He was quiet for several long moments, giving her time to wonder what he might do to her next. To crave it. To fear it. To fear how he would break her down.

But it was Mick. Finally. And she was his in this moment. Relief and emotion and an almost unbearable pleasure suffused her. For the moment, that was enough.

CHAPTER Five

MICK LOOKED DOWN at Allie’s body. A part of him could barely believe it was her bound in his ropes. The fantasy image raging inside him all these years was nothing compared to the perfection that was this reality. And seeing her here . . . it was some small epiphany. Small, but enough to cause a crack in the glass wall he’d erected around his memory of who and what she was to him, like some fucking fairy princess in a castle. Maybe he was the one who’d put her there, but it had always seemed to make sense. Until now. Now he might have to question his perceptions. Because this Allie was real. This moment was real.

Too real.

He flexed his fingers, had to actually take a step back.

Calm the fuck down.

He pulled in a breath, then another, but his heart was beating like a drum and he was hard as steel.

He’d have to find a way to distance himself a little until he regained the control that kept him—that would keep them both—safe from the primal thing inside him, the dark shadows that drove him.

He reached into his bag and found what he was looking for: a small croplike implement that was really more like a slender wire rod with a few inches of black sandpaper at the end—the perfect tool for his intentions.

He stood at Allie’s side, leaned in and listened to her breathing. It was slow and regular, and he knew she was slipping deeper into subspace simply from being bound in this way. He paused to check circulation in her hands and feet, found the flesh pink and healthy. Then he bent over her and swatted the bottoms of both bound feet with the sandpaper crop.

“Oh!”

“Shh. Stay quiet, Allie girl. Quiet and as still as you can.”

He swatted her feet again, and this time, although he felt a small jerk in her body, she didn’t pull too hard against her bonds.

He began a regular cadence, then, smacking the bottom of one foot, then the other, playing over the arches, the balls of her feet, the heels, the tips of her toes. He loved it when her breath began to come harder, loved it when she was quietly squirming in the ropes, her toes curling and uncurling. He could see she was processing the sensation well. He knew it didn’t hurt too much—this particular toy used on the feet hit all the acupressure points, and often tickled more than hurt. But he didn’t want to play her any harder than this right now. He simply wanted to bring her sensation, sensation that didn’t come directly from his own hands. It would be too much to touch her.

He let himself relax into the rhythm, watching her breathing, visually testing the tightness of the ropes. He went on for a good ten minutes while the world around them shrank into the bubble in which it was just the two of them. Mick and Allie. The way it should have always been.

Fuck.

He stopped as his pulse began to race, fast and choppy. He tossed the toy at his bag, being far more careless with his equipment than he ever was. But he had to stop. Now.

He was topping out.

He’d heard a Top could drop the same way a bottom did. But he’d never expected it to happen to him—it never had before.

He’d never scened with Allie.

There was a small rage building in his chest. Rage that he hadn’t held it more together. That he’d allowed his so-tightly-held control to slip.

He pulled his safety scissors from where he’d tucked them into his belt and snipped the rope holding her hair to her wrists, then the one holding her wrists to her ankles. He caught her across the chest in time to lower her head safely to the floor, and her feet at the same time. Her warm flesh burned into him like fire.

He kept cutting, tearing the ropes from her body, rolling her onto her back to work faster. He caught her confused gaze and cursed himself. It wasn’t right, the way he was handling her, taking her down without any explanation.

“Mick, are we . . . I’m sorry for talking but are we ending the scene?”

Hurt in her voice. It cut him to the quick. But he couldn’t take this any further. Not tonight.

“Yeah,” was all he managed to say.

He pulled her into a sitting position, careful to be more gentle with her, then to her feet so he could finish cutting her out. She swayed, and he caught her with one arm around her waist. Lord, she felt like a china doll in his arms, and he was a bastard for doing this to her.

Soon the ropes lay in tatters on the floor, and he grabbed the small blanket he kept in his bag and wrapped it around her before leading her to the sofa and sitting her down. The panic was roaring in his ears as he settled next to her, needing to keep away from her, but knowing he couldn’t do that—that if he couldn’t manage an explanation, the least he had to do was offer some aftercare. But instead of leaning into him for comfort, as most bottoms did after play, she sat there woodenly. He didn’t blame her.

“Allie . . . fuck, I know the energy is off . . .”

Why the hell couldn’t he think straight?

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Off? It’s all kinds of fucked up, Mick.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” He paused, shook his head. “Believe it or not I’m able to apologize when I’m wrong.”

Her brown eyes welled with tears, and he felt even more like an asshole.

“Mick, what are you talking about? I’m the one who should be sorry. I forced you into this. How could I possibly have expected the dynamic to work? It’s my own fault. I just wanted . . .” She paused, sniffed, wiped her cheeks with her palms. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I wanted. I was wrong to do this.”

“Allie, you are my responsibility right now, and I’m doing a lousy job. This is not your fault. You’re just bottoming out.”

“Maybe I am a little—I don’t know—but I do know that I screwed this all up, or the scene wouldn’t have gone wrong. We wouldn’t be here doing this at all. I’m sorry, Mick. I really am.”

Another tear slid down her cheek and he reached out, brushed it away with his thumb—he couldn’t help himself. But when her face just crumpled there was nothing he could do but pull her into his arms and hold her. She was stiff at first, but in moments she was curled against his chest, crying softly, his shirt gripped in her hand.

Her body was all warmth and softness and the scent of summer. His pulse was still racing, hot and hard in his system. His mind was spinning, numb.

This was Allie, his Allie. He didn’t know how he could think of her any other way.

He couldn’t do this to her.

But I can’t stay away. Not anymore.

He held her tighter, and she melted into him for a moment, then she started to pull away. He tightened his arms. She pushed at his chest. He let her go.

Fuck.

“Mick, don’t. Please just . . . don’t. I shouldn’t have done this to you.”

“You haven’t done anything to me,” he insisted.

“Oh yes I did. I manipulated you. It was wrong of me, and now you’re trying to comfort me. You don’t have to do this. Okay? You don’t have to. Just . . . take me home.”

“We should talk. I don’t want you going home alone like this.”

“I’ll call Marie Dawn. I promise. I know you feel responsible as the Top. I get it. But I’m really the one who put myself here, and I’ll see that I’m taken care of. I’ll handle this myself. Which is what I should have done all along, instead of trying to pull you back in. You were right. I’m caught up in the past. I’m sorry, Mick.”