Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Make Me
Aiden
I undress her slowly, sliding the dress over her head, then stripping away the bra. Her skin is flawless. Her body, a fucking masterpiece, all dips and curves that I want to map with the tip of my tongue, ropes or no ropes.
“Show me more?”
I breathe in, steady, but my hands are shaking now. Unspooling a coil of rope as I move behind her. I brush her hair aside, before bending to trail a line of soft kisses down the collum of her neck. She shivers.
“There’s a harness I like,” I say, voice pitched low. “It’s called a dragonfly.” I grab her wrists in one hand and press my palm against the center of her back, pushing her to arch her chest forward. “I’m going to start with your arms.”
I make the first two loops and drape them over her shoulders before repeating the pattern down her arms. Every time I cinch the line, then anchor it at the small of her back. She gasps softly and I see the goosebumps forming on her skin.
“You good?” I ask, voice lower.
She nods. “Better than good.”
I add a secondary loop, this one lower, just below her ribs. My fingers brush her bare skin, and she shivers, almost imperceptibly.
“You cold?”
She shakes her head, curls tumbling over her face. “No. Just…” She doesn’t finish.
I let the silence stand, then circle around to face her.
She’s pink in the cheeks, breathing faster.
I want to ask what she’s thinking, but I know.
I can read it in the way her pulse hammers at her neck, in the way she stands a little straighter, as if the rope is the only thing keeping her from floating away.
“Want to keep going?” I ask.
She tilts her head, appraising her faint reflection in the glass window. “Please don’t stop.”
I nod, hands already moving. I tie the modified dragonfly harness over her torso, making a pattern that both restrains and highlights. Her arms pinned slightly back and to her sides.
I keep my hands clinical, careful, but the air between us is anything but.
Every touch, every knot, every tug is an escalation.
Her body is caged in crimson, every line precise, every intersection measured to the millimeter.
She stands perfectly still, watching my face with rapt attention.
The only sound is her breathing and the faint hiss of rope through my hands.
“Now what?” she asks, voice husky.
“Tell me what you want,” I whisper.
She leans in, and it’s her move this time.
Her mouth finds mine, urgent and hungry, and I kiss her back, the taste of whiskey and her still lingering on her tongue.
Her arms are pinned, so she can only press her body against me, arching into the harness, the ropes digging into her skin as she moves.
I brace her with one hand, the other tangling in her hair. I kiss her harder, my pulse hammering at my wrist, every nerve ending screaming for contact.
She bites my lower lip, then drags her mouth to my ear. “I want you to fuck me like this,” she whispers, and the words light every fuse in my body.
I nod, barely able to breathe but not missing a calculated opportunity. “I believe there was mention of begging.”
She smiles, a wicked, slow curl. “Please, sir,” she says. “Please fuck me.”
My self-control shatters. I bend, and pick her up over my shoulder.
She lets out a surprised squeal and wiggles in my arms as I walk around to the back of the couch and place her down facing the seating area.
I press her back, gently guiding her to bend over the couch, making sure she is safe and comfortable before I show her exactly what it means to be both restrained and free.
“Say your safe word and I’ll stop.”
“Never,” she gasps.
I take a moment to admire my art. The curves, the red ties against her bronzed skin.
I kneel, my hands slide up her thighs slowly before I do what I’ve been wanting to do all night.
I take the top of her black thong in my teeth and drag it down over her perfect ass, only using my hands to help push it lower, to hang above the ropes that start at her knees.
I press my hands up her thighs, mapping the way the rope frames her skin, how every line guides my gaze, my mouth, my need. She’s already soaking; I taste it before my tongue even finds her clit.
Cat writhes against the couch, arms locked in back, chest heaving, sweat blooming in every hollow.
She moans, loud and reckless, the sound echoing off the glass and marble.
The first time I taste her she bucks, hard enough I have to anchor her hips with both hands to keep her still.
I smile into her cunt, then bite down, not cruel, just enough to remind her that the control is mutual.
“Oh fuck,” she says, voice ragged.
