Chapter Text
6 Months Later
He ran the tip of his index finger up the column of her spine, and while he held it there, the hand with the rope moved.
Around her left shoulder, across her chest, to find itself again between her shoulder blades.
To the right, and around, again.
She was good, so good, and stayed still under his hands as they worked, calm, and precise, and so very patient, until his thumb brushed the edge of her breast, and she pulled in a breath hard enough for him to notice.
His hands stopped moving. “You’re getting worked up.”
She breathed out, pushing the air slowly through the O of her lips.
“Do we need to stop?” he asked.
“No, Sir.”
“Alright.” He moved again.
Draw the breath, down to the belly, and sink.
Go slow.
Grow still.
He pulled the working end hard through a loop at her back, and the rope ran hot over her skin.
Behind her back, she flexed her wrists against their bindings, and gripped the soft skin of her forearms with her fingertips.
“You’ll remain calm, Miss Parkinson, or it stops.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Sink, down, let go, and:
feel.
His thumb, against her skin, sliding beneath the band stacked across her chest.
The working end under her arm.
“Breathe, Miss Parkinson.”
The backs of his fingers, below her breasts.
The end of the rope, around her back.
Breathe in.
A pause: cinch.
Breathe out.
Over her shoulder, between her breasts.
His fingers, his rope.
His.
Breathe.
Pulling the band between her breasts to the side.
And again, on the other.
Breathe.
He took his time, each and every time, at the end, so that the ties that no one else would ever see would be beautiful.
She waited.
“Done.”
She listened, but couldn't see through the cloth, as he moved around to the front, to look at her.
“So fucking beautiful, on your knees, at the end of a bed.”
He moved around behind her again, put a trail of three slow, purposeful kisses over her shoulder, then brought his mouth to her ear.
“Whose bed are you in, Pansy?”
“Yours.”
“And your bed?”
“It’s yours.”
“Good girl.” She heard him remove his watch, and then his glasses, and set them on the table next to the bed that they shared, that was his. “How many was it last time?”
“Four.”
Breathe in.
“Then you’ll give me five.”
Breathe out.
“Yes, Sir.”
Breathe in.
She felt his touch before it arrived.
“Count for me.”