Page 52 of Trussed In Hope
He tilted his head, and a slow smile tugged at his mouth. “You really don’t know, do you?”
I shifted, self-conscious. “Know what?”
“That you were born for this,” he said. His tone wasn’t teasing. It was steady, absolute, as if he were reading a truth off the surface of my skin.
Heat rushed through me, making me glance down, my hands curling at my sides. The dress that had felt daring in my bedroom now felt fragile, almost inadequate under his gaze.
“Eyes on me,” he said.
The command hit me low, quick and sharp. My head lifted before I even thought about it.
“That’s better.” His voice was softer now, but no less firm. “You don’t need to hide. Not from me.”
My breath stuttered out. “It’s… different here. I’ve never…” I gestured vaguely at the ropes, the cross, the space itself.
“You’ve never had someone who knew what to do with you,” he finished for me, pushing off the bench.
He came toward me slowly, boots heavy against the floor. Every step narrowed the distance until his body heat wrapped around me. He didn’t touch me—not yet. His hand came up, hovering just beside my cheek, the threat of contact making me tremble harder than an actual caress.
“Two weeks ago, you told me you wanted to level up our relationship,” he reminded me. “Not play. No games. Serious. You weren’t nervous then, right?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“And you told me you wanted me.”
I exhaled a sigh of relief. “Yes.”
He leaned in, his breath brushing my lips, but still not touching. “Then you’ll give me more than words tonight. You’ll give me your trust.”
I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. “I already do.”
His smile was sharp, knowing. “We’ll see.”
He stepped back, leaving me swaying in the space he’d occupied, already aching for him to return. Then he unzipped the duffel with deliberate slowness, pulling out coils of soft rope, cuffs lined with leather, a blindfold, and a flogger that glinted under the light.
My knees nearly gave out. There was more in that bag than I’d seen him pack into it.
Lord help me.
He looked back at me, one brow lifted. “Last chance to walk, Ember. Once we start, you’re mine until I say otherwise.”
“I’m not walking,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
Hardison’s smile deepened, something dangerous and satisfied in it, like he’d just won a battle I didn’t know I’d been fighting. “Good girl.”
Two words. That was all it took to melt something inside me, my body loosening even as anticipation coiled tighter.
“Dress off,” he ordered.
My hands trembled as I reached for the zipper at my side. The fabric slid down, whispering against my skin, until it pooled around my heels. I stepped out of it, standing in nothing but the black lace he’d picked for me earlier—bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings. His gaze raked over me, heat and hunger burning through every inch.
“Turn around.”
I obeyed, facing the cross on the wall. My heart hammered as I heard the soft scrape of leather and metal behind me. Then his hands were on my shoulders, warm and steady, guiding me forward until I was flush with the cool wood.
“Spread your arms.”
The command vibrated through me, and I did as he asked, palms flat against the cross. The click of cuffs followed—the leather snug but not painful as he secured my wrists. Then my ankles. I was bound, open, and trembling with the weight of his presence behind me.
