicate wrists with such precision. The sword.
My chest tightens. Oh my. That was him. It had always been him. That’s three times now I’ve been a voyeur. I wonder what that says about me.
When he looks up, for the slightest second, I swear the masks are looking directly at me. Every one of them, a witness to the secret I’ve never confessed to him. I look away quickly, so he doesn’t read my expression.
I remember the heat, the thrill of seeing his dominance, the way his hands tightened around his sword tightly, then using it so precisely to bring pleasure not pain.
Oh, how I had hated that stranger for making me aroused and restless, for indulging in front of me, in front of a room full of other deviant simulations.
I watch quietly. A block, the veins in his forearms rise. A kick, the muscles along his thighs ripple like they were carved out of stone. Each strike snaps with precision, shoulders taut, every motion fast and fluid.
He pivots, stance low, breath measured. The discipline radiates from him like heat. Not just a man practicing, it’s more of a ritual, wrapped in violence. His fists strike against the padded column in back of him, each impact echoing throughout the living room.
Sweat rolls down his chest, tracing the lines of his abdomen before vanishing into the waistband of his joggers. He doesn’t rush. The rhythm is as exact as his code, every block and strike building into a crescendo.
I can’t look away. Every move tells me what kind of man he is, dangerous, yes, but also regulated, honed, a blade always sharpened. His eyes find mine, and I swear he knows what I’m remembering.
The silence stretches taut. My lips part. You only get one shot at courage, so here goes it. The words are tangled, “You...” I slam the book shut, heart hammering.
A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth, slow, knowing. That little game we play like the first night on my beach. “Me.” He stops his practice.
I stand and join him by sitting on the step up to the mats. “The RedRoom,” I blurt out before I can stop myself, before my courage runs away from me.
His brow furrows. “What about it?”
My words spill out too fast. “The girl with the silk, the sword...” My voice comes out boldly. “That kitsune mask. It was you. You were wearing it in the RedRoom.”
He’s unbothered. He also doesn’t deny it. He just studies me with those calculating eyes.
Heat rises to my face. Humiliation. “I was there, watching you. You were in a room designed for indulgence. You built a holo-girl in my image. And from the look of it, you two had a pretty good time.” My voice cracks. “Why?”
Kael remains on the mat, still, a half-smile blooming across his face as if he’s being dared to answer. This man really feels no shame.
“Because I wanted to know if my desire could be coded. If longing could turn into data.” His voice lowers. “And because I couldn’t stop thinking about you after we met at STATIK.”
My breath catches. “You’re obsessed,” I tease.
He snaps back to his practice. “Yes.” Zero denial. “So I’ve been told.”
I finally speak the question I’ve been choking on since the moment I saw that mask in his apartment. “The holo-girl. A PleazureHolo? Why did you tie her up like that?”
Kael doesn’t stop, doesn’t withdraw. “You mean why did I tie you up?”
His expression hardens into something more calculated. He snaps a block, palm flattened, inches from my face. “Control,” he says simply. “She was coded for dominance. I wanted discipline.”
“What?!” I snap, heat flooding my cheeks. “Control? You were very dominant, Kael. Binding someone, watching them squirm? What does that do for you?” I coax him to share.
His lips twitch. “Focus. The same as any fight. You restrain your opponent or your partner until the only option is surrender. In the dojo, in the RedRoom, it’s no different. The body only reveals its truth when it’s pushed to the edge of what it can endure.”
The calm way he says it makes goosebumps raise. He isn’t ashamed. He’s telling me he likes it.
My eyes widen. “Do you like it? Does it turn you on?” My voice gets higher as if I’m daring him to play one of his games with me.
He continues moving through his form. “It makes my cock hard if that’s what you’re asking.”
I bite my bottom lip, ashamed that I’m so aroused talking to him about this. “You think tying someone up is the same as sparring?”
He freezes. His gaze darkens, pinning me to the step I’m sitting on. “Yes. Because both teach you where the line is and what happens when you cross it.”
I shake my head, a half-laugh escaping. “That’s not training. That’s a kink.” I smile, barely able to contain my excitement.
Kael drops to his knees in front of me. His voice is a low growl that ignites every nerve ending in my body.
The scent of his sweat mixed with warm spice floods my senses.
“You think mastery and desire are separate things, Lyra? They’re not.
I train to control my fists, my blade. But when I tie someone up, I train to control their desire.
It may be a kink...but it’s also discipline. ”
For a moment, I pause. “Martial arts, that’s what this is really about? Not the fact that you’re getting your rocks off?”
Kael nods, eyes unblinking. “Maybe. It all comes back to the same thing. Restraint. Power isn’t about how hard you hit; it’s about how much you hold back. The RedRoom was just another mat. Another form. But with really good sex as a reward.”
My mouth goes dry. “So, what am I, then? Another sparring partner? Another lesson?”
The look he gives me is so intense I feel it drag me under. “No.” He says it so low it sounds dangerous. “You’re the exception.”
His words echo in my mind: You’re the exception.
I swallow hard, readying for the wicked game we’re about to play. My pulse heightens. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? Do you have me figured out?”
His smile is still threatening. “Not yet. But I will.” He leans in closer, his voice smoky. “So, tell me, Little Taiyō. What gets your rocks off? What makes you aroused...makes you soaking wet?” He emphasizes the last two words.
I clench my thighs. I shouldn’t tell him.
I should lie. It’s not like we’re dating or anything, right?
But my body is telling me I want this. The truth slips out like a confession I can’t stop.
“Masks. Masked men,” I whisper, looking up to the display on his wall.
His brows lift, and I force myself to keep going.
“No, really. Not knowing who’s wearing it.
The danger of not knowing who you’re with.
The reveal of who’s behind it at the last second. It’s...hot.”
What the fuck, Lyra. Why are you telling him what gets you off?
Kael could make me forget my own name.
His lips curve like he knows he’s already won our game. “So, that night in the RedRoom...”
“Don’t!” I cut in, heat flooding my face. “Don’t use it against me. I know I’m like some stalker or something.”
“I won’t.” His tone shifts to a softer one, though the glint in his eyes promises he’s already going to use the information to his advantage. “Go on. What else makes your pussy throb, Taiyō?”
I bite my lip again, hating how shaky my voice sounds. “I like praise. The other night when you praised me, called me your good girl for winning our game? It unravels me, Kael.”
Oh, My Stars. Did I just say that out loud too?
The fire burning between my legs must be torching my brain.
Kael remains on his knees, frozen, his stare locked to mine. I swear I feel it in my bones; he’s about to pounce. “Praise,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word. Then his voice drops. “You want to be seen. To be named. To feel your worth in someone else’s mouth.”
His grin tells me everything I need to know in this game. Rook destroys queen: checkmate. It’s over.
“That explains everything. Your fire, your defiance.” He tilts his head. “Good girls get rewarded. Bad girls get a spanking. My house. My rules.”
I hold my breath for a few seconds. He leans in closer, not touching, just hovering, observing. “Lyra.” His voice is a command and a caress. “When I say you’re exceptional, it isn’t just idle words. It’s my truth.”
He’s observant, I’ll give him that, which is also very dangerous. He knows just how to use my confessions against me as leverage. But I tell him anyway. This isn’t just about hate or lust anymore. It’s psychological intimacy.