Page 51 of Make Me Scream

“No.”

“Do you want to be late?”

I see where he’s going with this.

“No, I don’t want to be late.”

“Then get up,” he says. “Or Iwillleave without you.”

“Fine.” I shoo him out with both arms. “Go on, I’m getting up, I promise.”

Forcing myself out of bed, the rope awakens all the need I suppressed when I went to sleep. Every move I make to wash up and dress releases new jolts and tingles. It would feel so good to relieve the pressure, one way or another. At this point I’d probably only need a minute…

No.

I’ll wait for Lane. It’ll be worth it.

However, I do need the bathroom. I have no choice but to take off the rope, but as soon as I’m done I put it right back. I don’t tie it with the same finesse, but I pull it just as tight.

As soon as I’m ready, Joel and I head out. We get bagels, we don’t have to rush and we get to work on time. The cafe is pretty busy, which I’m thankful for: it keeps me distracted until my shift is over. Once we’re done, I head straight to Lane’s studio.

He stands in the doorway, not letting me in at first. Without a word, he checks me out, up and down.

“You’re still wearing it, aren’t you?” he asks.

How does he know? Is he just guessing, or do I have a tell?

“Yes, professor.”

“Show me.”

I pull up my top just enough to let him see the band circling my waist.

“You took it off,” he says. It’s an observation, not a question.

“Only for a minute.”

He tugs at the knot, but it’s taut.

“Good. Come in.”

He leads me into the studio and points to the center of the room.

“Undress,” he orders. “Toss your clothes to me. Then cross your arms behind your back.”

I do as I’m told, giving Lane a sordid show. If I entice him enough, maybe he’ll skip the art and go straight to giving me the release I need.

Once I’m done stripping, Lane tosses my clothes out the door of the studio, then comes up close to examine the rope.

Isn’t he going to undress too? Just because I’ve been turned on for hours, it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to see that gorgeous, masculine sculpture.

“I’m really impressed,” he says, examining my skin. “You must be pretty sore.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you tempted to stop wearing it?”

“Yes.

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