Page 14 of Tied

Chapter 7

Riley

I can’t believe he’s doing this. I can’t believe he went to all these lengths to see me again—and to fulfill another fantasy for me.

He’s the only man who ever gave me what I craved. And he was the one who made me understand my needs in the first place. That’s why it’s impossible to resist him.

Well, that and his unparalleled handsome looks. And his presence. His aura of power and wealth.

I cursed myself back then for being susceptible to something so mundane and superficial, but I’ve come to terms with that demented attraction. I’m only tormenting myself by fighting it, no matter how superficial it may be to like a man in an expensive, custom-tailored suit with a watch on his wrist that probably costs more than my monthly rent.

But it’s so pleasing to go along with it, to follow his domineering voice and his strong hand directing me to wherever he wants me.

The smile on his face widens when I put my feet up on the chair, exposing my naked core to him, and my nerves run wild with excitement. This is how he told me to sit back then, exactly like this.

And then he tied me to the chair.

And then...

“Very good girl,” he praises me, and my heart jumps with unbridled joy.

It only gets better when he reaches for the end of the rope that has been used to tie my hands together. It’s still closed around my wrist, and when he brings it around the backrest of the chair, my arm follows the familiar motion.

I spent months trying to forget him. I left the city where I met him and I vowed I’d never contact him, even though that was my first instinct after I got fired from my job. It would have been easy to run to him and ask for his help. It would have been easy to hide in his arms and blame the world for being so mean to me.

But I’ve never been one to choose the easy route. That’s not how I was raised, and that’s not what made me who I am.

Maybe that’s why I did it. Maybe that’s why I ran in the opposite direction. Instead of losing myself in him, I was determined to find myself outside of anything I had built in that town, thousands of miles from my home.

I blocked out everything from that life, including him. But the wall I built was a brittle one, and it crumbled the moment I saw his face in front of me. Or maybe even before that. Maybe it started to fall apart the moment I heard his voice. I only had written interactions with “Mr. Stanford” before I agreed to the unusual job interview. The Skype call was the first time I heard his voice.

But I didn’t make the connection. Or maybe I didn’t dare?

He brings the rope to the other side of me, reaching for my other wrist and moving it behind the backrest to connect with the other. His touch is gentle and caring, very different from the way he handled me before. But it’s no less enticing. If anything, it only worsens my predicament.

I’m anxious for what comes next. Will it be like last time?

Heat spreads through my entire body at the thought of it. As much as I’ve tried to push them aside, the memories come flooding back to me.

Me, completely naked, tied to an office chair—my boss’s chair to be precise—that was twice the size of the one I’d sat in every day, my hands bound behind the backrest and my feet poised on the soft leather.

Him, standing in front of me, teasing me, whipping my clit with a tiny leather whip, the strings bringing a delectable blend of agony and pleasure to my center.

And then he stepped forward, throwing the whip aside and towering over me while he inspected the impact of his treatment on my poor clit. The pain wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be, but it was bad enough to make me cry out in anguish. However, as soon as he stopped, it turned into a hot throbbing that felt like nothing I had ever felt before. It was dazzling, mind-numbing, and so wonderful that I would have sworn that I was under the influence of drugs because it felt like a drunken high.

Will it be the same today? I’m quivering at the thought of it, and when he knots the rope behind the backrest, effectively binding me to the chair, my pulse is speeding with such a rush of anticipation that it is dizzying in itself.

He steps back in front of me, tall and mighty just like he was back then, watching me as I squirm under heavy breaths, my eyes seeking his as I search for the answer to my most pressing question.

What are you going to do to me?

“I should have fucked you the last time I had you like this, don’t you think?”

His dark, ominous voice slurs the words like a threat.

My response is feeble in comparison, a word that is breathed more than spoken. “Yes.”

“You think you deserve my cock, little Miss Riley?”

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