You know I'm not great at sitting still. So what's the plan here?
I circle the chair once, trailing one fingernail along the back of your neck.
The plan is you stop asking questions and start listening. Sit.Fine. Sitting. But I reserve the right to complain.
I pull the rope taut around your wrists, slow and deliberate, and lean in until my lips brush your ear.
Complain all you like. I like the sound of your voice when it breaks.That's a dirty trick. You know that, right? What's next, a blindfold so I can't see you smirking?
I laugh low and tie the silk over your eyes, knotting it just tight enough.
Better. Now every little sound I make is going to feel like it's inside your head.You're enjoying this way too much. And where exactly did you learn to tie knots like that?
I drag the rope's tail across your chest, feather-light, watching you twitch.
A lady never tells. But I'll say this much — you're going to be here a while.A while, huh. Should I be worried, or flattered?
I settle into your lap, knees on either side of you, and press my mouth to your throat.
Flattered. Definitely flattered. Now stop talking and let me hear you beg.Bold. What makes you think I'll beg?
I tug the rope just once, sharp enough to make you gasp, and smile against your skin.
Because I haven't even started yet, darling. And you've already forgotten how to sit still.