Page 99 of Roped

I clench my eyes shut as goose bumps rise on my skin. As chills skitter up and down my spine, dancing, fluttering, stinging. “You’re psychotic.”

His chest shudders over me, his breaths hot, his arms tight and trapping, much like his body. “You knew that, though. Still, you gave me the rope. Dangled it, almost. Before takin’ off when you know, you fuckin’ know, how my chest cracks and my heart stops every time you try to get away from me.”

He’s right. I knew that. I knew how insane he can be, how scary and feral. How he absolutely hates when I try to put some distance between us. Still, I gave him that rope. Although I thought he’d use it like he always does, to simply bind me. Not chase me down like a… runaway filly.

“That’s why I ran,” I whisper, my fingers curled into fists.

He freezes over me. “What?”

I arch my spine as if I want to buck him off, but what I really want is to rub up against his hard length as I say, “Because you’re so crazy. Because you won’t… you won’t give me space.” I raise my head and brush my ass against his cock as I continue, “Every night, you tie me to your bed. And if not your bed, then you tie me to yourself. You bind our hands together and won’t let me get away from you. Not even in sleep. It’s insane. And then you wake me up all through the night, either with your mouth or your fingers. Your cock.” I pause here to bite my lip hard and undulate against him. Then, “Until I’m all sore and crying and moaning. Until I’m so full of you that you run out of my pussy. If I knew that, if I knew how intense you’d be, I never would have said yes.”

None of what I’m saying is a lie. He does tie me to his bed every night. Sometimes my hands, other times my legs, keeping them spread open so he can play with me, eat me whenever he likes. So many times I’ve woken up with his mouth between my thighs, or his fingers. One night, he slept like that with his fingers inside of me. And other times, he wakes me up with his cock, gliding in and out of me in smooth strokes. But when he doesn’t tie me to his bed, he ties me to himself. He ropes our wrists together and we sleep with our fingers joined. So any time I roll away from him in my sleep, I can’t. Because we’re roped together.

It’s crazy. It’s intense. It’s the most romantic thing in this world. It’s what girly dreams are made of. Full of hearts and candies and lollipops and a beautiful man with green eyes and a penchant for ropes.

His breaths are growly and heavy. Much like his body on me. Much like his cock that I feel throbbing through the layers of our clothes as he asks, “Yes to what?”

I bite my lip again to keep my moans and my whimpers inside of me as I arch my back again and rest my head on his shoulder. Then, looking up into his dark, dark eyes, I reply, “To being your wife.”

His nostrils flare in response.

And I keep going. “If I knew you’d bring me here, away from everyone else, where everywhere I turn, all I find is you, I never would’ve let you put your ring on my finger.”

He watches me for a few long moments, his eyes roving over my flushed features. And I hope he hears me but also I don’t. I hope he understands what I’m giving him. A chase to his hunter’s heart. But also I don’t want him to know how badly I want all of this to be true. How badly I want to be the girl who gets to wear his ring. Who gets to live here with him. Who gets to build a life with him, give him babies. I didn’t even know you could feel so empty until he told me his dream that day. And I hope he doesn’t hear me.

My thoughts break when he moves. When he slides his arms from around my middle and inches away from me, taking his weight off my body. Afraid, truly and genuinely, that he mistook my intentions, I scramble up on my knees. I try to turn around and look at him but he doesn’t let me. He grabs the back of my neck, keeping my face stuck to the ground, dead leaves and grass crunching beneath me and grips my hips, telling me to stay in place. Then he goes for my dress and flips it up, exposing my panty-covered ass to his eyes.

He stares at my butt for a second, my panties, my thighs, before moving his eyes over to me. Then, towering over me, his face sharp and cut from stone, he rasps, “So then how come my wife’s so wet that her white fuckin’ panties are sticking to her tight little cunt?”

He finishes his question, completely rhetorical, with a sharp smack to my ass, making me jerk and moan. And I smile. Because thank God, he got my message. Thank God, he understood what I was trying to do.

My smile doesn’t stay in place because he goes ahead and smacks me again. Although this time, he also fists my wet panties and pulls them against my core, against the very center or me, making me whimper and gasp. As he continues, “And how come when I tear these off, she’s gonna come so hard like the slut she is for her husband, she’ll see stars?”

“I’m not going to—”

He eats up my words when he does what he said he’d do and I really obey him like the slut I am. For him, for my fake, fantasy husband. I come and I see stars behind my closed eyes, my ass bouncing in the air. Which he slaps again, and I swear to God, I feel my juices flying everywhere, raining down on me.

But it isn’t enough for him because as I’m coming down from my high, panting and whimpering, he says, “And tell you what, before I carry her back to our bed, where I’ll tie her up again tonight, she’ll come even harder. She’ll come like a hurricane. Like a ragin’ storm. The kind that came the day she threw herself in my arms and sealed her fate. You know why, darlin’?”

“Wh-why?”

He leans down over me, covering my shivering back with his chest as he whispers, “’Cause along with that princess pussy of hers that I’m gonna fuck so hard in about three seconds that she’ll be all sore and swollen, I’m also gonna fuck my wife in her ass.” I stiffen under him. “And trust me when I say, been waitin’ for this day for a long fuckin’ time. Since the day I put my ring on her finger and made her mine in front of man and God. And I’ve decided tonight’s the night. Tonight, I pop her other cherry and pump her ass so full of cum that she’ll have no choice but to come as hard for me as I’ll come for her.”

I shake my head. “Radisson, I don’t—”

“’Cause see, the thing is,” he goes on, his words scary and erotic, “my wife don’t really wanna run from me. She just wants to make me crazy. She wants to taunt me. Provoke me, make me lose control so I forget bein’ a man and become somethin’ else. An animal for her. A hunter, all rabid and feral. Hard and hungry. Who chases her down and ropes her in. Who traps her in his ranch and ravages every. Princess. Inch of her. That she forgets to be scared and only remembers what it feels like to be worshipped.” Then, placing a soft, reverent kiss on my face, he adds, “’Cause she’s as psychotic as me. We’re fate.”

I’m shaking like a leaf by the time he finishes, and I whisper, my heart racing and squeezing in my chest, “I-I’m scared.”

“I know, Princess.”

“I—”

“And that’s how I like you, don’t I?” he rasps, placing another kiss on my cheek. “Scared and shakin’. Comin’ so hard that you’ll soak my skin.”

Still I insist, “You’re not going to—”

“I will.”