Page 74 of To Save Him

“Yes.  I think so.”

“You know I respect you, right?  But how this is somehow helping me?  I don’t know how or why yet, but it’s opening something inside me, Kimberly.  Something powerful and strong.  Something good.  A part of myself that had been buried.”

Why I placed my hand on his, I wouldn’t know.  “I’ll do what I can.”

“That’s why I need to know you’re okay with this.”  I searched his eyes before slowly moving my head up and down.  “Because we might need to take it up a notch.”

I felt my heart sink then.  I hadn’t been completely honest with him about how the beginning of the night had made me feel—first humiliated, then afraid.  It wasn’t until the end that my body had responded in ways my rational mind hadn’t that I felt like what he’d done had been a stroke of genius.

Could I endure more?

I sucked a long breath in through my nostrils before asking, “What do you have in mind?”

He looked at me for a while as if assessing my needs through my eyes.  “Restraint.”

I swallowed.  I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that.  Yes, I knew there were all kinds of things he could mean—handcuffs, ropes, or heaven knew what else, but it was the way he said it.  He didn’tsay“handcuffs” or “tying.”  He’d saidrestraint.  My writer’s mind could conjure up all kinds of meanings.

My eyes must have given me away.  “Why don’t we search a little online and see if there’s anything you’d be comfortable with?  Something we could compromise and agree on.”

I agreed, and we decided to use the desktop computer in my office rather than have him go upstairs and fetch the laptop.  I was worried about too much in-and-out activity disturbing the kids and making them keenly aware of what was going on.

I wasn’t ready to address my strange relationship with them.  Not yet, anyway.  And maybe not ever.  I had no idea where this was going or how long it would last.  If Brandon was but a blip on my screen, there would be no sense even telling my kids.  I didn’t need them thinking I was a slut.

After logging on, I moved over so Brandon could control the computer.  I had no idea what we’d be looking at or where we’d be going, so it was just easier.  He went straight to Google, started typing and clicking, and soon he landed on a colorful page before I had much chance to ask what was going on.

It took a second for me to realize I was looking at an online catalog.  I tilted my head a bit to fully take in what I was seeing.  It was a woman on her knees.  Her hair was in a long straight braid down the back of her head and her back was to the camera.  She was topless but she was wearing something, something it took me a bit to process.  It was some sort of weirdrestraint, to use the word Brandon had chosen.  It looked like a choker around her neck—all black leather, of course—and some sort of waistband, and the two pieces were joined by a strap down her spine.  What stuck out most in my mind, though, was that her hands were cuffed together behind her back and secured to the strap on her spine.

Brandon glanced over at me, probably to assess my level of discomfort, and then he began scrolling.  My expression must have told him to keep looking.  There were handcuffs—both cold steel and pink and fuzzy (as if that made them benign)—but as he continued moving down the page, a tiny sensation of horror crept into my gut.  Leg spreader bars, bed restraint “kits,” hog-tying cuffs, harnesses, tape, leashes and collars, followed by—sweet Jesus—huge systems that would have to be secured to a person’s wall.

Shit.  How into this lifestyle were people?  And could I do this?

I was trying to keep my heartbeat steady.  I was a grown woman, after all, and this was not a huge deal.  People did stuff like this every day—and after all I’d been through in my life, this shouldn’t be a game changer, right?

But I swallowed and said nothing.  My emotions were in turmoil and I couldn’t trust the words forming in my brain.  Hell, I wasn’t even sure what they were yet.  Brandon scrolled back up to the top of the page rather than clicking through to the next, and he paused on the collared restraint at the top of the page.  I was fascinated to a degree, but I also didn’t know that I wanted to be bound like that.  “Something like this?”  I didn’t say a word, but he must have seen it on my face.  “Too much?”  I swallowed again, realizing then that saliva was flooding my mouth.  Why?  Was that good or bad?  He started scrolling down again, pausing on the first bed kit.  “Then this is probably out of the question.”  God, if he paused on the leg spreader thing, I was going to freak out.  Best to stop this now while I could.

“Look, Brandon, couldn’t we maybe start small?  I want to do this, but…I’ve been pretty, uh,tamemy whole life.  I need to ease into this.”

“Okay.  So tell me what here looks acceptable.”

“Why couldn’t we maybe start with a rope or something?  Something that seems less permanent.  I mean…what if you were to have me handcuffed and you lost the keys?  And some of those things look like they could be dangerous.”  Or like they hurt.  But I wasn’t going to mention that, because somehow using that word would amp up the fear that was beginning to form in the pit of my stomach.  Besides…pain looked like it was maybe supposed to be part of the equation.

“So you’re not averse to restraint, just the methods?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I could tell he was pondering the idea, so I said nothing, instead returning my eyes to the screen.  There was a pair of red handcuffs and some hot pink tape on the screen, both reasonably priced.  I was getting ready to tell him I could maybe try one of those when he said, “Do you have a robe of some kind?  With a tie that comes loose?”  Of course, I did.  I had several.  But I nodded, not saying a word.  In this new role, not speaking somehow felt safer…and more like the kind of sexual partner he needed me to be.  “Do you want to maybe try something like thatnow?”

There went the wind from my lungs.  But just as I started to feel dread seizing my muscles, I felt something else—warmth, excitement…desire.  I pulled air back down my throat and nodded.  “Yes.  But—”

I got the feeling he was expecting some sass from me by the way he arched his eyebrow.  “What?”

“I wanted to ask you something off topic first.”

He clicked the mouse a couple of times, shutting down the computer, and said, “Go ahead.”

I pursed my lips for a moment, trying to think how to broach the subject, realizing I just needed to do it and fumble through.  “You and Gabriel…do you have any pictures of the two of you together?  I was trying to find something…”

I was gauging his response.  This would be a key moment.  But he didn’t show any fear or apprehension, nothing like he was getting caught in a lie.  Instead, he was pondering, trying to figure out if he did have something—and, if not, he was a damn good actor, because I was convinced.  “I don’t know if I do.  I can’t remember us ever having a picture taken together.”

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