“Will you walk me through the rest of it?” Rory asked.

  “Sure thing.” Des’s eyes gleamed. He squeezed Rory’s shoulder a subtle, strong gesture expressing full understanding of both what Rory was feeling and trying to do for his sub.

  “I’m going to finish what Des was showing us,” Rory told her. “But it will only be my hands on you. All right? I need to hear words.”

  “Okay. Yes. Yes, Rory.”

  He touched her face. “Why don’t we make that a little more formal?”

  He’d surprised her that time. Her gaze flicked up, then back down. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He gently guided Daralyn back down on her knees before him. He ran a thumb over the scar on the underside of her forearm, where the rope overlapped it. No redness.

  “Does this chafe here?”

  She shook her head. “No, sir.”

  “Good. It’s important you tell me if anything is uncomfortable, because that interferes with what I want to happen. Understand?”

  She nodded, her shoulders easing further. He repeated what Des had done, working the double wrap over her upper arms, drawing her wrists to her chest. Des walked him through how to do the smooth-lying twist in the back. It held the rope in position without putting an uncomfortable knot against her spine. When he did that part, he had to press Daralyn forward, her head briefly resting against his chest, her hands in his lap, then he eased her back to her heels to continue the rope tying in front.

  Her eyes were full of confusion, some apprehension, and yet also a longing that told him whatever was going on right now, she didn’t want him to stop. A new tension was back in her shoulders and upper body. The right kind.

  Since he’d caught up to where they were before, he looked toward Des. “What was next?” he asked.

  The loose way Des kept his long dark hair tied back framed his lean face, emphasizing the intent expression. “Pass the two ends of the rope between her legs, on the outside of the labia, and then run them between her buttocks. You’ll be fastening the ropes to the double wrap high on her back. The skirt’s thin enough it should be able to just fold down beneath the rope’s hold at her waist and lower back.”

  Rory did it, finding his way beneath the filmy layers of her skirt to her panties. He caressed her there, the silk and lace, before he passed the rope on either side of her labia.

  Though not as smooth and practiced as Des, that was okay. The pleasure of this wasn’t about getting caught up in technique or the complexity of the design. It was about taking his time, letting his hands slide intimately over her, registering her every reaction to him binding her, including the way she leaned into his touch as he did it.

  Since he’d left his shirt open, her breath fluttered against his chest. When he had to press her further forward toward him to reach behind her, her lips brushed his chest, sending tendrils of sensation through him, all the way from waist to earlobes.

  His hands tightened on her, and that possessive response caused her to nuzzle him, taste him with the tip of her tongue. Her behavior told him she was headed back toward that trancelike state she’d demonstrated when she’d been watching the scenes…or when he’d first wrapped her hands. A hazy zone of desire and need. She was back on track, and he was right there with her, watching her reaction grow with everything he did to her.

  Des was moving around them, a wide circle, giving him further direction and tips in an unobtrusive tone. “Make it snug. Let her feel her Master’s hold, his ownership, on her hands, her body, between her legs.”

  A good cue. As he did it, Rory kissed the back of her neck. “That rope is the same as my hold on you,” he murmured. “Only mine. Everywhere on your body. Do you feel it?”

  She nodded. She was doing that shallow breathing thing, the right kind. It was only then he noticed the Dungeon Master had moved on, another vote of confidence. Whether that confidence was in Des or Rory, Rory would take it.

  Rory hooked his fingers in the double wrap beneath her shoulder blades to make space to thread the two ropes through. Mindful of Des’s instruction, he took up all the slack, aware of when that pressure compressed against her sex, against the rim of her backside, even with the thin folds of cloth between them. This time the tiny sound that came from her was unmistakably desire. Her hands curled in their bindings, meeting knuckle to knuckle, like furled flowers. He could see them against his lap, because her chin shifted to the left, her cheek pressing against them.

