Page 38 of Forbidden Fate
“You know that.”
Another pause.
I can almost see his brain working. Risk versus control. Instinct versus…whatever this is between us right now.
Finally, he exhales. “Don’t make me regret this.”
He steps closer, reaching for the restraints at my wrists. His fingers brush my skin as he works the knots loose, and something electric flickers through me before I can stop it.
God.
The second the ropes give, my arms drop, tingling as circulation rushes back in.
He unbinds my ankles.
I stand, making sure I’m steady on my feet, and then I reach for the hem of my top, pull it loose, gather the fabric behind my back, and tie it there. It lifts the front, exposing my stomach, the curve of my waist.
He stares, not subtly. Heat blooms low in my belly. I force myself to ignore it.
I roll up the cuffs of my pants, freeing my ankles, and give myself room to move. When I look back up at him, his gaze is locked on me.
“Belly dancing,” I say quietly, “is about emotion. It’s a celebration of childbirth.” I shift my hips slightly. “It’s not just movement.”
I draw in a breath, centering myself.
Then I start.
Small movements at first.
A roll of my hips. A shift through my core.
His eyes follow.
I let it build gradually, finding rhythm without music. Letting my body find its own cadence in the quiet of the room.
There’s a strange freedom in it.
I move closer without making it obvious. One step. Then another.
His breathing changes.
I notice everything.
The way his shoulders tighten. The way his hands flex at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
Good.
I keep going.
By the time I’m close enough to touch him, neither of us is pretending anymore.
I stop in front of him.
For a heartbeat, we just look at each other. Then I close the distance, push him down onto the cot, and lower myself into his lap.
His breath hitches.
He lets his hands hover for a second—like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me—before he settles them at my hips. The contact sends a sharp rush through me.
