Page 8 of Body and Soul

I quickly moved on before Shepherd could notice the growing bulge in my jeans. A huge metal frame in the center of the room caught my eye next. It had to be at least seven feet tall, with a slatted top that looked like it could be adjusted to different angles. Hooks and carabiners hung from various points on theframe. I had no idea what half this stuff was for, but fuck if it didn't get my heart racing.

Coils of rope in every color imaginable hung on racks mounted to the wall—deep reds, royal blues, stark black. Some looked thin and silky, others thick and coarse. I grabbed one, a deep navy blue, and let it unravel in my hands. It was heavier than I expected, the fibers rough against my skin. I couldn't help imagining how it would feel looped tight around my wrists, my ankles, maybe even my cock and balls…

I ran the navy rope through my fingers, transfixed by the coarse feel of it against my skin. My mind raced with dark fantasies of being bound and helpless. I was so caught up in my thoughts, I didn't even hear Shepherd come up behind me.

“That's a hemp rope,” his deep voice rumbled in my ear, making me jump. “Ideal for shibari. The knots hold well.”

I swallowed hard, nearly dropping the bundle of rope as I turned to face him. He was so close, his broad chest almost brushing against mine. This near, I could see flecks of gold in his dark eyes. My gaze flicked down to his full lips before I could stop myself.

“Shibari?” I said, my voice sounding strained.

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “The ancient Japanese art of rope bondage,” Shepherd explained, taking the navy coil from my hands. He let it play out between his fingers with a soft rasp that sent a shiver down my spine. “It's an intricate art form, using ropes and knots to restrain the body in visually striking poses and patterns.”

I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly bone dry. I regretted not bringing more candy to ease the dryness in my mouth. "And here I thought it was all about control," I quipped, attempting to lighten the mood despite the tension simmering between us.

He stepped even closer until I could feel the heat radiating off him. “That’s only part of the equation. Bondage is about trustand surrender, but Shibari especially is as much for performance as it is for pleasure. Shibari is more than just tying someone up; it's an art form that focuses on creating beautiful patterns and deep emotional connections. It’s about trust and intimacy, transforming the experience into something both visually stunning and profoundly personal.”

Fuck. How did he manage to make something so intense feel so erotic? I shifted my weight, discreetly adjusting myself as my cock strained against the fabric of my jeans.

Shepherd's gaze flicked down to my crotch before meeting my eyes again. A ghost of a smirk played at his lips. “I could give you a demonstration, if you'd like.”

Wait, what? My heart stuttered in my chest. “A demonstration?”

He nodded. “I’m one of the most experienced riggers here. You can keep your clothing on if you’d like, or remove your shirt if you’re interested in a more tactile experience. It doesn’t have to be sexual.” He stepped back and began winding the rope around one hand. “It can help to see some of the basic ties and positions. Give you a small taste of what it is.”

My pulse kicked into high gear. Part of me was screaming to run, that this was crazy. I'd just met this guy tonight. But another part, the part that had spent so many late nights with my hand shoved down my pants imagining scenarios like this, was already saying hell yes. I’d been looking for something more and this fit the bill.

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as a desert. “A demonstration sounds good.”

I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and yanked it over my head before I could second guess myself. Cool air kissed my bare skin, and I shivered, my nipples hardening instantly. I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest.

Shepherd's eyes roamed over my bare torso, his expression unreadable. I fought the urge to squirm under his intense scrutiny.

As Shepherd's gaze trailed over my body, his eyes narrowed when they landed on my right hip. The easy confidence melted from his expression, replaced by something darker, more intense.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, my hands twitching at my sides. Why had I taken my shirt off so quickly? I hadn't even thought about the brand. Fuck.

My eyes flicked down to my right hip bone where the mark stood out. I moved my hand to cover it, my fingers splayed. But it was too late. He'd already seen it. I could tell by how his eyes had narrowed, his jaw clenching.

Fuck, why had I let him see that? What if he recognized the mark for what it was? I couldn’t allow him to see me as weak—couldn’t let him see the victim I once was.

I wasn’t a fucking victim anymore.

Memories flashed through my mind in quick succession, like a strobe light of trauma. The way they'd held me down, the stench of burned flesh, my own screams echoing in my head as the red-hot brand pressed into my skin. The way the leader had gripped my jaw after, fingers digging into my cheeks as he hissed in my face that I was theirs now, that I'd never escape.

I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing back the bile that rose in my throat. No. I couldn't think about that. Not here. Not now.

I forced my eyes open, meeting Shepherd's gaze.

Shepherd's eyes lingered on the brand, his brow furrowing slightly. “That’s an interesting mark. What is it from?”

I swallowed hard, my fingers still splayed over the raised scar. What could I even say? The truth was too much, too dark. I didn't know him well enough for that. But something in his gaze pulled at me, urging me to give him something real.

“It's from a long time ago,” I said finally, my voice sounding rough to my own ears. “Ancient history.”

Shepherd studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. I had the distinct feeling he could see right through me, past all the walls I'd so carefully constructed. It was unnerving. Part of me wanted to hide from that penetrating stare. But another part, the broken part I tried so hard to ignore, desperately craved the connection, even as it terrified me.

What did he want from me? The way he looked at me, it felt different from the pity or disgust most people regarded me with when they saw the scars littering my body. There was a heaviness in his gaze, but also a glimmer of something else. Understanding, maybe. Or perhaps it was merely curiosity. I couldn't be sure.

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