  Des moved back to Julie. She’d left the bench to sit in the grass, her legs folded to one side as she braced herself on her hip. When Des stood beside her, his knee was pressed against her shoulder. His hand fell to it to play with her hair, brush his knuckles over her cheek. Partly a reassurance, because this had probably been as stressful to her as it had been to Rory. They were all invested in the well-being of the incomparable woman he was wrapping in rope. But she was his responsibility, and that was the way he wanted it.

  “Have her straighten up on her knees, and wrap the remaining rope around her calves,” Des said. “Down to her ankles and around the soles of her shoes.”

  Rory spoke that direction to her and Daralyn lifted her upper body off his lap, straightening her back. Her position meant he could press his shoulder against her torso, curl an arm around her waist and use her to brace himself as he leaned down and worked the ropes around her calves and shoes one-handed to finish it off.

  Her bound hands gripped his shirt, the pressure of her hold containing not only the urgency of her arousal, but also a steadying grip. He wasn’t the only one watching out for the person he was with. It invoked a powerful mix of feelings in him, too.

  He sat back to look upon his handiwork. She was tied from shoulders to her ankles. If she really struggled, the ropes would give enough to let her get free, but there wasn’t much chance of that. Except for the brief flex of her fingers, releasing him as he straightened, she was as still as he’d ever seen her.

  Rory glanced at Des. He pointed to his own eyes, Rory’s. “Look at me, Daralyn,” Rory said.

  Her lashes fluttered and lifted, and he was looking into the eyes of a wild animal. One who’d suddenly become tame, not through being broken, but from finding the hand of the Master she craved.

  Maybe before coming here and being immersed in a world where people spoke in those terms so easily, he wouldn’t have put it that way in his head, but now he couldn’t call it anything else. When he ran a finger over her mouth, she kissed and nuzzled it eagerly. He slid the hand into her hair, holding tight as he brought her closer, dipped his head to put his mouth on her throat. Then he bit her.

  A savagery he hadn’t experienced before rose within him. As he tightened the clamp of his jaw, she was pressed against him, curled fists gripping his open shirt again, latched on as fiercely as he was to her flesh.

  It took a big effort to recall himself enough to realize they were doing this in front of Des and Julie, but then he realized they weren’t. Des had helped Julie to her feet, and they were already a distance away, wandering off toward the gardens.

  Now he’d say what was in his gut. What he felt. And he’d say it, not as some gentle reassurance, but the way the kind of man he was would. The kind of Master he was would.

  “I will never, ever share you with another man, Daralyn. Not ever.”

  Her hazel eyes flared with brilliant emotion, but he didn’t stop. “Reason one? I’m a very possessive, very monogamous kind of guy.”

  He held her fast, letting her feel the strength behind the statement. The pure ownership. It might not be Dr. Taylor-approved, but in this environment, this moment, it was what was true, and what he felt they both needed.

  “Reason two. You don’t want to be shared. I don’t need to hear it to know I’m right.” He touched her chin, reinforcing the lock between their gazes. “Even if you can’t ever tell me with words what you want and need, I will spend every moment we have together figuring it out, so I can care for you, respect you, love you.”

  She swallowed, and the physical and emotional responses tangled in her expression. It made her look even more eternally beautiful, fragile and precious to him. Enough that his primal resolve was mixed with a kind of awe, a sacred respect, for what she meant to him. As he’d told Marcus, when he’d asked Rory how much he loved her.

  Like whatever God is. More than I understand or know, but want to spend a lifetime finding out.

  “Remember what I told you, back when we started down this road? When the day comes that you can tell me what you want, about anything, whether it’s what you want for dessert or how you want to do this”—he tugged on the ropes—“that will be the greatest gift you can give me.”

  He brought her up to him for another full on, deep kiss. He took his own damn sweet time with it, reinforcing his words with an undeniable claim as he played with her tongue, her provocative lips. She responded just as he knew she would, unconsciously pushing and pulling against him with an urgency that had him sliding his hands down, cupping her sides, his palms against the give of her breasts, fingers firm against her rib cage.

