Chapter 26
Tuesday thought the day had gone well. He’d seemed to genuinely enjoy climbing, as well as both meals. Maybe not the carousel, but he’d ridden and not just watched.
And now he was holding her hand while they walked through Coolidge Park and then Renaissance Park. They were in one of the wooded areas when Knife suddenly stopped, turned her toward him, and took her mouth in a kiss that stole every thought from her head.
It wasn’t gentle. It was pure domination — one arm around her torso, his other hand fisting in her hair, and he used his body to walk her off the trail until her back was pressed against a tree.
His lips and tongue claimed her like he already owned every inch of her.
He kept kissing her until her knees went weak and her mind melted into warm, liquid need. Until her hips wanted to move into him.
When he finally pulled back, she was breathing hard, lips tingling, clit throbbing, heat spreading through her entire lower torso.
His thumb brushed her lower lip, dark eyes locked on hers for a long moment — and then he grabbed her hand, pulled her back to the walkway, and resumed their walk like nothing had happened.
“What was that?” she asked, voice shaky.
“I wanted a kiss. Also, I guess it was a thank you for the day.”
She didn’t want to say you’re welcome, so she told him, “Thanks for humoring me on the carousel.”
He gave a soft laugh, and then a slow, dangerous half-smile that made her stomach flip. “Oh, you’re very welcome, but you’ll end up humoring me on something at some point, so remember that.”
Once in the car, Tuesday threaded her way through the interstate traffic, up and over the ridge cut, past the split, through the chaos of the Hamilton Place area, beyond Ooltewah, over White Oak Mountain, and then finally, the first Cleveland exit.
She wasn’t trying to scare him, but his foot kept looking for the brakes, and his hand gripped his knee like he was making sure he didn’t reach out and grab the wheel.
Her peripheral vision let her see him visibly relax in the passenger seat when she hit the exit off the interstate, but she didn’t comment.
Part of her hoped his anxiety was keeping him from scenting her arousal levels, which she couldn’t seem to get under control.
While she drove, her mind spun with memories of the last time he’d had her in his ropes, and she couldn’t help but wonder what cruel, wonderful thing he was planning for their evening.
He pulled his phone from his pocket a few miles from his house, and she figured he was opening the gate — and saw she was correct when they arrived. She drove through, it closed behind her, and he unbuckled his seatbelt while she drove up his steep driveway.
They both exited the car at the same time, and he gave her a long, assessing look before telling her, “Run upstairs and get a quick shower. You know how I’ll expect to see you waiting.”
Her stomach did a slow somersault that landed hard, but she nodded and headed inside.
She showered fast without getting her hair wet, dried, folded her clothes and shoes into her duffel, and then stood under the pulleys with her legs spread, arms locked behind her head, and chest pushed forward.
This time she waited longer.
The house was quiet. She could hear him moving around downstairs while she stood naked and exposed under the pulleys, wondering what he was doing, what he was planning, how far he’d take her tonight.
The memory of his kiss in the park kept flashing through her mind, mixing with the darker memories of how completely he’d taken her apart the last time. Taken her down to nothing but sensation.
Her clit throbbed. Her nipples tightened. Her shoulders were starting to ache from holding the position, but she didn’t move. She wanted this. She wanted whatever evil, horrible, wonderful thing he’d planned.
Eventually, she heard his boots on the stairs.
He stepped into the room, looked her over from head to toe with a slow, hungry gaze, crossed to the wall without a word, and returned to her with a shorter piece of rope than he usually used.
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“Grab your elbows behind your back.”
She did, and he quickly wound the ropes around her forearms, double-checking how snug it was before he knotted the ends.
“On your knees.”
She dropped without hesitation.
He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped, fisted her hair, fed her his cock, and proceeded to fuck her face. Her mouth. Her throat.
She had the idea this was him slaking whatever need had built through the day.
She was just a vessel in the moment, a warm body for him to come into.
His hips pumped hard while he held her head in place, fucking her hard and deep, using her like a toy.
He settled into a brutal rhythm that had her gagging and drooling around him, fighting for air when she could grab it, but he didn’t speak.
He just used her. Fucked her. Simply took what he wanted, growling low in his chest when he finally buried himself deep in her esophagus and came.
When he finally pulled out, her throat was raw, her clit throbbed so hard it hurt, and she knew her face had to be a mess of tears and spit.
