Page 60 of Pragma
“The handle of your knife, to be precise. The blade would have done quite a damage to my tush…ouch.” I grab his hand to look at the light cut the knife made on his palm when he fucked me with it.
“This has got too gory for me.”
“Are you the same guy who, after I cut that traitor’s balls off, shoved them down his throat?” I remind him.
River pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you really talking about another guy’s balls right now?”
“As a reminder of your ruthless methods. It’s your fault and your kink!” I snap back.
He brings my hands together in front of my chest as he utters in a gravelly voice, “It’s not only a kink. It’s an art form. The knots and ties willemphasize your pale flesh with sensual patterns, holding your body in erotic positions.” He keeps speaking so sexily with a hint of a growl, brushing my torso too lightly with the tips of his fingers. “Shibari is focused on trust, vulnerability, and power dynamics between thetyerand thetied.” He sends me a scorching glance that makes me swallow hard.
“I’ll tie your wrists first in a Lark’s head single column, and then?—”
I interrupt his incomprehensible description. “A lurch what?”
His lips twitch. “I’ll tie your wrists and chest and bring your hands behind your head, holding them there while I fuck you in front of this mirror.” He points at the large one on the wall behind me.
“Less talk, more red rope.” I raise my hands, urging him to start. He grabs the jute cord and wraps it around my wrists, tying it in an intricate knot.
“You know, often the person casting is also dominating, and the receiving person is submitting.”
I snort at that. I like to submit to him, but to a certain extent. I can’t fucking change my nature.
“But it can also be the other way around. Thetiedcan be directing thetyer,by telling themthe position they’d like to assume or how they want to be tied.”
He pulls on the rope, making me gasp at the restraining feel. “Good?”
I nod. “What are the scissors for?”
“They’re safety scissors,” he replies, lifting my hands to check on the rope. “If your chest or arms feel tingly at any time, or you are uncomfortable, I’ll cut the ties straight away.”
A sudden thought pops inside my head. “How did you learn all this?” I thought he just researched on the internet, but his knowledge seems deeper.
He halts his movements for a moment then spins me to face the mirror.
“Practice,” he utters, from behind me.
“The fuck?” The words blurt out. He did this with someone else? “When? With whom?” I bet it was when we spent those six months in Kyoto a couple of years back.
“Like you don’t have a past? Or a future?” he adds the last words in a lower tone, but I hear them alright.
My past is certainly less colorful than his! Goddammit!
“Want to stop?” he asks. I meet his eyes in the mirror, and I see hunger. Those are the eyes of a predator ready to pounce and tear the flesh off my bones.
I hate the idea of River experimenting shit with someone else, touching, kissing, feeling pleasure. Ahhhh! But I know he never craved anybody like he does me. I can feel it in the tremble of his hands, the quick breaths hitting my shoulder, the husky timbre of his voice.
I shake my head and then look right at him. “This is only with me. Nobody else.”
He doesn’t respond, but the flames in his gaze seem to turn scorching hot. “Do you know what this tie is called?” He takes the rope dangling from my tied wrists and pulls, moving my arms up. My head slides between them, and my arms end up behind my head.
“Bunny ears,” he whispers teasingly in my ear.
I look in the mirror at my arms, bent like this, has the elbows looking like long rabbit ears. I see the irony and would have laughed if I didn’t know he chose this position on purpose. So I glower at him.
Okay, Operation Snare the Bunny has taken a weird turn, since I became the rabbit being tied up.
With a faint smirk, he brings the rope around my chest, below the pecs. I feel pulling as he secures it on my back. The sensation of jute brushing my skin sends a thrill down my spine.
