Page 109 of The Dragon 1
The man slowly circled around her once and I just could not turn away.
The man reached for another section of rope threaded through the hook, and with slow, measured tension, he began to turn her.
Just slightly.
At first, it was a soft pivot of her hips.
A micro-shift.
Her body rotated an inch or two.
Then more.
And more.
She delicately twirled like a ballerina.
And God, it was mesmerizing.
My eyes locked on the curve of her back, the line of rope that bisected the moon tattoos running down her spine. The silk of her skin. The shimmer of sweat on her thighs. The glint of red cords hugging every curve.
It all blurred slightly with the motion, not in chaos, but in hypnotic grace.
I felt it in my body, the pull in my gut. The shift in my balance. As if some invisible part of me had been tied to her and now I was spinning too.
The world tilted.
Something about this moment was waking up muscles I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in tension.
A deep warmth unfurled low in my belly.
God help me but I kind of. . .wanted to know what that felt like.
The cello wept behind her. One long note stretched through the air.
The rope creaked faintly above as her spin slowed and the man reached out—not to stop her but to guide her once again.
His fingers brushed the rope near her thigh, shifting the angle, adjusting her direction.
She moved again, slowly twirling again like a ballerina hung from the stars.
Spinning.
Suspended.
Surrendered.
It was so intimate.
Exposed.
Tender.
Dangerous.
Beautiful.
I could see her blood rushing down from her ankles, flushing her skin from foot to thigh. Her face had taken on a warm, pinkish tone, a flush that mirrored the emotions blooming in my chest.
