“Thanks,” I say, accepting the glass and taking the seat next to her. “You okay?”
Her only answer is to nod and take another sip of wine. And then another. Then she downs the rest of it in two gulps. “Guess I’m thirsty.” She reaches for the bottle on the end table, but her hurried movement knocks it over, spilling its contents on the cream carpet. “Shit, I’m sorry,” she rushes out as she rights the bottle and stares in horror at the red puddle.
“Taryn, don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”
“It isn’t fine, Finn. It looks like a damn crime scene! I need towels you don’t care about and club soda.”
She starts to get up, but I stop her. “Leave it. I don’t give a fuck about the carpet. I’ll replace it five times over before I let you stress out over an innocent little spill.”
“But—”
I silence her protest by grasping her face and crushing my mouth to hers. If she needs a distraction, I’m happy to give her one. It only takes her a second to melt against me making me respond with a low growl of contentment. Slipping my fingers into the curls at her nape, I hold her firmly as my lips stake a claim I have no right to.
I’m so tempted to let this run its course. To rip each other’s clothes off and fuck on every surface we land on. But she’s in a volatile state right now. Seeing her tormentor for the first time—whether real or imagined—has her anxiety through the roof, and I won’t take advantage of her need to hold the demons at bay by taking my own pleasure like that.
Breaking the kiss, I use a different distraction tactic. “What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”
She blinks a few times, then furrows her brow. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s my next question in our get-to-know-you game.”
A small smile curves her kiss-swollen lips. “Chocolate. Classic, creamy, and just fucking good. What’s yours?”
“Vanilla.”
Her mouth falls open. “A Dom specializing in Japanese rope bondage prefers vanilla. Do your friends know? Have you been shunned from all the dungeons on principle?”
I arch my brow. “Is that your next question?”
She shakes her head but doesn’t get much movement since my hands are still lightly fisting the hair at her nape. Telling myself to let go isn’t working, and she isn’t making the demand either, so there they stay. “Then what is?”
The tip of her pink tongue darts out to lick her lips and I barely hold back a groan. She doesn’t have to think long before asking, “When you’re rigging a bottom and you have them all trussed up into whatever design you’ve created with them, do you leave them be for a while to enjoy the calming sensation you mentioned?”
“Each scene is different depending on who it’s with, but sometimes yes. Sometimes all they want is to be in that state for a period of time. They often enter subspace while being tied or suspended, so it becomes meditative for them.”
“Sometimes. What happens the other times?”
“My turn.” This is my chance to steer the conversation back into safe territory, like the ice cream question. “What’s your favorite sex toy?” So much for safe territory.
“Clitoral air pulse. Rips the orgasms right out of me. Best. Invention. Ever.”
Fucking hell, the images flashing through my mind of her holding one of those toys to her clit and writhing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her has my dick hardening in my pants. Not trusting my voice, I force out a single gruff word. “Noted.”
Taryn’s eyes widen before she composes herself. “What happens the majority of the time when you are the rigger and you’re done tying and/or suspending them?”
I could’ve guessed this would be her question. She’s not one to drop a bone once she gets her teeth around it. Holding her gaze, I answer as simply as I can. “I give them pleasure and orgasms.”
“So, sex.”
“No, I don’t have sex with anyone when they’re extensively tied like that, it’s not safe. However, I can still give them plenty of orgasms through other means, and I do. I control when they come, how often, and how intense they are. It’s almost more enjoyable to me than fucking is. And obviously they don’t complain either.”
Taryn doesn’t speak, her eyes just bounce back and forth between mine like they’re trying to keep up with whatever’s going on behind them. What I wouldn’t give for a peek inside that beautiful mind of hers.
“My turn.” I tighten my hands in her hair and pull her head back farther. “Are you picturing me doing those things to you, solnyshko?” She swallows hard, her gaze dipping to my mouth and back up. “Are you imagining me binding you with my ropes and coaxing orgasm after sweet orgasm from you?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I am.”
“Then lets give you a taste of what it feels like to fly.”
FOURTEENTARYN
Since getting rescued, my head’s been swarmed with worries, their incessant buzzing loud and impossible to ignore. Now, looming over everything, is the possible future destruction of Faerie. There’s also at least one mole inside the Romanov Clan, the group that’s been my adoptive family for centuries, who aided in my capture.
Then I thought I saw Edevane on The Strip. Part of me thinks I imagined it, and my need to mete out justice to the Light King caused me to react. But the way the hair on the back of my neck prickled just before makes me think it was more than a trauma response. And when I stood in the spot I thought he’d been only seconds earlier, I swear I felt traces of my own magic lingering.
I didn’t mention any of that to Finn, though, because by the time he caught up with me, I already started doubting myself. My toxic trait has always been not trusting myself to handle certain…things. Not being able to trust my own mind is a new one, though.
Gods, no wonder I’m spilling wine like a common klutz. I used to be better at disguising my anxiety, but being in that facility made my masks thin and weak. I hate feeling weak in any capacity, for any reason. Especially around someone as strong as Finn.
Finn… Finn’s lips crushing mine… Finn taking me by the hand and leading me into his bedroom…
I wasn’t sure what to think when he brought me in here, but with the promise of making me fly I decided to stay quiet and watch him do his thing. It took him about five minutes to hang a thick, six-foot bamboo pole horizontally from two hardpoints in the ceiling, grab a duffel full of white rope from the kink closet, and uncoil several lengths so they’re ready to use.
Pocketing the safety shears, he stands in front of me. “The suspension I have planned is simple and good for beginners. If you’d rather stick with floor work, that’s fine. Or if you’ve changed your mind all together, that’s also fine.”
He raises a hand and cups my cheek. “But if you let me, I’ll give you an experience like nothing you’ve ever felt. As your body sinks into the ropes your muscles will relax and your mind will quiet, focused only on my touch and my voice. The choice is yours, solnyshko.”
Every time he uses that term of endearment with me, I melt a little more. “Show me.”
