Page 106 of The Restoration Program
“Art,” she echoed. “I think I prefer Pollock.”
She wracked her brain, trying to conjure a single time he showed interest in anything this elaborate before the accident. She came up empty, and he offered a non-answer.
Ryan softly ordered her to sit with her tucked knees pointed up. A little gasp escaped her as he slipped the second strand between her legs, looping one side and then the other. He knotted her tucked legs individually, leaving her unable to unfold them. His fingers paused when she couldn’t hide her trembling.
“Ry,” she said, her voice so thin that even the rustling bed sheets could drown it out. “Maybe it does matter. I mean, if this interest is something new… Something because of—” She swallowed, loathing to say it. “Because of how I am now. That’s totally okay. I just want to understand.”
“Hey,” he whispered, leaning in. “Look at me. This is just for fun. We gotta be a little adventurous, right? I’ll be gentle, babe. Don’t be scared.”
He kissed the knots on her thighs, then the one between her breasts. His lips were soft, warm. But the yarn was becoming rough against her skin. Being covered in ropes left her feeling more exposed than when she’d been entirely bare. His kisses lingered and pressed deeper when she gave a tremulous nod to show him she was okay.
“Peach. Can that be our safeword?” Nicole asked.
He smiled toothily. “Peach it is.”
He finished off hisartby fastening a knot between her bound ankles and wrists. He arranged her on her knees as though he were adjusting a figurine.
“Can you move?” he asked, cocking his head as he drank her in again.
She gave her wrists an experimental tug, nearly toppling over at once. Already, her thighs were aching from the forced strain of keeping her legs tucked so tightly. Words failed her. She didn’t have to look high at his face to see he was spellbound by her wriggling tugs at her restraints.
He loosed a breathless noise as he looked over his final handiwork. A proud, amateur artist.
“Good, good.” He descended with a kiss. Sloppier, eager. “You’re such a good girl.”
He tore himself away, rolling out of bed to remove his jeans. Ryan seemed to take his time in doing so, enjoying the leisurely glances he could steal in the vanity mirror, seeing her waiting there for him. She did her best to look sexy, pouting and breathing girlish little pants so that he could hear.
Ryan dimmed the lights. When he faced her again at the end of the bed in his tented boxer shorts, Nicole felt like she was on stage and forgot her lines.
“It looks like someone left you in quite a state.” He crawled closer. She didn’t like the veiled glaze over his eyes, but he was gentle enough when he asked, “Is your husband home?”
Her head shot up.
“Why, no,” Nicole simpered after a beat. “I don’t think he is.”
New storyline, too. Someone’s been busy,she thought, making note of the certainty her husband exuded. Like he had practiced this a dozen times in his head. She just hadn’t been invited to the rehearsals.
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Ryan clicked his tongue, then lowered his voice to a gravelly decibel. “Someone should get you out of these binds. But first… I think we’re going to play a game, you and me.”
Nicole’s mind raced to guess what her line should be. He wanted her to fight back. She wrestled down bile in her throat.
Ryan huffed, shaken from the fantasy. “Babe,” he said. “You’re supposed to, like,struggleand shit.”
“Sorry. Uh—don’t,” she trilled, leaning her face away. “You have to untie me!”
“After our game.”
Ryan curled a finger under her chin, pulling her gaze back. Nicole resisted, but their tug of war didn’t last long. She surrendered the moment he applied more pressure. Her chest heaved as she locked eyes with him overhead. She found herself hypnotized with horror as they stared each other down. Never since the Restoration had she been so brutally aware of the power and size he had on her.
“You… you can’t,” she said with genuine breathlessness.
“I don’t see anyone else here. Who’s gonna stop me?”
You wanted his attention,a voice sing-songed in the back of her head.
Well, she certainly had it now.
One hand pressed into the pillow to support him, while the other began stroking her long hair, tracing down the contours of her delicate curves interrupted by lines of crimson. A soft gust rushed over her as Ryan sighed—a proud Picasso fingering his own piece.
