Page 47 of Hunting Harbor

"Get on the bed," he commands, his voice low and controlled.

I obey without hesitation, crawling onto the mattress, the sheets cool against my knees. Kairo moves to a dresser drawer, retrieving something I can't quite see. When he turns, a length of rope dangles from his hands, moonlight catching on its fibers.

"Hands out," he says, approaching the bed with measured steps.

I offer my wrists, palms up in supplication. The first touch of the rope against my skin sends a shiver straight through me. It's softer than I expected, but still rough enough to remind me of its purpose. Kairo works with careful precision, his fingers occasionally brushing against my pulse point as he loops the rope around and between my wrists. Each time he touches me, my breath catches.

"Too tight?" he asks, his voice a mixture of concern and authority.

I shake my head, testing the bonds. The rope bites into my skin just enough, a constant reminder that I'm captive, that I've chosen this captivity. "It's perfect."

He reaches up to stroke my cheek, his touch feather-light, before his hand slides to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. With a sudden motion, he tightens his grip, forcing my head back to expose my throat. A small gasp escapes me.

"I'm going to blindfold you now," he murmurs against my ear. "I want all your focus to be on feeling, not seeing."

Before I can respond, he's produced a silk scarf from somewhere, draping it across my eyes. The world goes dark as he ties it firmly behind my head. Immediately, my other senses heighten; the sound of his breathing, the of his cologne mixed with sweat and arousal, the weight of the mattress shifting as he moves around me.

"Beautiful," he whispers, and I feel his breath hot against my neck.

My own breathing becomes shallow and rapid. I'm completely at his mercy now—bound, blind, vulnerable. It should terrify me. It does terrify me. But the fear mingles with desire, creating a tidal wave of sensations that leaves me dizzy with want.

His lips brush against my ear as he begins to speak, his voice taking on a rhythmic quality:

"In darkness, you are mine alone. Your body is mine to use, mine to break."

His hands start a slow exploration of my body, fingertips tracing patterns across my collarbone, down between my breasts, circling my navel.

"Every inch surrendered, every gasp a prayer. Your pleasure and pain, both offerings at my altar."

His touch remains gentle, almost reverential, until suddenly his fingers dig into the soft flesh of my hips, hard enough to bruise. I cry out, startled by the sharp contrast from tenderness to pain.

"Shhh," he soothes, releasing the pressure and stroking the spots he just marked. "You're such a good girl for me."

The unpredictability keeps me on edge, never knowing if his next touch will be a caress or a claim. His hands move to myinner thighs, fingers stroking lightly upward until they're just shy of where I need him most, then retreating. I whimper in frustration, pulling against my bonds.

"Patience," he chides, punctuating the word with a sharp slap to my thigh that makes me jolt.

The sting blooms across my skin, fading into a warm glow that somehow intensifies the ache between my legs. His hand returns to the spot, rubbing soothingly before delivering another sudden slap to my other thigh.

I'm lost in a sea of sensation. The burn of the rope against my wrists when I strain against it, the disorienting darkness of the blindfold, the alternating gentleness and pain of his touch. My world has narrowed to just this… just him, just us, just now.

"You're trembling," he observes, his voice taking on a note of possessive satisfaction.

It's true. My entire body quivers, partly from the strain of holding myself still, partly from anticipation of what comes next. I feel exposed in a way that goes beyond mere nakedness. With my sight taken away, I can't prepare for his next move, can't guard my reactions. Every response is raw, honest, unfiltered.

His fingers suddenly thread through my hair again, yanking my head back sharply. His lips find my throat, teeth grazing over my pulse point, biting down just hard enough to make me gasp. The pain skirts the edge of pleasure, sending sparks of electricity down my spine.

"Tell me what you want," he demands, his voice a growl against my skin.

"You," I breathe, the word hardly more than a sigh. "All of you. Everything you want to do to me."

His laugh is dark and rich, like bitter chocolate. "Oh, little writer. Be careful what you wish for."

The blindfold is damp now, with tears or sweat, I'm not sure. Maybe both. I'm aware of every point where our bodies connect, every place his skin touches mine. I've never felt so present, so utterly in my body. Every sensation is amplified, every emotion heightened to an almost unbearable intensity.

Kairo's hands leave my body for a moment, and I whimper at the sudden absence of his touch. The mattress shifts as he moves, and I strain my ears to track him, desperate to know what's coming next. "Please," I whisper, not even sure what I'm begging for. He flips me over, so I’m lying on my stomach, my arms stretched above me. The word hangs in the air between us until his palm connects with my bare ass in a sharp, stinging slap that makes me yelp with surprise more than pain. Before the sting fades, another strike lands, harder this time, sending a jolt through my entire body.

"Count," he commands, his voice firm but steady.

---