Page 57 of Stolen By the Billionaire
Within minutes, a pattern of two vertical lines of single knots formed in the ropes wrapped over her chest like whalebone stitching on a dress, and he continued adding those knots as he worked lower. When one rope became too short, he picked up another scarlet one from the desk and continued to work.
He yanked the cords behind her back, pulling the ropes taut, then tight.
The ropes clung to her breasts, but they clamped around her rib cage and waist as he crouched and tied the ropes farther down her body, constricting her.
She tried to breathe with just the tops of her lungs.
When Blaze stood in front of her, meticulously adjusting the knots and ropes, whiffs of clean soap and a dark scent—warm spices and raw wood—emanated from the crisp collar of his shirt against his skin.
The single knots in the rope on her front followed the curves of her body like princess seams on a tailored dress, starting at the tops of her breasts, over the centers of them, then narrowing at her waist and flaring again over her hips.
The way he’d aligned the ropes so close together made it look like he’d put her in a tight-laced corset, cinching her waist and pushing up her breasts.
But he’d placed knots in the ropes directly over her nipples.
When she inhaled, the knots moved, feeling like a man gently rubbing his thumbs over them every time she breathed.
Even through the long, black tee shirt, it felt good.
She tried not to breathe because it felt so good.
By the time Blaze had completed the corset and walked around in front of her, she was gasping, and not just because she couldn’t breathe deeply into the lower parts of her belly. She asked, “What are you doing?”
He glanced downward at his handiwork—or her body, she wasn’t sure—and then back to her eyes. “Tying you up.”
His voice was so deep that she swore she could feel it in her stomach like music with the bass turned all the way up.
He placed two fingers on the ropes over her sternum and pressed. “Back.”
She walked backward. He followed, still staring down into her eyes until the chair bumped the backs of her legs.
Blaze said, “Sit.”
She did. The rope corset held her very straight, and she couldn’t even lean back against the chair.
He took another golden rope from the desk. “Arm.”
She placed one of her arms on the arm of the chair, and he tied one of her wrists with firm wraps like a wide, gold bracelet and a slipknot, then the other.
He crouched in front of her. “Leg.”
She slid her bare foot back until her calf touched the leg of the chair.
He wrapped the rope around her ankle and the leg of the chair, his fingers brushing the inside of her calf. Then, he moved her other ankle over to the other chair leg, parting her legs under the black tee shirt that had ridden up on Sarah’s thighs, and there was nothing she could do about it.
As he bound her other ankle securely to the chair, tying her thighs open, she felt full between her legs, and the knots over her chest gently thumbed her nipples with her every breath, almost abrading her tight skin.
The rope pressed around her ankle, and Blaze stood.
Sarah followed him up with her gaze, laying her head against the back of the chair. Now that she was tied to the chair, he towered over her, completely in control.
He said, “I’m going to tie your head so you can’t yell. You’ll still be able to make enough sound to say your safeword if you want me to hang up the phone and untie you.”
Sarah’s lips felt swollen, and she nodded.
“We’ll begin.”
He picked up one last golden rope, thicker than the rest, from the table and walked around behind the chair.