But he didn’t even look at her face. Merely told her to stand while he headed back to his chest full of torture equipment.
He returned with more rope and started with her ankles, creating sturdy cuffs and binding them firmly together.
Then he moved to her thighs, creating a harness encompassing the tops of her thighs and her lower waist.
She breathed through it, feeling the way the ropes claimed her body piece by piece. There was no restriction yet other than her ankles being bound together, but his ropework always went in unexpected directions.
Heat pooled in her lower body, the temperature rising with every wrap of the rope. Every knot.
He stepped to the wall to lower the pulley, returned to her, connected the thick braided tail coming from the front of the harness, and then slowly lifted her into the air.
She couldn’t windmill her arms with them bound behind her back. Couldn’t individually kick her legs. She was on her back, looking up at the sharp angles of the cathedral ceiling with all her body weight hanging by the tops of her thighs and her waist.
The position arched her back. She kicked her legs, trying to sit herself up, but he grabbed her ankles and pulled them so she had to bend her legs — and then the motherfucker bound her ankles to her wrists, bending her backward.
When he let go of her, the center of gravity was different. Her head was lower than her knees, hanging upside down.
And she could spread her knees now, which meant he’d eventually do so, leaving her open and completely vulnerable.
Her entire body protested the position, the stretch burning through her muscles and joints. She was completely suspended, inverted, arched, and displayed for him.
She hung there, breathing hard, the full weight of her body held only by his ropes, the position already making her shoulders and back ache. Her knees. Even her already sore throat was stretched, bearing the weight of her dangling head.
He stepped so she could see him and used a quiet, calm voice to tell her, “No words. No vocal sounds. No moaning. No trying to get my attention. If you do, I’ll make it so you can’t do any of those things until after I’ve released you, and you won’t like the way I do it.”
He expected a response when he gave an order, so she gave him a tiny nod.
He stepped back and looked at her for a long moment, then turned and went to the wall, lifted her into the air.
Her body rose smoothly, but she felt every inch as the floor fell away until she hung fifteen feet in the air. Far from the floor.
She had a view though — the trees outside, the sky above, the valley below. It was dark outside, and she could see lights in the distance. Could see the stars in the inky-dark sky. She’d seen the freshly risen moon on the drive home, and she saw it a little higher, now.
Below her, Knife walked into the bathroom, and a few minutes later, the shower turned on.
And then she was alone, hanging a lot closer to the ceiling than the floor, the moon her only light source, filtering through the large window.
They hadn’t even started yet, and already her shoulders, back, and knees were feeling it. Every breath shifted the ropes against her skin. Every tiny, involuntary twitch sent fresh tension through her thighs and shoulders.
The shower ran for a long time. She listened to the water, trying to picture him under it, but mostly she just breathed and let her body settle into the ropes.
When the water finally cut off, she heard him drying off. He came into the room, but she couldn’t see what he did. It sounded like he was putting clothes on.
Without saying a word to her, he went downstairs. For a long time. The house grew quiet except for the occasional creak of floorboards far below.
The moon moved slowly across the sky, a bright slice that cast shifting shadows through the trees. The valley lights twinkled in the distance, and she could see the faint glow of Chattanooga farther out.
The world kept moving while she hung suspended upside-down in his ropes.
Her mind drifted back to their day — the climbing, the way he’d listened and learned, the way he’d let her teach him without ego. The carousel. The kiss against the tree that had melted her brain.
She tried to hold onto those memories, but the ropes kept pulling her attention back to the present.
The stretch in her torso, thighs, and knees was constant now, a deep burn that flared every time she breathed too deeply.
Her thighs ached at the spot between leg and ass, from the rope digging in.
Her spine protested the arch. Nothing was particularly sharp, but combined, there was no way to ignore the pain.
And she was completely present and alone with it. No gag, no blindfold. Just her, the ropes, and the moon outside the window.
Eventually, she heard his footsteps on the stairs again.
He came in without speaking and went back to his chest before he let her down, down, down.
Not all the way to the floor, but only three or four feet above it.
He stepped to her, and her right nipple exploded in pain.
And it didn’t stop. Whatever it was, the agony was sustained and unrelenting.
It took her a moment to lift her head to see the damned snakebite suction pump — and not just any run-of-the-mill kind. No, he’d gone all out for the double-chamber model. Fuck.
He did the same to her left nipple, and once again, the pressure was immediate and vicious, drawing the sensitive flesh deep into the bulb.