Page 6 of The Biker's Last Rodeo
Then I move. Not fast. Not rough. Controlled.
She needs to know who’s in charge. She needs to know her snooping has consequences.She needs to learn how to behave.
Her hand in mine, I walk us both to the barn, unhook the rope I use for training colts, and turn back, holding the line between us. “Last chance to get a warm shower and a home-cooked meal.”
The offer is less about her and more about me. I’m not sure I can stay controlled much longer. And tying her up, watching her submit, well… that’s only going to make this aching so much fucking worse.
She lifts her wrists, palms up, her grin wide like a defiant little brat. “Not a chance.”
I take her wrists gently, turning them over in my hands like they’re something fragile. She doesn’t pull away, those sharp eyes piercing through my vow.
Fucking hell, I’m not gonna last.
The rope slides over her skin, soft but firm. The kind I use when I’m breaking a young horse as not to hurt, but to guide. I loop it once, twice, slow and secure, letting the rhythm settle between us. My fingers brush her pulse, and it’s racing.
I could tie it tight, but I don’t. I tie it just enough to remind her who’s in charge. Enough to make her feel the weight of the moment, the shift in power. She could pull away if she really wanted to.
That’s the point.
Her breath hitches, just barely, and I feel it like a fire in my chest.
“You’ve done this before,” she says, voice low.
I glance at her, one brow raised. I could admit to only ever tying horses, but I won’t. There’s been plenty of kills I’ve tied over the years.
She smirks, but there’s a flash of something softer behind it. Something I can’t identify completely, but want to label as trust, despite the fact that it makes no fucking sense.
I finish the knot, neat and clean, then run my thumb once over the rope where it meets her skin.A silent check. A silent claim.
“You good?” I ask. It’s the only time I’ve ever asked a captor if they were good.
She nods, her voice light and playful as she says, “You tell me.”
I step back just enough to take her in. The way she stands there, proud and unyielding in a cute little sundress with her wrists bound, is almost like she’s daring me to do something about it.
I lead her to the center post of the ring, the rope trailing between us like a live wire. She follows without hesitation, but I can feel the tension in her, anticipation even, as the wind kicks up more dust.
I tie her off, slow and steady, then step back to admire the picture she makes… all tied and ready for whatever I choose. My little bunny, caught in a snare.
“You’re staring, cowboy. You desperate to do dirty things to me?” Her voice is mockingly playful.
I lean in, just close enough for her to feel my breath on her neck. “Yeah, I am. But first, you’re gonna stand there and think about why you’re here.”
My cock pulses at the zipper of my jeans as I turn and walk away. I don’t go far, just to the edge of the ring, where I lean against the fence and watch her. I want her to feel the space between us, let her wonder what I’ll do next.
She shifts again, the rope creaking softly, and I see it, the twinkle of uncertainty.The thrill of it.
She’s not scared. She’s hooked… and so am I.
Chapter Three
Maci
Holy fucking dragon balls, what the hell is happening? I went from sitting on the couch Friday nights, watching the same TV shows over and over, writing the same boring articles about little Jimmy’s rock collection and Mrs. Robinson’s prize-winning garden, to getting kidnapped and tied up by a big, bad, rough man who clearly knows his way around rope.
I tug at the knot, trying to loosen the tie, but it holds firm. Not tight enough to hurt me, but enough to let me know he’s in control.
Of course he’s in control. Duh… that’s why I like it.
