Page 68 of Burn this City

That was what tipped the balance, and Jack felt anticipation ripple through him, part nerves, part attraction, and he watched, slightly breathless, as Sal returned to the bed, one leg underneath him, and loosened the coil of rope, playfully letting it touch Jack’s skin, but there was no fixed purpose to it. The gentle, conscious way he did this indicated very that the rope was harmless, no more than a toy, and Jack was willing to believe it.

“So what’s going to happen? If I get turned on?”

“What do you want to happen?”

“I’m … expecting you’ll fuck me while we still have time.”

Sal smiled. “I’d like that a lot, but there’s something I want to show you before we take that step. Don’t get me wrong, I want to take more time to teach your body how much fun it’ll be, rather than thrust in and hope you’ll eventually relax enough that it’s not painful. I’m not that much of a bastard.”

You’re not a bastard at all.Jack nodded, feeling some of the tension dissipate. “Did it … did it hurt for you? I feel so fucking weird to even ask that.”

Sal placed an arm around Jack’s shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. “No. Pretty sure Catia understood that it would be the first and only time if she’d have hurt me.”

All right, so more puzzle pieces dropped in place, and Jack wasn’t surprised that it had been his wife, considering what he’d told Jack about her, and how openly he talked about pegging, though he talked openly about everything. “Were you tied up?”

“Like a Thanksgiving turkey.” Sal laughed. He took a length of the rope and scooted closer to Jack, and deliberately let it trail over Jack’s leg. Warm, smooth, light enough to be almost a tickle. Jack shifted his weight, mimicking Sal’s position, one leg up and one down, while Sal almost bracketed his body with his legs from behind.

Jack watched with some apprehension as Sal formed a loop and placed it around Jack’s wrist, and tugged at it, just demonstrating that the rope would and could hold him. Jack nodded, and watched, captivated, how Sal looped the rope around both of his hands—unlike ratchetting the zip ties tight, this felt more like a wrapping, a firm kind of shell that restricted his movement, but felt as soothing as putting on a heavy coat.

While Sal worked quickly with deft hands, nothing felt rushed or forced. If anything, Jack was surprised at how focused Sal was—all his attention was on the rope touching Jack’s skin. From behind, Sal pulled on the rope and took Jack’s bound wrists and lifted his arms until his elbows pointed upward and his hands were behind his neck. Jack felt the stretch in his shoulders and chest, and his focus shifted to his chest and belly that were both exposed and helpless. A tugging on the rope, and one of Sal’s hands came around to rest between Jack’s pecs, more rope tugged into his thumb and a loop dangled down to his belly and brushing his groin.

A slow, deliberate movement looped the rope across his pecs, above his nipples and under his arms, and then a forceful tightening and whisper of rope, and another movement. A knot? Some kind of fastening? What was strange about this was that now every breath made Jack aware of the rope around his chest, and Sal’s strong grip told him that Jack himself was now totally out of his depth, and, yes, helpless. Half kneeling, half sitting on the bed, arms tied back like that, he couldn’t have reached the cutting tool if he’d set his mind to it.

“Woah.”

“It’s basic, but even this gets the job done,” Sal murmured close to his ear, hand on the knot or connection in his back, while his other hand lay flat on Jack’s stomach. “You’re doing really well. How do you feel?”

“Safe. Held. It’s like … some kind of embrace. I know you’re doing this.” Did that make sense? Words were much harder to find and chain together to form sentences. It seemed like too much effort, and he didn’t want to chase away that floaty feeling just to make more of an effort.

“Perfect.”

Another loop across his chest, this time below his nipples, and the tightening now shifted all of Jack’s awareness to his pecs and specifically his nipples. There was no way Sal brushed them by accident—not to turn him on, but to direct his awareness.

“I’d give everything to put you in a harness,” Sal murmured near his ear. “I could show you off like that and everybody would see how beautiful you are.”

“I know exactly what you’re doing with the praise,” Jack shot back.

“It’s not about that at all.” Sal placed a hand on Jack’s throat and bent it back in a gentle movement. Jack suddenly struggled to keep his eyes open, so he closed them and barely noticed the drawn-out sigh that came from his lips. Sal did something else—moved Jack’s leg by pushing gently against the inside of his knee, and then the touch of the rope, slow, gentle, around his ankle, similarly safe and secure as around his hands.

Another tugging and tightening and Jack realized that his leg was now somehow connected to the knot in the back. A different coil of rope slid under the tied leg, and Sal slowly connected thigh and lower leg to each other. Each movement of rope a caress, every knot a tightening and release that began to mirror the tension and then the much deeper relaxation in Jack’s body. Nothing hurt or was unpleasant—even the position of his hands began to feel natural and comfortable, and Sal’s support in his back remained steadfast and dependable.

A loop of rope trailed up from his chest and across his throat, but no tightening followed, instead the rope came up to his face and slid between his teeth, and Jack was almost glad to have something so tangible, so intrusive, that focused him again. The rope in his mouth tightened, and that little jerk travelled all the way through his body, a hot-cold moment of near shock, if shock could be both languid and intense. He felt like he was losing his balance, as his bodyweight shifted, but it was Sal pulling the ropes and holding Jack a little bit off balance.

It washed over him as a tremendous, sensual, full-body release when he came to rest against Sal’s naked skin, so grateful for the man’s presence and strength. Still, Sal kept working on the ropes, adjusting here and there, loosening one loop, while building another one—the one in his mouth vanished and a feather light touch of fingers followed. Sal adjusted the position of his arms and lowered them in front of Jack’s chest, which felt like a bit of a rest, but a loop then appeared around Jack’s belly and around his hips, connected to the ones across his torso.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hard … to say. Turned on, relaxed, and I feel everything, but I’m not sure about time and place.”

“Good. Do you want me to do something about your erection?”

“That question is harder to answer than it should be, right?”

Sal chuckled. “Right.”

What Jack then realized was that the inner voice, the one with which he talked to himself, was completely silent. It was both disorienting and a relief. There was complete silence inside—he felt both empty and hollow, but not in a bad way. As if all weight had been removed, and he couldn’t even be bothered to reach for it and try to reclaim it. The ropes held him as surely as his own muscles and bones held his own soul, his breath and pulse.

“Yes, please.”

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