Page 93 of Rope Me In

“Keep breathing, Presley. You’re doing so well,” Kade’s baritone voice soothes as his hands work methodically, veins and tendons bulging while his fingers move with practiced ease.

I inhale a long breath then exhale, watching as he braids the four sections of rope at the base of my neck then stops above my breasts. Once he’s satisfied, he has me lift my arms up so he can walk behind me and bring the sections around my back. I feel the rough touch of the material on my skin, and then he’s back in view, weaving the rope over my breasts.

As he works, his knuckles brush over the hardened skin of my nipples, and I can’t stop the gasp that leaves my lips, making Kade smile slyly. I’m already wet from him undressing me, but more arousal floods between my legs.

“Beautiful,” he mutters, admiring his work.

I can’t see the full picture, but from what I do see, I’ll admit it looks pretty. I’ve never seen anything like this, rope woven on top of skin. But I like the way the red and tan colors cross over my pale neck and chest like a decoration.

“I’m going to lay the rope then pull it under your breasts now,” Kade says. His eyes are warm with reassurance as he does the action, his calloused fingers sweeping over the sensitive skin as he once again walks behind me so he can cross the rope in the back. When he puts tension on the ties, they dig into the top of my ribs and my chest, forcing me to push my breasts out.

When I look down again, I see that the rope acts like a bikini top, framing my small boobs and making them appear larger. My mouth goes dry when Kade caresses my ribs and arms before appearing back in front of me with hungry eyes. “You look perfect like this, Presley. Your body was made for my ropes.”

I shiver, and my toes curl against the soft cream carpet from his praise. Had he said any of this a couple of weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed it. But Kade isn’t a liar—that I know. And the visible outline of his cock pressing from behind the placket of his jeans only further proves how much he desires me, how much he enjoys what he sees. I don’t even need his words to know that.

I bite my lower lip, my core fluttering as I imagine what he’s going to feel like inside me.

“You’re liking this, aren’t you?” Kade smiles with flirty eyes, tugging my lip from my teeth with his thumb.

I start to nod, but then I remember my words, knowing how much he likes and wants to hear me verbalize my thoughts and feelings. “Yes, I like it.”

He runs his palm down my side, and I don’t flinch this time. His touch anywhere near or on my stomach is not a care in my mind as he gets closer to my pussy. Just as he’s about to descend on the seam of my sex, he drags a finger over the top of my mons in a teasing manner.

“Kade,” I whisper. “Please.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “You want me to feel how wet you are for me, darlin’?”

“Yes,please.”

He puts his lips to my ear, giving me what I want—what we both want—as he glides two fingers through my soaked folds. I lean into the sensation, wanting more, and release a soft cry when he skims over my clit.

“Fuck, Lemon. You’re so sexy like this.”

“Keep going,” I plead.

He tugs on my earlobe with his teeth. “Be patient. I’m not done with you yet.” Then he pulls away, his hand leaving my sex as he goes back to weaving the ropes.

I bite my lip again to stop a needy groan at the loss of his touch where I want it most. He looks up through his lashes all innocently, but I can see the cocky glint in his eyes. He enjoys teasing me. I can’t say that I mind.

I give him a gentle smile, and we both turn our focus back to his hands as he works the ropes on my body. The moment he starts to loop one over my stomach, he slows his motions and looks into my eyes again as if to ask if I’m okay. I push away any negative thoughts and offer a silent nod.

He loops one of the red ropes over my round middle and slowly walks behind me again. I sink into the sensation, inhaling with the feel of it against me. Then he tightens the rope, the material digging into my fleshy, stretch-marked skin, and I tense, sucking my stomach in.

A momentary flare of panic ignites inside my chest as I think about what I’d see if I looked down: my skin being squished and framed by the rope as he tugs. My breasts were one thing, but my stomach is another. Thoughts of Derek and his commentary, my mom calling me husky, the time one of my bandmates pinched the fat of my hip and said she knew of a great diet I could try fill my mind, and I clench my jaw.

“Presley, darlin’.” I take a long inhale at the reminder of where I am. Kade kisses the top of my round shoulder. “Remember what I told you before. Let your mind be free of those bad thoughts. You’re beautiful. Your body is beautiful. Every part of you is worthy and deserves to be loved. Just feel the ropes. Feel my hands worship you. Can you do that?”

I exhale the tight breath constricting my lungs and manage to whisper a “yes” through the years of sadness and anger clogging my throat.

“Brave girl,” he murmurs, his gentle features entering my vision. “I’m so proud of you.”

Kade’s words squeeze like a boa constrictor around my heart. I don’t know how someone can repeatedly know exactly what I need to hear at the right time, but he always does.

He gives me a short kiss and breathes with me for another moment before he goes back to tying.

I focus on his broad chest and arms as he continues to weave and tug. I still feel the rope digging into my skin, but I don’t let my thoughts from before infiltrate this moment. Instead, I watch as Kade works with his rope as if it’s part of him.

It’s clear he loves doing this, and for a moment, I wonder why. When he brought up rope before, I thought it was just a thing he wanted to do in the bedroom. But this—what I’ve felt so far and the care he’s put into tying me—goes beyond the sexual nature of it. It’s like the rope is a support system to hold and guide me through what I’m feeling, and Kade is the watchful shepherd, the caring, kind, and sensitive man that I’ve come to know.

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