Page 134 of Body and Soul

My hand sped up on Eli's pierced cock, twisting and stroking, pulling him inexorably toward the edge. “Yes, you may come,” I breathed against his lips.

Eli's body went bowstring taut, his head thrown back in a silent gasp as he spilled over my hand. The rhythmic clench of his body around my aching cock was exquisite, and I followed him over, finishing inside him with a guttural groan.

I collapsed on top of Eli, both of us gasping for breath, our sweat-slicked skin sliding together. I fumbled one-handed for the restraints, freeing Eli's wrists. He immediately wound his arms around me, clutching me close as aftershocks rippled through him.

We lay like that for long moments, just holding each other as our heart rates gradually slowed. I felt Eli nuzzle into my skin, his lips brushing my neck. “Welcome back,” he murmured, his words slightly slurred and dreamy.

I pressed a kiss to his temple. “It's good to be back.”

And it was. Here, with Eli in my arms, the pieces of myself slotting back into place, I felt whole. Centered in a way I only ever did with him.

I rolled off Eli, settling beside him on the rumpled sheets. He immediately curled into me, his head pillowed on my chest, fingers idly tracing patterns on my sweat-damp skin. I wrapped an arm around him, savoring the solid weight of him against me, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

We lay like that for a time, content in the simple pleasure of skin on skin contact, the gentle rise and fall of our breathingthe only sound. Sunlight slanted through the curtains, painting Eli's skin in stripes of gold, his platinum hair glowing like a halo against the dark sheets.

In the peaceful afterglow, an idea began to take shape in my mind. A desire to take Eli to new heights, to push his limits and show him pleasures he'd never known. I wanted to tie him up properly, to suspend him in an intricately woven web of rope until he was completely at my mercy.

I shifted slightly, propping myself up on one elbow to gaze down at Eli's relaxed features. “I’d like to go out to The Playground this weekend for a proper rope scene,” I murmured, brushing a lock of platinum hair off his forehead.

Eli's eyes fluttered open, his gaze hazy and unfocused as he blinked up at me. “Rope scene?” he repeated, his voice rough with lingering pleasure. “Like tying me up?”

I smiled, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with a fingertip. “More than just tying you up. I want to suspend you, bind you in an intricate web of rope until you're completely at my mercy.”

Eli's breath hitched, his pupils dilating as he stared up at me. “I've never done anything like that before,” he said, but there was no fear in his voice, only excitement.

“I know,” I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “That's why I want to do it at The Playground. They have all the equipment we'd need, and people there who can spot us to make sure everything is safe.”

Eli nodded slowly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. The silver ring through his lip glinted in the sunlight. “Okay,” he breathed after a moment. “I trust you.”

Those three simple words sent a thrill through me, warming me from the inside out. Eli's trust was a precious gift, one I knew he didn't bestow lightly. “Thank you,” I said softly, infusing the words with all the gravity I felt.

Eli smiled. “Next time we go, then. It’s a date.”

I shifted my gripon my knives, drawing the back of my hand through my sweat drenched hair. The steady bass line of “Shoop” echoed off the high metal walls of the warehouse. How the hell was it so fucking hot in there? It was the New Year’s Day for fuck’s sake.

Warrick circled me, his movements fluid and predatory. He held his own knives with the easy familiarity of someone who had spent a lifetime wielding them while his fiancée and brothers leaned against one of the walls, arms crossed.

“Gotov'sya!” Warrick barked, lunging at me in a blur of deadly steel.

I reacted on instinct, muscle memory taking over from the grueling hours of training Warrick had put me through over the past few days. I parried his strike, metal clashing against metal in a jarring impact that reverberated up my arm.

Warrick grunted approvingly as we traded a furious volley of blows, our knives flashing in the fluorescent lights. He feinted left, and I fell for it, overcompensating and leaving my right sideopen. Warrick's blade skimmed along my ribs, the razor edge kissing my flesh.

“Not bad,” he said, stepping back. “But don’t get cocky. That’s how you get killed.”

I nodded, breathing hard. My side stung where Warrick's knife had sliced me, a thin line of blood welling up. It was a superficial wound, meant to teach, not to maim.

“Again,” Warrick commanded, falling back into a ready stance.

I mirrored him, adjusting my grip on the knives, trying to find that balance between tension and relaxation Warrick had drilled into me. Too tense and my movements would be stiff, predictable. Too relaxed and I'd be slow to react. It was a delicate dance, one I was still learning the steps to.

We clashed again, blades ringing as we parried and thrust. I could feel myself improving, could see it in the way Warrick had to work harder to find openings in my defense. But he still managed to slip past my guard more often than not, his knives scoring my skin and clothes.

By the time Warrick called a halt, I was drenched in sweat, my muscles burning and my lungs heaving. But beneath the exhaustion was a thrumming sense of accomplishment. I was doing this. I was learning how to fight, how to survive. How to never be a victim again.

“You're getting better,” Warrick said, clapping me on the shoulder. “A few more weeks of this and you might actually be good.”

I handed my knives to Warrick and grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat from my face. “When Shepherd said I’d be learning to defend myself, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” I said, my voice rough with fatigue and emotion.

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