50. TheRope #2
“Praise,” he repeats again, as if he’s locking the confession away in a file in his mind.
I shift uncomfortably, but he hovers closer, his breath warm at my ear.
“You don’t have to beg for that from me, Taiyō.
” His tone is commanding. “You’re powerful.
Brilliant. A storm inside the code. I see it. I see you.”
My chest squeezes. No one has ever said that to me, complimented me like that. Well, not since my parents. I don’t allow myself to open that wound.
“You’ll have to beg me for other things, of course.” He stands, and then his hand drifts toward the wall, plucking one of the masks from its hook.
He brushes the cool porcelain edge along my jawline, making me shiver. “And the masks, that’s because you don’t trust anyone to look at you bare. But here’s another truth...” He tilts my chin with the mask, so I have to meet his gaze. “Even with my face covered, Lyra, you’re still mine to see.”
His words linger in the charged air between us, but I see the shift in him.
That dark hunger he had in the lab earlier is returning.
He steps in close, the mask still in one hand, he runs the edge along my collarbone then over my tank top, down between my breasts. I shudder at the slow, careful act.
The mandala this time. It wraps around my neck with a tight squeeze. “Say it again,” he murmurs. “What you want from me.”
I can barely speak. “Praise,” I whisper, heat licking at my skin. “And anything else you’ll give me.” I’m on my knees in front of him now, my eyes immediately going where they shouldn’t.
“Let’s play another game, Kael Ryudon.” I lick my lips in anticipation.
His mouth curls into a sharp grin that devastates me. He leans down, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear. “Oh, you’re being such a good girl already.”
The words detonate inside me.
I’m putty in his hands, and he knows it.
He tilts my face up, putting pressure on my airway, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that’s so deep, I might not make it back out alive.
His tongue parts my lips, demanding entrance.
I stand, my fingers finding the hard lines of his chest, tracing his ink down to the cut V at his waistband.
The heat of his body glistening with sweat is impossible to resist.
Quickly, he pulls back, but his hand remains at my throat, thumb tracing the frantic beat of my pulse. His eyes are obsidian and ravenous, but there’s also that silent restraint in them.
“Not yet,” he says, voice rough but certain. “Not like this. Not until you’re truly mine, flesh and blood. I’ll be right back.” He takes one jump down the step past me and disappears into his bedroom.
I take the time to collect myself. I’m left trembling, lips swollen, heat curling deep inside me. I want his hands on me, his fingers to touch me, pleasure me.
Seconds later, he returns, still shirtless, sweat gleaming on his hard chest muscles. The ebony ink of daggers and vines shimmers. He has a black coil of velvet rope in his hands.
He takes me by the hand and stands me on the mat in front of him. Ever so lightly he kisses my shoulder and begins removing my shirt, the holo-clothing pixelating as he removes it. “Yes?” He looks down at me. I nod my approval, because I can’t imagine saying no at this very moment.
He’s on his knees again, presenting the rope to me.
The rook is bowing to his queen. He trails tiny kisses on my stomach, hips, thighs, as he slides my pants down my legs and gently lifts my feet out of them.
I have no idea what I look like in holo-form.
Hopefully as real as my image in the RedRoom did.
His mischievous grin tells me he likes what he sees.
I’m left standing on the mat in my red lace bra and panties, bare and exposed, much like my soul is to him right now. I’m taking a huge risk, and he’s going to have to decide what to do with it, break me apart or prove he can hold me without shattering what’s left.
Kael doesn’t move at first. His eyes drag over me so slowly. I think time may have stopped. He knows I’m testing him, seeing what he does when I hand him the power. But he’s also testing me, to see just how far I’ll let him go.
He steps in slowly and deliberately, the hunter who already knows his prey isn’t running.
His fingers brush a strand of hair off my cheek, knuckles grazing my skin like fire.
My pulse thrums so hard I can hear it in my head.
His look doesn’t promise softness, he’s promising possession.
And it scares me that a part of me wants it so badly.
He bends down and picks up the rope, brushing his hand over the coils resting in his grip. He doesn’t reach for me right away.
“You told me what you like.” He circles me. “Now I’m going to show you what it means to trust me with it.”
