It had been sexy and provocative when he’d tied me up, but I wasn’t prepared for how sensual the process would be as he undid his work. Skilled and methodical, his fingers loosened the knots and unwound the rope, and since he was focused on that, it gave me a chance to really look at him.
His deep-set eyes were sharp and inquisitive, hinting at his intelligence. What did he do for a living? His hands were gentle now, but he’d been rough with me earlier. His smile could be brilliant, or his expression contemplative, like he could be whatever he wanted. Maybe he was an entertainer. A lot of folks in Nashville were in the music industry—the woman who lived next door to Dr. Lowe was some bigwig agent.
When E began to unwrap the rope from around my neck, his gaze met mine, and I swallowed a breath. He looked at me like I was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, and it was incredibly powerful.
Like last time, he leaned in close, and it was unstoppable the way I craved the heat of him. I lifted my chin, jutted out my chest, making my nipples brush against his warm skin. It caused him to let out the softest sigh of contentment, and it made me even bolder. I didn’t know what was allowed, but since I couldn’t see Clay, it meant he couldn’t see me, so I flattened my hands to E’s chest.
He stiffened, but I got the feeling it wasn’t from my touch . . . like me, he wasn’t sure if this was allowed. But it was clear he wanted this. His eyes went hazy as I dragged my hands down, trailing fingertips over the ridges of his defined abdomen.
It was a stolen moment between us, because once more, Clay cleared his throat. In response, E shifted to one side and finished undoing the ropes, and now the phone screen was visible again. Clay was relieved to see me, and guilt flashed through me. He’d given me this gift. An amazing experience with someone other than himself, plus an enormous amount of trust. The least I could do was think about him and not the man at my side.
The rope fell to the floor, and my hands were free, and I marveled at the indentations left from the thick cord. It was a gorgeous pattern—like woven bracelets tattooed across my skin.
While I was looking at them, E went to the workbench, removed my phone from the stand, and brought it to me. I took it, and he sat beside me, close enough that our legs touched.
“Are you cold?” Clay asked.
My body was cooling off, and I was going to answer, but E abruptly scooped me up into his arms.
“What—?” The rest of my question died as he dragged me into his lap. I was now sitting sideway on him, and his thick arms circled around me. My gaze bounced from the man holding me to the phone in my hand.
“How was this for you?” Clay’s focus was on me and his tone curious. “Did you like being tied up?”
“Yes.”
It was distracting how E’s hands smoothed over my skin while I talked to Clay, but I enjoyed it. He not only kept me warm, but the connection was nice. Plus, I was tired like I’d just run for miles and had the overpowering desire to cling to him.
“And the paddle?”
“Oh, I liked that a lot.”
Behind his glasses, Clay’s thrilled smile reached his eyes. “At any point did it get to be too much? More than you’d want in the future?”
I shook my head, and my voice went soft. “It was just the right amount.”
My words affected both men. E’s hands skimmed up my back, over my shoulder, and down my arm until his fingertips skated along the rope pattern.
“Anything you didn’t like?” Clay leaned closer to the camera like he wanted to be closer to me. “Anything you wished we’d done?”
My gaze went to the St. Andrew’s cross like it was magnetized, tracing the lines and lingering on the rings where restraints would be clipped. “I thought we’d use the cross.”
Clay gave a surprised half of a chuckle. “Maybe next time.”
Next time.
E lifted my wrist and pressed his lips to the underside, kissing the indentations there. It made my heart flutter. He was supposed to be a surrogate, giving me what Clay physically couldn’t, and although my partner had been attentive last time after we’d played together, this tender kiss from E seemed out of character for Clay.
It was half-teasing, half-serious from me. “You weren’t like this last time.”
“No,” Clay sucked in a heavy breath, “but sometimes the sub isn’t the only one who needs aftercare.”
There was so much meaning in what he’d said and how he’d done it in a measured tone. Clay was a dominant who didn’t need to snuggle or bond afterward . . . but he wasn’t going to ignore the needs of the other person in the room. Even if he wanted me to pretend the scene had only been between us.