Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Sophie
The door opens and a familiar face stares back at me.
His piercing blue eyes hold mine, his large frame fills the doorway, all broad chest, defined shoulders and thick forearms. His hair’s pulled back in a top knot, his stubble slightly longer than usual.
He’s my Roman soldier. We stand staring at each other as my eyes question what is going on.
Why is he here in Rory’s apartment? Why am I here again?
I’ve been seeing Francis for the past twelve months, the time I spend with him is like a drug for more reasons than the joy of Shibari.
Francis steps into the space between us, forcing me to look up at him as he bends his knees and scoops me up, to my surprise.
My legs naturally come up around his waist and my arms circle his thick muscular neck.
He backs us in, my face level with his, taken aback by the unusual welcome I am receiving.
When the door closes, he pushes me up against the back of it.
He looks between my lips and my eyes, asking for permission to kiss me.
I smile shyly back as his eyes check for certain before his plump lips caress mine.
They’re soft and pillowy, promising citrus and cinnamon as I allow myself to fall into this stolen moment with him and his lips on me.
My hands circle his nape as our lips indulge in an unfamiliar rhythm, getting to know each other in this intimate way.
When our lips part, it’s my tongue that seeks out his, exploring, tasting, wanting more.
Francis pushes me up harder so my back is flush with the door as his tongue laps mine for the first time.
I have fantasized about what it would feel like to have his lips on mine.
I have always felt a connection but I had put it down to the vulnerability and emotions that this job evokes in me.
Our kiss doesn’t change pace, it consumes.
My fingers creep up into his hair as our tongues dance and lap together, building my heartrate and the intensity that I feel pumping through my veins and straight to my pussy pressed up against his flat stomach.
When Francis pulls away, we are panting and I don’t want this moment to be over.
I take his lips again, slow and steady, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he crossed over the line but I want to stay there.
When we break apart again he finally speaks, “My real name is Flynn, but everyone calls me Bear.” I grin at his introduction and understand exactly why he has that nickname.
He is built like a bear and is the hairiest person I have ever met which I love about him.
He’s stacked and he’s sexy in a Roman kind of way, my Roman. The admission endears me to him.
“Hi Flynn,” I whisper, our faces so close our noses almost touch. His eyes crinkle and soften adoringly towards me.
“My name on your lips…” he trails off and I can feel the warmth of his words on my lips.
“Do you have anything you want to tell me about Rory and I assume Mack?” I ask in a whisper. In answer Flynn closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“Are you ready to begin?” he asks as he takes all my weight with one hand and moves a rogue stray hair away from my face.
“Always,” I reply with certainty. Flynn, still holding me with one arm, walks me over to a thick rug in front of the sofa I don’t remember seeing last time.
He gently lowers me to the floor until I can unwrap my feet from around him and stand.
Flynn’s thick fingers begin at my neck unfastening my shirt one button at a time.
He always undresses me, taking his time like he’s unwrapping a present as he reveals more and more of my skin to his eyes.
He peels off my cardigan and then my shirt and lowers down to his knees that sink into the plush rug.
He unzips my crop trousers and pulls them down over my hips, taking in the sight of me in my pastel pink lace thong and bra.
I always want to look pretty in an innocent kind of way for him, maybe it’s the size of him that makes him feel like my protector, maybe it’s the level of attention and care he shows my body.
Flynn holds out his arm so I can balance and step out of my shoes and he lowers my trousers so I wriggle out of them.
Staring directly at my pussy, he pinches the elastic around my hips and eases down my thong that drops to the floor.
God this man, I wish he would let loose on my body and break free from his attentively calm and controlled demeanor.
What he does instead catches me by surprise.
He dips his finger between my legs and swipes up, collecting my building arousal with the pad of his thick finger.
I feel all the heat of my body travel down to my clit which sparks wildly between my legs.
He brings his glistening finger up to his lips and sucks it into his mouth, drawing his eyes up along my torso before meeting my eyes.
He’s never done anything so indulgent before but I’ve always wanted him to break free from the patient restraint he has over his desires.
My body craves for him to do it again, but my taste on his tongue seems to satisfy his curiosity as he reaches around my body to unclip my bra.
As the lace falls away, his eyes watch as my breasts fall full and heavy, my nipples erect and needy.
He cups my breasts with a hand each and gently rubs the pads of his thumbs across my taut nipples.
My body hums with desire as the air thickens around us.
I don’t push him or make a move, entranced by the new tiny details that are different to our usual time together.
Standing up to tower over me, Flynn walks to a box on the table and carries it over, placing it beside me.
He tugs off his loose fitting white shirt to expose his muscular neck and shoulders, then his well rounded pecs that are covered in light black hair that draws my eyes down his abs and below his baggy harem trousers.
My mouth waters at the sight of him, I don’t know what he does as a day job or maybe he spends a lot of time working out.
Whatever it is, my eyes are so grateful for the time he puts into the chiselled effects which are currently making wet heat pool between my legs.
I lick my lips at the sight of him. He doesn’t usually share his body with me, this new development spikes my heart-rate at the anticipation of what else is going to come.
Lifting off the lid, I see there are the usual array of ropes bundled neatly.
He lifts out a black silken rope and begins to unwind it so that the length of it drops long and free to the floor.
I stand still with my arms to my sides, feeling the heat of my body as it anticipates where he will start the ropes on my body.
It’s in this moment I hand myself over to him, willing and vulnerable.
I trust him, I trust him with my life which has been earned and built upon over every job I’ve had with him.
Lifting his hands up, he threads the rope under my arm and up around my back, coming up and over my shoulder where he threads the rope through the loop and gets to work deftly moving around my body like he’s in a trance and working on a masterpiece.
When I took part in his first job he was very clear on his expectations from me and gave detailed instructions on what sensations I needed to pay attention for as potential issues, things he couldn’t know about if I didn’t say anything.
Which was the most he has ever said to me up until now, preferring nonverbal check-ins with me.
It has taken time and practice to be able to remain still and calm as he works the ropes around my body.
I sink into a deep relaxed state as my mind clears and my senses are heightened, feeling the rope pull and stretch across my body.
Flynn loses himself in his art, his attention fully consumed by the rope beneath his fingers and using my body as his canvas.
I watch him move when he is in sight, his brows slightly furrowed, his lips pursed.
When he’s not in sight, I let the rhythmic motion of the rope lull me into a space that feels meditative and relaxed.
He pulls the rope across my body, testing that it’s not too tight but tight enough to hold.
And the ropes are tight, but not in a way that makes me panic, rather they feel like a tight hug or a compression vest. Flynn always checks after every knot to make sure no skin is pinched under the ropes and there is sufficient blood flow.
After a while, an outline of the pattern becomes visible when I look down as his focus turns to my torso.
I have ropes criss-crossing around my breasts that hold their place but are not tightened.
Flynn works on an intricate pattern that fans out from a circle below my breasts and down across both rib cages.
I focus on my breathing, trying not to let even an inch of panic threaten the peace within my mind.
I can breathe, I can take deep breaths if I need to, Flynn never pulls them tight enough to trigger my fight-or-flight response.
I watch as his hands work softly against my skin, his fingers threading rope in and around the outlined design leaving knots in their wake. His muscles ripple across his chest as he moves, his body working nimbly around mine. I watch as his forearms flex and his throat bobs in concentration.