Every nerve sparks alive as he steps closer, rope sliding over his palm like a living thing. When he’s directly behind me, I feel his presence more than the rope itself, an aura of command and patience. The first touch is feather-light, a brush of cord against my wrist, testing, asking.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, his lips on my neck in that spot I like, just below my ear.
He takes both my arms to the crook of my back. The fibers tighten, not harsh, but firm, the knots precise and purposeful.
He doesn’t restrain me to trap me; he restrains me to anchor me, to let me feel the weight of choosing to stay. My heart is pounding, but not with fear. Anticipation hums in every muscle.
When he’s finished, he walks to the front of me, rope following. Once, twice, around my waist and into a V around my thighs. “You wear restraint beautifully.” He observes his knotwork so far. “You’re being such a good girl for me, Taiyō.”
Praise.
Shit, he’s already locked and loaded that confession and is about to destroy me with it.
My nipples tingle with arousal as heat flares in my chest at the words.
The need for him to touch me is stronger than I expected.
He moves slowly, wrapping, looping, the rope crisscrossing with an elegance that mirrors his martial arts precision.
Each knot is a promise, each pull a question: Will you let me lead you further?
When he steps back, I glance down at the intricate patterns across my arms and torso, trailing down my legs, securing my ankles, the rope holding me in place, unable to run from him, like I normally do. I’ve never felt more exposed, and yet, never more safe.
Kael studies his work, then my face. His expression softens into a devious grin: admiration edged with pure primal hunger. “Masks. Praise. Restraint. All of it, yours. And all of you, mine.”
I squirm. The rope tightens, digging into my skin.
He’s tied it so the more movement I make, the tighter it binds.
For a second my throat closes. Restraint has always meant control taken from me by the Corporation, by TheKast, by the grid itself.
But Kael’s hands are steady and careful, almost reverent.
I see it more clearly now. Each knot is tied not to confine me, but to give me something I never knew I wanted: to surrender willingly.
Kael picks up the tail of rope extending from my ankles and grabs a dagger off the wall.
He twirls it in his hand, then with one clean motion, cuts all the way through.
He walks back over, the dagger in the hand with the lotus, the rope held by the mandala, and places the weapon back on the wall meticulously.
My chest rises and falls too fast, breath catching as he works the cut rope into a clean, loop and knot, and slides it over my head and around my throat. His precision reminds me of his code, tight, efficient, and flawless. His voice pulls me out of the fear building in my chest.
“How does it feel?” He ties the end to my wrist, and I feel it open my neck up, chin tilting to the ceiling.
His tongue runs up my throat. He’s so close, his breath blows a wisp of my hair. “To be under my complete control, unable to run.”
I try to move, and the fibers bite just enough to remind me how fragile my holo-skin is. “You know,” I say, my voice catching as he pulls the slack taut, “this shouldn’t even be possible. I’m not real. I’m just light and pixels. Normally I would just cut the holo-program and run.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” A nibble to my bruised bite mark. The pain is a gentle reminder I’m still here. Still able to feel his touch.
“It feels so good. I still don’t understand how.” His mouth is on my collarbone now, sending a current through me.
“Damn good programming.” His gaze flicks up, eyes strobing bright orange.
“Kael...your eyes—”
“Breath in,” he interrupts me. I breathe and hold. He tugs the rope around my throat. I feel my breath stop. “You feel this, don’t you?” The pleasure, the pain, I feel all of it. A tiny spark of alarm climbs as I let out my breath. I can barely swallow. I nod.
I gasp for air as he releases his hold. “I do. But I don’t get it. I’m not human anymore.”
The corner of his mouth moves ever so slightly, the ghost of another smirk.
He leans closer, hands running up and down the knots on my body.
“PleazureHolo sales are worth about a billion dollars to VikkCorp. They’re popular because they feel and act so real.
” He draws the rope around my hands higher, pulling me just slightly off balance, up on my toes, so I have to lean into him to stay steady.
“I built the PleazureHolos to mimic true desire. To trick people into believing they were with a real human partner. But you...” His voice is rough, almost breathless.
“You’re no program. I didn’t write this.
You’re not fully scripted. It’s mostly you.
Your magic is spilling into the holographic feed, you’re amplifying any sensation I give you. ”