  He backed off only to indulge a good long look at the ropes outlining her curves as she trembled and strained in their grip. How the bindings rumpled and molded the wine-colored fabric over her body. The flutter of her tousled hair around her face emphasized the swollen lips, her feverish look of pure need.

  When she pressed her lips together to wet them, he could easily imagine them on his flesh. Then her eyes traveled down his torso, to his lap.

  “It made me feel so good, when you put your mouth between my legs,” she said hesitantly. “Can it feel that way…for you?”

  “Yeah.” In a different way, but watching her do it would create all sorts of reactions in the places he could feel. So he let the needs in them both guide him.

  He wasn’t the exhibitionist type. This was a quiet stretch of lawn, but the party was happening just a stone’s throw away. However, it was an environment where people were matter of fact about being naked and doing sexual things in front of everyone else. The rules put a cocoon around them that wouldn’t be disturbed. No interruptions.

  It made his next decision feel more natural. Under her gaze, he unbuckled his belt, opened his jeans. Since he’d already opened his shirt, it wasn’t in the way. He brought himself out, stroking to give himself a start on an erection. “Put your mouth on me, Daralyn,” he ordered.

  She inched forward, bending over his lap. It put her hands close enough to his cock that she could take over the grip on it even with her bonds. As she angled it to her mouth, he tilted his head to the side so he could watch her lips touch his crown. She nuzzled it, kissed it, teased him with the tip of her tongue as his cock responded further, stretching to a greater length and thickness. Then her lips opened to take him in, slide down.

  She lightly circled his girth, rubbing him even as she sucked on him, her cheeks hollowing and lips shifting in a way that told him she was running her tongue over his length.

  If he had a hundred percent feeling in that area, he’d be fighting not to spew. She not only knew what she was doing, she was good at it.

  He understood why that was, and that knowledge wanted to invade his mind with images and thoughts that would tear away anything good about this moment. But as he focused on her, the truth threw up an impenetrable wall and those disruptive thoughts died behind it.

  He was a sexually experienced man, a generous and considerate lover. So he knew Daralyn was serving him with obvious need, a deep desire to give him pleasure, because it gave her pleasure. Even if she didn’t acknowledge that in words, he could be her witness, take the victory, hold it for her, knowing that it was a hundred percent her wants that were driving this.

  Her fingers curled tight on his base, anchoring his dick so she could go all the way down, come back up, suck on him. What she was doing with her tongue and mouth was keeping him stiff, and he wanted to be inside her. But for that, he’d wait until they had full privacy. For now, he had all he needed.

  He curled his fingers in her hair, holding her, pushing her down deeper, bringing her back up, controlling her movements. Her hands convulsed on him, telling him she liked that reminder that he was in charge, that she was serving him. Watching the set of her shoulders under the thin fabric, the way the ropes were tied over her legs and the soles of her shoes, brought up a mix of the caveman and protector both. He’d tied her up, but he’d make sure she’d feel safe when she was that vulnerable. He’d protect her from anything.

  He tipped his head back, taking a long shuddering breath as her mouth brought him to peak, making the starry sky above blur and then slowly, pleasurably come back into focus. During that wave, he let his hand tighten almost to the point of pain, and then he eased it, a light tug telling her he wanted her to lift her head.

  As she watched him, her lips wet and hair mussed, he tucked himself back into his jeans, then backed his chair the distance needed to shift to the edge of his seat, lower himself to the grass with her. He adjusted the chair so that when he put an arm around her, he had his back braced against a locked wheel. Then he removed the rope from her legs and shoes but left the body harness that kept her hands and arms bound, ropes pressing into her sex and the cleft of her buttocks. He eased her down to her side on the grass and stretched out next to her. They were face to face, his arm bent under his head as he ran a hand over her upper arm, her side, her hip. Here they were, the two of them lying in soft grass, by the water, on a beautiful fall night.

  He found his way beneath her skirt to the top of her thigh, and back further, caressing the crescent curve along the point where the cloth was held by the rope running between her buttocks.

