Page 63 of Brass
“I know.” I trail my fingers down her bound arms, across her collarbone, down to where her pulse beats visibly at the base of her throat. “Most haven’t. Not like this.”
Next comes the silk scarf, held before her eyes. “Vision is our dominant sense. Removing it heightens everything else—touch, hearing, smell. Are you ready for that?”
She swallows, nods. “Yes.”
I wrap the silk around her eyes, secure but not tight, plunging her into darkness. Her body tenses momentarily, adjusting to the new vulnerability, then relaxes as she accepts it.
“Remember your safe word,” I remind her, trailing fingers down her cheek.
“Phoenix,” she whispers. “But I won’t need it.”
The confidence in her voice sends pride surging through me. My brave, stubborn woman. So new to this world, yet so naturally suited to it.
What follows is a study in sensation—the feather’s whisper-light touch making her squirm and gasp, the pinwheel’s blunt spikes rolling across sensitive skin, drawing sharp inhales and bitten lips, and the wooden spoon’s smooth handle tracing patterns on her inner thighs, making her arch into the contact.
With each new sensation, I watch closely, learning her responses, noting what makes her breath catch, what draws a moan, what causes her to pull against her restraints, seeking more.
By the time I remove the blindfold, her eyes are hazy with arousal, pupils fully dilated. By the time I untie her wrists, herbody is trembling with need. By the time I finally enter her, we’re both beyond restraint.
The sex that follows is unlike anything I’ve experienced—rawer, more honest, more complete. The trust she’s given, the vulnerability she’s shown, strips away whatever barriers remained between us. I move within her with the certainty of ownership, claiming her body with the same thoroughness I’ve claimed her responses.
When release finally comes, it’s simultaneous—her body clenching around mine, my name a prayer on her lips, my control finally, completely shattered.
In the aftermath, I tend to her with careful attention—checking her wrists for marks, applying soothing oil to skin reddened by the belt’s touch, wrapping her in my arms with a protectiveness that goes beyond the physical.
“Are you okay?” I ask, needing confirmation despite her obvious satisfaction.
She nestles closer, a contented sound escaping her throat. “Better than okay. That was…I don’t have words.”
“You did beautifully.” I press a kiss to her temple, genuine pride in my voice. “A natural.”
Her laugh is soft, sleepy. “Who would have thought?”
“I did,” I admit, the truth easy in this moment of vulnerability. “I saw it in you from the beginning. The strength it takes to truly surrender.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, processing this. “Thank you. For showing me.”
“We’ve barely scratched the surface.” I trail fingers along her spine, feeling her shiver slightly at the touch. “There’s so much more I could teach you.”
“I want to learn it all.” Her voice is becoming heavier as she approaches sleep. “Everything.”
“We have time,” I murmur, though I’m not entirely sure it’s true. Seattle brings unknowns. Complications. But in this moment, I allow myself to believe in possibilities beyond tomorrow.
She relaxes in my arms, trusting and unguarded. I remain awake long after she succumbs to sleep, watching her, cataloging each breath, each subtle movement. Memorizing this moment as if it might be our last. Tactical awareness is never fully dormant, even in the aftermath of passion.
Eventually, sleep claims me as well, deeper than I’ve allowed in years. Too deep, perhaps, for someone responsible for another’s safety. But my subconscious has made its assessment—this room is secure, this woman is mine, and for these few hours, vigilance can yield to rest.
The vibration of my secure phone jolts me awake at precisely 2:17 AM. Full alertness returns instantly, combat training overriding the lingering warmth of sleep. Celeste stirs beside me but doesn’t fully wake as I slip from the bed, retrieving the device from my jacket.
The screen displays an emergency protocol I haven’t seen in months.Ghost Priority Alpha.Secure channel only.
All traces of the lover vanish, replaced by the operative. Tactical assessment. Threat evaluation. Action plan formulation. I move to the bathroom, closing the door before connecting the call, voice pitched low.
“Ellis.”
“We have a situation.” Ghost’s voice is clipped, controlled, but I detect the underlying tension. “You need alternate routing.”
My mind shifts immediately to operational mode. “Explain.”
