The question is barely a whisper. The rope hangs loose in his hands, forgotten.
"Because I trust you with everything I am." My voice cracks on the last word, and I hold his eyes in the glass so he can see I mean it. "And I want you to feel it."
He closes the distance. Heat radiates off him before his hands land, and the bare skin of my back prickles. Goosebumps rise along my arms, my thighs. His palms close over my shoulders, and his grip is too tight.
His fingers dig in like I'm the only solid thing in the room.
"Cole."
"I know." The word comes out rough, almost angry. "I can't—"
"Don't stop."
His forehead drops to the crook of my neck. His breath hits my skin, ragged and warm, and the fine hairs at my nape stand on end.
He murmurs something in Japanese, low against my shoulder like a prayer.
I don't know what it means. I don't need to.
He straightens. His grip loosens. And then…
The first touch of rope against my upper arms.
I inhale sharply. Cool silk, smooth and deliberate, warming where it presses into my skin. He works in silence now, intent, and I watch in the mirror as he begins to bind me.
The rope wraps around my upper arms, pulling them back. The tension is immediate, my shoulder blades drawing together, my chest opening. His fingers brush my skin as he works, and a fine tremor runs through them.
Another pass, the rope crossing over my chest in an X pattern, the center knot settling between my collarbones. Then lower, a horizontal band snugging tight just beneath my breasts, lifting them, framing them. The silk presses into the soft underside, creating a shelf that puts me on display.
Each wrap pulls my arms further back. The stretch in my shoulders deepens, persistent, not sharp, and my breath comes shorter. Warmth builds low in my belly, spreading through my pelvis with every loop.
He's binding me. I'm letting him. I want him to.
"Color?"
"Green."
He works down toward my wrists. The silk slides across the small of my back, cool then warm, layering over itself in patterns I can't see but feel at every pressure point where silk meets skin and holds. Then my wrists press together, and they're bound.
I test the restraint.
There's nothing. No give, no movement. My arms are pinned behind me, elbows bent, wrists crossed at the small of my back.
I can't push him away, can't stop him, can't do anything but trust.
My stomach drops and my chest goes tight.
Adrian held me down. This is different. I chose this. I chose him.
"Color?"
"Still green, just... feeling it." My voice wavers.
His hand slides up my spine, between my bound arms, and I'm back in this room.
"Good girl."
Heat floods low in my belly, sudden and sharp. Inner muscles clench around nothing. My thighs press together and I pull uselessly against the rope, but the restraint doesn't budge. In the mirror, his reflection smiles, slow, one side of his mouth higher than the other.