Still, she was almost there—almost willing to do what terrified her. The battle was there, in every movement of her body, in the sounds she let out, the way she twisted and pulled at the binds that kept her still.
Finally, she said it. The word came out whispered, as though ripped from her. “Red.”
Garrison moved back immediately. He pulled open the fastenings on her thighs to free her, then reached over her to unhook where her wrists were bound to the table.
She didn’t move, didn’t sit up, didn’t even try to close her legs.
Which was fine by Garrison. He slid his arms around her, pulling her against his chest, before moving her to the couch, in his lap. He grabbed the throw blanket and tucked it around her, unwilling to dress her or let anything else be between them.
She didn’t tense, didn’t pull away. He could have furthered the discussion, but given the way she cuddled against him, he had a feeling she’d understood it. Not that she’d hear anything he tried to say at the moment, anyway. She was far too deep into her own head.
So instead, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her head, rewarded with her letting out a tired sigh that warmed a spot on his chest.
Damn, he really didn’t want this to end…