Page 294 of Disarm
He feels it.
“Like that,” he murmurs. “Like when you twitch. When you can’t help it.” He trails down my neck, teeth dragging. Finding that spot where shoulder meets throat and bites, not enough to bruise, but just enough to make my toes curl.
I grind down on his thigh, helpless, chasing friction. Sweat beads at the back of my neck and my breaths come short and sharp.
“Fuck,” I rasp. “I’m gonna?—”
That makes him rip his mouth away from my skin. “Nope,” he says. “Not yet.”
Motherfucker!
Caleb steps back, leaving me flushed and panting and one good grind away from coming all over myself. He shoves themask back down over his face and looks at me from behind the stitched eyes, chest rising and falling.
“Upstairs,” he says, voice rough through the plastic. “Now.”
“Fucking tease,” I say weakly.
He taps my cheek with two fingers. “You love me,” he taunts. “Climb, Miguel.”
I do.
Look at me, being submissive. Who’d have thought?
My legs feel a little unsteady as I go up the ladder, every rung sparking low in my spine. The loft is dim, fairy lights along the railing and the faint glow from the skylight painting the bed in soft shadow. I barely make it to the mattress before he’s on me again. Caleb shoves me gently, so I land on my back with a soft oof. The mask appears over the edge of the loft a second later, then his body, the hoodie’s hem riding up to flash a strip of skin above his waistband as he swings himself up.
“Hands,” he says, pointing to the headboard.
We talked about this and negotiated. Rope, knots, where, how, and words that will make it all stop. At the time, it felt hypothetical.
Now it’s very fucking real.
I reach up anyway, fingers wrapping around the wooden slats at the top of the headboard.
Kneeling beside me, with the mask tilted and rope in hand. It’s the same kind of rope we used on Halloween night—soft cotton, the kind that doesn’t bite too hard. He must’ve packed it at the bottom of his bag and that makes my cheeks go hot at the thought of him planning this.
Planning to ruin me with some rope play.
“You okay?” he asks, voice muffled but intent. “Last chance to tell me this is too much. We can switch to cuddles and a cheesy rom-com on the laptop, no questions.”
I inhale, doing a little welfare check.
Yeah, I’m buzzing and my brain is half convinced a raccoon is gonna jump through the skylight just to fuck with me. But underneath all that… I want this. I want him like this.
“Green means go,” I say. “Tie me up, pretty boy.”
His breath catches behind the mask.
“Oh, how I’m going to enjoy every second of this,” he says softly.
It starts with my right wrist, a loop of rope sliding around my skin, snug but not harsh. The fibers drag over the hairs on my wrists and pull in the most delicious way. He winds the rope around and around, a neat coil that pins me to the headboard slat. His fingers are sure, moving like he’s done this a hundred times in his head. Every so often, he tugs, checking for a pinch.
“Too tight?” he asks.
I flex my hand, and the knot holds, but I can wiggle my fingers. The tug sinks straight to my dick.
“Perfect,” I say, voice gone low.
Caleb nods, then does the same with my left. When he’s done, my arms are stretched above my head, my chest is a little more exposed, and my shoulders are tugging pleasantly at the joints.
