Playing Knotty (25 page)

Chapter 30

I
an had never been
nervous before a bondage workshop. Not even his first one, only a few weeks after finishing his studies, had evoked more than a sense of excitement. As he walked up the sidewalk to Prologue from the T stop, however, toting both suitcases, he felt more anxiety than anything else. He hadn't seen Emma in a week, but it felt like a month. She was constantly on his mind; everything he saw reminded him of her. He felt like he was going crazy. If he hadn't already booked a full workshop, he would have canceled. It was clear that he wouldn't be able to hire Emma as his bondage model anymore. Tonight would be the last time they worked together in this capacity.

Even though the sign said “Closed,” the door was unlocked, so he walked inside. Emma was standing behind the register going through some paperwork, and she looked up when he arrived, her eyes wide and surprised and . . . nervous.

“Hi.” He walked directly through the store, wheeling his suitcases down the center aisle, heading for the back room. As he walked in, he felt a wave of nostalgia: She'd dumped coffee on him and he'd tried to clean it off back here . . . what, six weeks earlier? He'd first tied her up right here in this room, back before he knew she'd like it. He'd kissed her for the first time up against this wall. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“I set up the chairs.”

He hadn't heard Emma come up behind him. She gestured unnecessarily to the circle of chairs.

“Thanks.” Ian slipped off his shoes out of habit, then knelt down and began unpacking the ropes and yoga mats.

“Full class tonight?”

“Looks like it. If everybody shows up.” She was standing right behind him, close enough that he could feel her over his shoulder, and her familiar flowery scent was almost too much for him. He had to close his eyes to gather himself, because the urge to take her into his arms felt like a physical ache. Fuck, tonight was going to be hell.

“Here's your money.” Ian dug the fifty dollars out of his pocket and handed it up to her, not looking back to meet her eyes.

She didn't take it. “I'll do this one for free. A thank-you for sending Brent over to rent the place, and all.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, and her dark eyes were as warm and soft as he'd remembered. The rest of her was probably just as warm and soft. He dug his fingernails into his leg to bring his focus back to the moment. “Yeah. Sure. That's fine.” He shoved the money into his pocket.

“I'm gonna go change.” She gestured upstairs. “I figured a T-shirt and yoga pants would be better than what I wore last weekend.”

He looked up so fast that his neck twinged, but she had already closed the door to the stairwell.

Two couples had arrived by the time she came back downstairs, so they didn't have any more time alone together, thank God. He would have to focus entirely on his guests if he hoped to make it through the evening. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but Emma was . . . distracting. She was wearing the same Prologue shirt she'd worn the first time, and it clung in all the right places. Places he wanted to touch and taste.

When everyone had gathered, they got started. Emma sat next to him, as usual. He couldn't help thinking about how much had changed in the last few weeks. She had been so tense then, afraid to touch the ropes, as if they might bite her. Now, as soon as he mentioned the basic wrap, she held out her wrists with no hesitation. Last weekend he'd bound her wrists just like this before lifting them over her head and tying her to a table. No, he couldn't think about that. It had been a goddamn
terrible
idea not to jack off since Monday; he would be trying to tuck his erection out of sight for the entire evening.

The first half of the workshop was as torturous as he'd feared. Emma just fucking gave herself up to him, moving into the right positions, bending and turning and holding her limbs in the correct places, and she was
perfect
at everything. The last position before the break was the crab tie. He focused all his attention on the class, looking at Emma as little as possible while he bound her forearms to her shins, showing everyone how to secure the knots on the outside, where they couldn't be untied by the rope bottom. When everyone had practiced, he returned to Emma and began unbinding her, moving quickly while avoiding rope burns, and announced the break.

Slipping on his shoes, Ian took his bottle of water outside, stepping out the delivery door into the cool night and leaning against the brick wall. The back alley was dark and quiet, the traffic noises muffled, the yellow emergency light over his head casting an eerie glow.

The door opened next to him and Emma stepped out, Converse shoes untied, carrying a water bottle. After tucking a doorstop into the gap to keep from locking herself out, she leaned on the brick wall next to Ian, and they stood in silence for several minutes.

“I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you tonight.” Emma fiddled with the water bottle, picking at the label. “It hasn't been easy.”

At least she was going to tell him the truth about her feelings. He wasn't sure why it was necessary. Maybe she didn't think Ian understood that their relationship was going to stay platonic.

“You don't have to say anything. I know how you feel.”

Emma looked up at him, blinking in the light. “What do you mean?”

Ian pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I heard you last weekend, talking to your sister.”

Emma didn't respond, so he had to look down at her. Her eyebrows were drawn together in an expression of total puzzlement. “What did you hear?”

“I heard you tell her that this was just meaningless sex.” He hadn't intended to sound so bitter. When he'd rehearsed this, or tried not to rehearse it but ended up running through it anyway, he'd sounded calm and detached. Now, though, his emotions felt fresh and raw, like a new wound. “You said that there was nothing between us but good chemistry, with no potential for anything more.”

