He pressed in just enough to pull a sound from me, then eased back.
“Ask.” Permission and command.
“Have I…earned the ropes yet?”
Luka drew back—hand still, head cocked, eyes narrowed. He traced my thigh, up to where the hem of my skirt had bunched. “You want ropes.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway, heat flooding my cheeks and bleeding down my neck. I held his gaze. “Yes.”
He studied me for a full beat. Then another. “You’re sure.”
“Yes.” My voice was ragged. “And—” The rest of it died in my throat. I curled my trembling hands into fists.
A flicker—approval, interest, something darker—crossed his face. He pressed his thumb against my lower lip, easing it open. “Whatever you want from me, it’s yours,” he said. The certainty in his voice made my skin prickle. “Just name it.”
I swallowed. The want felt too large for my lungs. “Tie me up,” I said, and it came out as a dare, all spine and exposed nerve. “Use the ropes. Use my body. It’s yours. Give me everything. And I mean everything. Don’t you dare hold back.”
His eyes went lethal, and the shadow of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. He smoothed my hair behind my ear, palm lingering at my jaw, then stood. For a moment, he just looked at me. His gaze felt like a verdict.
“Don’t move,” he said. He left the room without another word, his footsteps fading down the hall.
My pulse kicked hard, wild and giddy, anticipation tightening under my skin, every second without him stretching the wait.
He returned a minute later with a large spool of blue network cable cradled in the crook of his elbow, a thick pack of zip ties in one hand, and red-handled wire cutters in the other. He set everything down on the coffee table, arranging it with meticulous care. Then he unspooled a length of cable, flexing it between his hands to straighten the kinks.
“Naked,” he said without looking up. “Now.”
It took me a moment to realize he meant me.
Then he was towering over me. “If you want to keep those clothes,” he said, voice low, eyes fixed on mine, “take them off.” He fisted the collar of my blouse. “Because if I do it, they’ll be in shreds.” He pulled me to my feet.
I kicked off my heels and stripped quickly—blouse, skirt, bra. The air hit my bare skin, cool and sharp. The panties, though, I left in place.
He raised an eyebrow. “Forget something?” His voice, so dark and unhurried, trickled between my legs and knotted there.
I hooked my thumb under the waistband and tugged it down half an inch, then let it snap back. “Did I? Silly me.”
He closed the gap in a single stride, hands locked on my hips. Then he caged me against the chair, one palm on the small of my back, the other sliding down to cup my ass—hard enough to sting.
I gasped but held still.
“Are you being a brat, Alex?” His mouth hovered at my ear, the words a quiet rasp.
I shrugged like it was nothing. “And if I am?”
He squeezed, the pressure punishing, and then hauled me up until my toes barely grazed the floor. The room whirled. He pinched the seam of my panties, yanked, and—true to his threat—ripped them clean off. The elastic snapped against my skin as the fabric tore free and fluttered to the floor.
He spun me by the shoulders and bent me over the back of the chair, my chest pressed to the leather, my ass exposed to the air. The world condensed to Luka’s hands and the cold shock under my skin.
He caught my wrists, pinned them overhead, and snapped a zip tie around them. The plastic cinched tight. I gasped—half terror, half euphoria.
Somewhere behind me, the wire cutters snicked through cable.
Luka palmed my skull, pinning my cheek to the chair. “Count,” he said.
“Count what?”
The first strike landed. A lash of cable snapped across my ass, a stripe of fire blooming across the flesh.