He doesn’t give me a chance to instruct him though—or maybe he simply doesn’t give me time to doubt myself because he kisses me again, his hands resting low on my hips.
It’s not rope he handed me. It’s a continuation of what I had outside.
Courage.
Strength.
Confidence.
The ability to not only finally have sex with my husband, but to be desired. To be trusted to the point, he’ll be bound up. If anyone told me six months ago, I’d be wed to a mob boss and minutes away from tying him toourbed, I would have laughed in their face and wrote them a song about silly dreams.
He trusts me. If there’s a single lesson from all this, it’s that.
With this, my trust for him also builds. At this point, I wonder how much of medoesn’ttrust him. And it’s with Dr. Shappo’s theory that my trust for people is linked to my trauma, I break his kiss and open my mouth to talk.
Crash!
Metal scraping against metal.
Tires squealing.
Fuck. Why did I think it’d be different this time?
Speak, dammit.
Nothing. Air.
Maybe I’m forcing it.
I want this, though. To trust him with my voice and hope he won’t destroy that part of me.
Erico’s brows meld together and he smooths a thumb down my cheek. “You okay? What’s in your head?”
Nothing,I mouth, responding only to his second question. Nothing and everything.
“Don’t force it.” His thumb drags over my bottom lip. “Not for me. If it never happens, so be it. I’m happy with you either way.”
If there was an element of my mask still on my face, it’s now gone. Fallen off. Shattered once it hit the ground.
“We also don’t have to do this if you’re not ready either. There’s no rush.”
There’s not, but I can do this. Iwantto. I’m the one who began this outside, and it’s that courage I grasp onto again, gripping it as tightly as I do the rope. I step back and gesture for him to remove what little clothing he’s wearing.
Without hesitation, he does, stripping his shorts until his cock bobs free. A part of him I’ve felt between my legs but never imagined being so…so fucking perfect. The last man I’ve seen was my high school boyfriend and, with Erico in front of me, I realize he was so far from being aman, it’s not even funny.
I tilt my head toward the bed, waiting while he stretches in the centre. My thighs clench. My core tightens around nothing—just the promise of what’ll be there. With the rope in my hand, I rest it on the bed first, mentally trying to calculate how I’ll do this.
“There’s four pieces there,” Erico cuts into my concerns. “Wrap each around the bedposts and then my wrists and ankles and make a knot we’ll be able to untie later.”
I nod, following his instructions and manage to do one foot after a moment of struggle. The rope is almost silky, probably for the user’s protection, but it doesn’t cooperate at first. With Erico’s gentle suggestions and his patience for remaining still, I get both ankles tied before kneeling on the bed to do his wrists.
They seem more intimate since my chest is so close to his face as I lean over him. But now practiced, tying his arms go quicker. Right before moving away, Erico snags one of my nipples between his teeth. My body instantly reacts, a moan and a giggle working through me, but I slide away from him before he takes completely over.
His cheeky grin follows me off the bed before he tests his restraints, finding him bound tightly and stuck.
“Seems I’m yours,sirena.”
I’m starting to believe that, yeah.