  Then he came around to the front, where the two lines of rope framed her sex. When he feathered a finger over her clit through the fabric of her panties, she gasped. Her bound hands rested on top of his forearm, so her fingers, while not impeding him, were digging into his skin, that sweet involuntary reaction as he kept playing, teasing. Light brushes over her swollen clitoris, the wet petals of her sex that had drenched the crotch of the panties.

  “Keep looking at my face,” he ordered her. “I want you to see just what your arousal means to me. How much it pleases me.”

  She kept doing that little licking her lips thing, and knowing she’d had her mouth on him minutes ago only helped his intent now. His body might have released, but there were other parts of him where the need had only doubled.

  “I think you like the restraint part of things. No choices to make, just trusting me to do whatever I want to you…because it feels good, doesn’t it?”

  A quick nod.

  “Words, Daralyn,” he prompted.

  “Yes…yes, sir.”

  Light brush. Brush. Brush. He was barely touching her, yet he could feel her climax building, see it in the increased desperation in her face.

  “I’d like to be inside you right now, because I know your sweet cunt would be squeezing down on my cock. Even though my nerves can’t tell my brain you’re doing it, my cock knows, and fucking loves it. Loves being inside you.”

  “Rory…” It was a raw plea, not a question, but he made it one, to keep her attention on him.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “I…”

  “Tell me what’s going on. You’re about to come, aren’t you? Soon as you say it, you have my permission to do it.”

  “Yes…I am…I…oh…”

  She went over, shuddering as he curled his other arm around her head, drew her to his shoulder so her cries were muffled by his body. She rocked hard against him, strained against the ropes. From the way she writhed, he expected the rope between her buttocks, even with the dress and underwear in the way, had provided more intriguing friction.

  Her panties had gone from damp to soaked, and he drew patterns in it over her sex, relishing her tiny little noises of sensual discomfort as he teased hyper-sensitive nerves.

  “Sshh,” he murmured. “I like touching you right after. I like how you squirm.”

  She let out a half gasp that might have been a laugh if she wasn’t still riding those aftershocks. He pushed her to her back and leaned over her, loving the way that felt, to lean down upon her, feel her breasts against his chest as he kissed her. Her mouth moved against his erratically as her body quivered from the climax he’d given it.

  In between the kisses, he kept speaking soothing words to her, rocking her, stroking her body. Did she realize how far she’d come in a handful of weeks? To his way of thinking, she’d done herself a disservice, that night she’d despaired about having trouble with her first day of school. Every day of the past five years had been moving her toward breakthrough moments like these, where she could claim joy and happiness for herself.

  He was the lucky one, blessed to be in the right moment and place to be able to share it with her, help her make those steps. Maybe they’d been on a side-by-side journey all along, and some merciful power had decided on the optimal moment for those paths to turn toward one another, link.

  He cupped her backside, spreading his fingers out over her cheeks and then squeezing, so she’d feel the rope between them more acutely, rubbing against her rim.

  “Did you know you can wear a rope harness under your clothes? Ropes around your breasts and between your legs, like this? We have a lot of nice soft and silky nylon at the store. I think I’ll learn how to do that, make you wear it under your clothes at the store one day. I like the idea of no one else but me knowing it’s there, and that I tied you up in it.”

  His eyes burned into her glazed ones. “At the end of the day, I’ll have you take everything off but the ropes, straddle me, put me inside. I’ll watch you ride me, the ropes holding you, your breasts quivering. You’ll get that sweet, feminine mist of perspiration on your neck that makes your hair curl there. I love the way you look at me when you’re like this. So needy, so past any worries…”

  She made a little moan, tipping up her face. Asking for a kiss, his hungry girl. Her wants were there, so close. Behind a wall, yes, but every day they were building higher, getting closer to the top, wanting to spill over and break that damn wall down. He was happy to help make it happen. Every kiss, every moment they spent together, was another sledgehammer strike against that barrier.