“What?” She almost shouted it, making him jump, and the echo in the back alley made her flinch.

He turned to her. “You don't have to deny it. I heard you. And I can't do this, Emma. I can't keep tying you up and doing all these workshops when it doesn't mean anything to you. I wasn't intending to get involved with you, since you made it clear that you didn't want anything from me but friendship and maybe some fucking, but dammit, now I'm involved.” He ran a hand through his hair and plunged on, not giving her a chance to speak even though she looked like she wanted to. “So this is the last workshop with you. I can't keep pretending I don't feel anything when I've . . .” He trailed off, and he was unable to look away from her eyes, the upturned openness of her face. He finished his sentence in a whisper: “. . . when I've fallen in love with you.”

Emma stared at him, disbelief and confusion etched across her face in equal measures, and then . . . she laughed. Actually
laughed,
as if his pain meant nothing. He turned toward the door, saying, “You don't have to laugh at me. Let's just go in and finish this.”

She grabbed his arm. “Ian, we are both complete fuckups, you know that?”

He stopped with his hand on the door handle. “What do you mean?”

“You didn't hear the whole thing. For chrissakes, Ian, you
didn't hear the whole thing.
Julie asked me how you felt about me, and I told her I was pretty sure that to you this was all meaningless sex.
To you,
we had good chemistry and nothing else. You missed the beginning. You fucking missed the most important part.” She covered her eyes with one hand, her laughter bordering on manic. “And I didn't tell you how I felt about you because you've been so damn distant this week, so I assumed you were uncomfortable after last weekend and didn't feel the same.”

Ian dropped the door handle and turned fully to her, a hope building inside him that he wasn't ready to accept, not yet. “So how do you feel about me?”

“I'm in love with you.” She took his hands in hers, eyes shining. “I didn't plan for this, but a lot of stuff has happened this week . . . Christ, a
lot
of stuff . . . and I was going to tell you tonight. I thought you deserved to know, even if you didn't feel the same.”

At hearing her words, Ian couldn't hold himself back any longer. He pressed her up against the wall and kissed her, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other wrapping around her waist. She tilted her head to the side and opened her mouth under his, both hands going to his hair, holding him to her, and he kissed her as if she could save him from drowning. He wanted the kiss to convey everything he couldn't say to her, all his pent-up emotions and frustrations and longings and hopes and fears, but it was only a kiss, and he would have time to share the rest. Lots of time.

Next to them, the door creaked open. They pulled apart, still entwined, and looked toward the door where one of the guests was standing, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Um, look, we're all really happy for you two . . . but do you think we could finish the class?”

Chapter 31

I
an and Emma
almost didn't make it out of the back room. They finished the rest of the workshop with as much professionalism as they could muster after being overheard by the entire class, but once everyone had gone, Emma pulled Ian against her and cleared a spot on her desk, and they almost consummated their relationship right there. It wasn't until Emma was going for his fly that Ian remembered the bookstore didn't carry condoms. After that, they took the smart route and headed upstairs, carrying Ian's suitcases and their shoes and spending an embarrassingly long time kissing in the dark entryway before Emma fumbled the key into the lock and let them inside.

“You're going to have to stop paying me a modeling fee for these workshops.” Emma dragged Ian down her hallway, still towing a suitcase.

“Oh yeah?”

She fell into bed, dragging him down on top of her, and the solid weight of him felt like heaven. “Yeah. You're going to have to split the proceeds with me, fifty-fifty. It's only fair.”

Ian pulled off his glasses and tossed them on the nightstand, chuckling. His breath was warm against her neck as he kissed his way up to her ear. “Is that so?”

“That's so. You're an accountant. You should know how these things work.” She tugged at his button-down, pushing it off his arms and onto the floor before going for the hem of his T-shirt and pulling it off.

“We'll have to see about that.” Ian pulled Emma's shirt over her head as well, throwing it aside, then began licking and sucking her neck right where it met her shoulder. She shivered, hands clutching at his back as he worked his way down to the top of her breasts. She wanted him to continue, wanted this hard and fast and
now,
but she wanted something else even more.

“Ian?” Bringing her hands to his chest, she pushed, and he lifted his head away from her. His eyes were dark, pupils wide with lust, lips kiss-swollen and pink and
so fucking sexy
.

“Yeah?”

Emma licked her lips, nervous again. “Will you . . . will you tie me up?”

Ian groaned, collapsing down onto her and biting her earlobe. “Oh, fuck, Emma, you have no idea what you do to me. Do you really want that?”

She tangled her hands in his hair. “Yes. God, yes.”

“Do you have something in mind?”

Emma considered everything they'd done, all the various positions in which she'd been bound, and nodded. “Crab tie?”

Ian grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” He leaned down and kissed her, then sat back and unzipped his suitcase, pulling out a few coils of rope. “Take off your clothes.”

