Page 164 of Bound By Her

“Stand there,” she said, voice firm, but Bryson could tell her breathing was labored. She hadn’t exerted this much energy in weeks.

She pointed to the space at the foot of her bed. He knew he should have his eyes cast down; it would show trust. But he wanted to see her.

Needed to see her.

When he reached his mark, she gave him a firm shove, and he felt himself falling backwards. Landing on the soft bed, his shoulders and wrists felt pain. It was an awkward position, laying on his hands as they were bound behind his back.

She approached, knife in hand. Bryson watched the tip of the blade as she ran the cold metal along the inside of his thigh. He squirmed, heart racing.

She clicked her tongue. “Where is the trust, huh?”

She went away and came back with what looked like a spreader bar.

Fuck.

“Say the word, Brysey. Tell me you’re done, and I’ll release you so you can get the fuck out of my bedroom.”

He stared at the ceiling, hands pinned beneath him. He wasn’t going anywhere.

She sighed, “Suit yourself.”

He felt the cuffs around his ankles, and once they were secure, she extended the bar. His legs spread a little at first but eventually were forced painfully wide.

His body fought against it. His legs straining to be together, but all he succeeded in doing was lifting one of them.

Grabbing that leg, Adria pulled. With the momentum he created along with her pressure, he was unceremoniously flipped. A click later, and he knew the bar was secured to the bedpost. Hands cuffed behind him, legs spread painfully wide, he was completely helpless.

The blade came back, the tip drifting further up his left thigh. Bryson struggled against the mix of emotions that swelled within him.

The cold steel kissing his skin, a promise of danger that left fire in its wake. His cock bulged painfully, pinned beneath him. The restraint only made it worse.

A muffled squeak escaped as the blade traveled higher, pressing into the sensitive space beneath his balls.

“You know, men always think they have me all figured out.” Her voice was soft, almost conversational, but each word carried weight. “Ever since I was a young girl. People like my father.”

The wordfatherwas punctuated by a sharp sting. A small, precise cut. Bryson bit down on the comforter. It wasn’t deep—his rational mind told him that. But fear didn’t care about reason.

“Jonathan.”

The name earned him another nick, this time along his inner thigh. Another reminder.

Fuck.

His body shuddered, the pain skating too close topleasure. His face pressed deeper into the mattress, eyes pinched shut.

“Just like you think you can handle me now.”

He shook his head furiously.

Her weight shifted, and the blade disappeared—only for him to feel the warmth of his own blood trailing down his skin. Not dangerous, but deliberate.

“Adria…” His voice was hoarse.

“Shut up. You’re showing trust, remember?”

Fuck. Was that what he was doing?

“With all due respect, Mistress, I’m tied down. I’m not sure how I prove trust like this.”

---