I look up over the side of the couch, face wet, glasses fogging, hair falling into my eyes. “You like that?”
She nods, but words are gone. I keep at it, alternating flicks with broad, flat laps, using the edge of my teeth to tease her right to the edge and then back off. Every time she gets close, I pull away, listen to her curse, watch her tremble, then start again.
She fights the restraint, testing the limits. When she tries to wiggle away, I tighten my grip and press harder. “You wanted this,” I remind her.
“Yeah,” she pants. “But I didn’t know.”
I slide two fingers inside her, knuckles deep, curling to find the spot that makes her scream. She loses it, bucking so hard she nearly knocks me over. I work her with my mouth and my hand, relentless, until I feel her clamp down around my fingers, her whole body going rigid.
She comes with a sob, then a laugh, then another sob, this one accompanied by soft Spanish words that sound like a prayer. I keep moving, gentle now, coaxing the aftershocks out until she’s limp, spent, arms twisted in the rope, hair stuck to her face in wild curls.
I help her stand up from her position, and her legs start shaking so I pick her up again and seat her on the back of the couch facing me. She is quiet and still as I remove the ropes from her legs, always massaging and kissing where the ropes were touching her skin.
“Can you stand?”
“Yes, why?” she asks suspiciously.
I laugh and guide her to the windows, floor to ceiling, thirty-four floors up, city lights undulating below us. “I’m not done with you yet.”
I press her bare chest to the cold glass, and she shivers at the sudden temperature difference, but doesn’t pull away. I step behind her, press my cock against her ass, still clothed but so hard it hurts.
I bring my lips to her ear. “Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you perform?”
She shakes her head, breathing hard.
“I thought, ‘She was made to be seen.’” I let my hands trace the lines of her harness, down her belly. “If you scream now, the whole city could probably hear you.”
She laughs, a low, wicked sound. “Make me.”
I free my cock from the prison of jean and line myself up behind her, one hand on her throat, the other guiding my cock to her entrance.
She’s still so wet I slide in with almost no resistance.
The cold glass at her breasts, the city stretching out below, my hands on her bound body, it’s fucking obscene.
She moans, loud, and I know she wants to be heard. I fuck her slowly at first, making her feel every inch, every pressure point where the rope bites in. She arches her back, pushes her ass into me, demanding more. I slam her against the glass, both of us panting, her breath fogging the glass.
The reflection in the window is a fever dream. Her body wrapped in red, my hands framing her hips, both of us wild, feral. The light from the buildings outside flickers over us, turning her skin to gold, then blue, then black.
She starts to come again, legs shaking, forehead pressed to the glass. “Don’t stop,” she begs. “Please, just—”
I don’t. I grab the ropes at her chest, using them as handles, and fuck her harder, faster, until I feel myself losing control. The orgasm rips through me, violent and sweet, both of us sliding down the window until we’re kneeling, gasping for breath.
Neither of us moves for a long minute. Then I turn her around, cradle her in my lap, and kiss her. Slow, soft, the opposite of everything we just did.
When our breathing calms, I carry her to the bedroom. I lay her on the bed and untie every knot with the same care I used to build them, massaging each mark, kissing every bruise.
She hums with pleasure, curling into my hands, and when the last rope slips free, she pulls me down beside her.
“I want you just as naked as I am.” She sighs and I oblige so immediately it’s pathetic. She watches me undress with heavy-lidded eyes, wild curls fanned over my pillows and God help me I want her again.
We lie together, tangled, the city lights painting our skin with color. I stroke her hair, and she traces the lines on my chest where her nails raked when we were in the office.
“Still want to sign the release tomorrow?” I ask.
She laughs. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
We lie together, her head on my chest, both of us spent and quiet.
She traces a finger along my jaw. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”
I kiss the top of her head. “We are,”
We fall asleep like that, the window open to the city’s white noise, our bodies marked with what we’ve done.
Tomorrow we’ll sign the paperwork, make it official, whatever the club needs. But tonight, there’s nothing left but the binding, and the pleasure in being completely, dangerously known.