Emma did so, squirming out of her pants and underwear, heart already pounding. Ian climbed between her legs, clad only in his dark jeans. She was already so turned on that she felt like she might spontaneously combust.

Emma kept her eyes closed, reveling in the sensation. After attaching ropes around each of her ankles and wrists, Ian folded her legs up, exposing her, and Emma felt vulnerable in the best possible way. He had her grab her ankles, then he began binding forearm to shin, wrapping the rope around her in swift, practiced strokes. He wasn't instructing now, and the speed with which he tied her seemed impossible. “I've wanted this since the first night you tied me up,” she confessed, eyes still closed.

His hands stilled on her second ankle before starting back up and securing that forearm as well. “You did?”

“Yes. I kept thinking of how hot it would be to do this without any clothes on. You have no idea how many times I've touched myself, thinking of this.”

Ian gripped her thigh, steadying himself, and Emma opened her eyes to see him sitting there, taking slow, deep breaths with his eyes closed. “Shit, Emma, I haven't touched myself in a week. If you keep talking like that, I'm not going to make it.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Emma squirmed, but she was tightly bound. The sensation was better than she'd expected.

“Yours.” Leaning over her, Ian dropped a kiss onto her lips before sitting back. “Now, I think I said something else to you that first night.” He pulled out two additional coils of rope and held them up. “Do you remember?”

Emma thought back, confused, and shook her head.

“I said that this position was much better if I tied your legs out to the side.” From there, he proceeded to do so, tying off a length of rope to the edges of the bed frame—or so she assumed, since she couldn't see and definitely couldn't move to look.

Ian climbed up between her legs, looking down at her bound body. “I wish you could see yourself. You look fucking fantastic.”

Emma was wound too tightly to speak, limbs bound and immobile. Ian slipped his fingers up through her cleft, gathering the wetness, and she gasped. He found her clit and started rubbing it in tight circles. When she thought she might come apart just from this, he leaned down and dragged his tongue across her sex.

Emma felt like fireworks were exploding inside her, and she hadn't even come yet. His mouth was heavenly, hot and wet and practiced, and he lapped at her as if he fucking
loved
it, making these noises that drove her absolutely crazy. Her breath was coming in pants and sobs and gasps, and she was going to come exactly like this, with him sucking at her clit, except then he
stopped.

“No!” she moaned, wriggling ineffectively. “Don't stop!”

Ian looked like he was falling apart, his hair a complete mess, his lips wet with her juices, and that was hotter than it had any right to be. “I want to fuck you. Can I fuck you?”

“Yes! God, Ian, yes.”

He fumbled for a condom in the nightstand, and every moment he wasn't inside her was too long. His hands shook as he fought with the button fly of his jeans, then pulled them and his underwear down. She loved watching him slide the condom onto himself, loved the soft hitch in his breath at the sensation.

“You're . . . okay? No numbness, no tingling?” He touched her hands and feet, but they all felt warm to Emma.

“I'm fine.
Now,
Ian. Stop making me wait.”

He laughed, breathless, and positioned himself between her legs. Emma tensed, waiting, her body striving for a climax that was right out of reach, and he pushed slowly inside.

Her breath caught in her throat as he sheathed himself fully inside her; her eyes fluttered closed. She could hear Ian taking slow breaths, calming himself like he had before, and she knew he was trying not to come too quickly. But she was already tensing around him, so close she could taste it.

After a moment's pause, he drew back and thrust in again. The sensation was exquisite, the best kind of torture and glory in one, and Emma's entire focus was concentrated on the feelings between her legs.

“Fuck, Emma, I'm not . . . I'm trying . . .” He reached between them, rubbing her clit, hips moving faster as he drove them both toward climax.

Emma wanted to tell him to let go, that she was almost there, but she had no words anymore. Her body seized up, limbs straining against the ropes, and then she was coming, clenching around him in great spasms that shook her down to her core, pleasure exploding outward as she sobbed herself hoarse. She felt Ian's climax, felt him drive hard into her, heard his groan and sigh as he found his own release, and then she felt nothing but a blissful calm.

When they had both come back to themselves, Ian pulled out and took care of the condom, then started in on Emma's ropes. “The only thing I don't like about bondage sex,” he said, tugging her free, “is that I have all this work to do when all I want to do is roll over and sleep.”

Emma laughed, moving her limbs as they came untied, rubbing her wrists. The cord had left slight red marks where she'd pulled against it, and Ian kissed the tender skin.

“I like it.” She traced the lines. “Reminds me of tonight. Of you.”

Ian smiled. “So . . . you want a fifty-fifty split, huh?”

Emma nodded. “Fifty-fifty.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “Only if you tie me up half the time.”

Emma curled up with him, nestling into his embrace. “I think I can arrange that.” She rested her head on his chest, settling in, and it felt right. “You'll stay?”

She wasn't just asking about the night, not really, and he seemed to know. He brushed her hair from her face and wrapped his arms around her. “Yeah. I'll stay.”