A sound from him, low and quiet, vibrating through his chest into my back, and his hands keep working. There's no rush.
My wrists come free.
He sets the rope aside and takes my right wrist in both hands. His thumbs press into the muscles, finding knots I didn't know had formed, and warmth spreads up my arm. Then the left wrist, the same careful attention.
"That feels..." My fingers curl around his, weak but there.
"I know." He presses his lips to my inner wrist where the rope left its deepest mark.
The rope across my chest loosens and falls away. Cool air hits my skin where silk was pressed and I shiver.
He traces the path where the rope bound me. Red lines mark my skin, evidence that will fade by morning.
That this happened. That I chose it. That I'm his.
He kisses each mark, slowly, deliberately.
I turn my head and press my lips to his shoulder. Salt and heat and skin.
I'm crying again, quiet tears sliding down my cheeks.
The last of the rope falls away. I'm fully untied, and the sudden lightness, my arms floating, nothing holding me together, just makes me cry harder.
He pulls me against his chest, sits up against the headboard and arranges me across his lap, my head tucked under his chin. His arms wrap around me until I'm surrounded by him, his scent. Saffron, cedar, warm skin.
His chest expands against me with a deep breath.
"Water." His voice makes it clear it's not a question.
"Not yet." I press closer, tucking my face against his neck. Mine breaks. "Just hold me."
His hand finds my hair and strokes it slow.
"Talk to me." His hand keeps moving through my hair, rhythmic.
"It's not bad, it's just... overflow." The words come between hiccupped breaths, muffled against his neck.
"All of it coming out." His other arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer.
"Yes." I flatten my palm against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath it, and count three slow beats.
"I've got you."
I know.
Neither of us speaks. His heartbeat a slow drum against my cheek. Sensation returns — every nerve ending close to the surface, tender and exposed.
"What did you say earlier?" The question surfaces slowly. I trace a lazy circle on his chest. "The Japanese, when you were tying me. That tremor in your fingers."
His arms tighten around me.
"Anata wa watashi no subete da."
My hand stills on his chest.
"What does it mean?"
"You are my everything."