The Wrangler (The Yacht Club #2)

Chapter 10

Ten

SJ

The question and answer session with Alex last night wasn’t a total waste despite my losing my shit when he mentioned pictures. Up until that moment, the sore spot had been hidden. Even his gentle reference, tore me open and grief ripped through me. The loss of my innocence. The humiliating exposure of my uncle seeing me like that. The morally gray situation I find myself in. I like Alex. He’s a genuinely nice person, and I’m supposed to help ruin his life?

He’s already gone when I finally dragged myself to breakfast. Amy, so super sweet, only adds to my guilt with her offers of fresh pots of coffee and fresh cooked eggs. I can’t fake that I’m here just an author now, so I choose to hide in my room and work on writing as if doing the writing will erase the fact I’m supposed to hurt Alex. Thankfully, the wording for the website comes together easily. At least phrases.

Sail into your dream vacation. Cruise into elegance. Take a banyan from the everyday. Your fantasy is dead ahead. You can’t fathom how good life can be until you stay at the Yacht Club.

I could keep writing these phrases for days, playing with the words, but I’m distracted by the characters of my book that calls to me.

Shelly sailed into the dungeon, searching for the Dom that had captured her in his web. She wasn’t a submissive, swore she’d never be caught in his net again, but his wry smile and blue-eyed gaze destroyed her resistance. The club called to her like a siren seduced the unwary sailors. The rocks loomed, but she couldn’t protect herself. There. Onstage. Rope in his hand, he wound it around and around the black haired beauty, each tightly controlled wrap squeezing the air from Shelly’s chest, slicing into her heart.

The muscles of his bare back rippled with intensity. The dark leather of his pants showcased the line of his ass, the lean tension in his thighs. She moved closer as he caressed the naked woman’s nipple. The touch shot through Shelly’s body like a harpoon, as if she was the one in his embrace. Tears pricked her eyes.

Yes, she’d stayed away. Told him she would never return. But he had to know she was a liar. Had to know she could never live without him. He glanced up. Caught her eye and dropped his line. Her heartbeat stuttered as he fumbled to regain control. For a moment, they were both frozen, connected but unable to bridge the distance that gaped between their bodies. He turned, whispered in the ear of his bunny. Shelly couldn’t watch any more. She should never have come back there, to his lair. She spun and raced up the stairs, away from the dungeon and what was left of her ability to love.

I think it’s good. Maybe a bit over written, but the dark moment is supposed to be dark. There are too many nautical references, I’ve been distracted by the copy for the club. Or not distracted, but infused. If I want this book to be something worth publishing, I should focus on the bondage aspect, not sirens and sailors. Although, that’d be a great name for the bar at the club. I write it down in my notebook before I shift my attention back to my laptop and the Shibari sites I’ve bookmarked.

I stumble onto rope videos on a free porn site. Most of them are too harsh for me, and I quickly click away. But this guy. He’s not attractive to me, too skinny. But the more I watch, the deeper I’m pulled. There are dozens of films. Each with a different woman of all shapes and sizes. He adores them, the ropes are like paintbrushes in the hands of an artist, he wraps their bodies up safely so they can let go completely and he can pleasure them. This bondage lights me up. He slides his cock slowly into one of his partners, its long length disappearing into the V of her bound thighs. Her eyes go soft and heavy, and her breath catches as he fills her completely. My body craves that feeling, I sneak my fingers inside my pants, underneath the elastic of the panties.

I’m wet.

My fingers slip along my lips easily, teasing my clit.

He moves faster, his narrow hips bucking into the softness of her. He grasps the the coils of his rope around her body, securing her in place so that he can fuck her to orgasm. The image blurs, and it’s Alex’s arms, holding the ropes, riding the woman I imagine is me.

I follow his pace, teasing my clit, fucking my pussy.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream and her back arches. He slides his hand to the front of her pussy and works her clit like I’m working mine. The other hand still holding her close, her position exactly what he designed. His pace quickens, jutting into her, his glistening length making teasing appearances. I can almost imagine my fingers are his cock. One last thrust and his body goes rigid, arcing deep into his partner. I let go with him, shaking and coming. Clenching my jaw to keep form calling out his name.

As my panting slows and I can finally breathe again, I close the browser window into the strangers’ intimacy. I glance at the door. Did I make noise? Did Alex hear me? Did I lock the door? Alex could be right outside, listening to me get myself off. He could open the door and catch me watching porn and fingering myself. He could tie me up, wrapping me in his ropes, and fucking me senseless.

It’s a fantasy and it needs to stay that way. Remain research for the website—for my book. But to write the story, I have to understand what it means to be bound willingly on every level: physically, emotionally, sexually. Several videos give instruction on how to self-tie, I have them bookmarked.

I need rope.

Now.

I wash my hands and straighten my clothes, pulling my wild hair into a ponytail. My skin has a healthy glow from the pleasure I gave myself. I want more.

Minutes later, I’m pulling my rental car into a parking spot in front of a block of store fronts. They remind me of a postcard from the 1950s, all picture glass windows framed in brick with store names in gold or red or blue vinyl stickers. The hardware store I found online is in the middle of the cluster and the sign on the door is turned to “Open.” A bell that’s tied to the handle inside rings as I push it open. An elderly man behind a green formica counter with a cash register sitting on top calls out a greeting despite being busy ringing up items for a man in overalls.

I wave and duck into the shelves not ready to ask for help finding what I need. The place is crowded with all the things a homeowner might need, hammers, screwdrivers and other hand tools. Racks of nails and screws in more sizes than anyone could possibly need. Shower heads, and faucets. Sprinklers and spools of tubing. There’s a little display in the back with paint swatches. Finally, I find a garden section with twine for tying up vegetables. Not useful for my purpose. I keep searching.

“Can I help you find anything.”

I jump and a squeal squeaks out.

“I’m so sorry miss. Didn’t mean to surprise you.” He takes a step back, same guy that was running the register. Not a threat. Not even scary. “You seem like you’re looking for something specific. Figured I could help you.”

“I need some rope?” I can’t even make it a statement.

“Cotton, nylon, jute?”

“Cotton.” Sounds like softest option. And I flash back to my grandmother hanging clothes on the line outside. “And clothespins.”

His smile is once again at ease. I’ve given him a reasonable explanation he can work with and I relax because I don’t have to explain myself. “Sun dried laundry always smells so fresh.”

He wanders back down the aisle and I follow him to the housewares section. Wouldn’t have guessed. But the “clothesline” coiled in a figure eight inside a plastic bag is exactly what I pictured. Not quite what they use in the videos, but it should work. The man adds a pack of clothespins and I almost blow it and tell him I don’t need those. But they’re cheap, so I nod and let him ring me up.

I can’t drive back to the inn fast enough. It’s nearly dinner time, but luckily no one expects me to join them for the meal. I could stop and grab something to go, but I’ll get something later if I’m hungry. The only thing that matters right now is getting the rope on my skin.

Back at the inn, I dart up the stairs relieved not to have to explain myself to anyone. Not sure how I would explain the outdoor laundry equipment with any kind of believability. With the door locked, I strip down to my underwear, retrieve the rope, and toss the bag on the bed. The plastic wrapper fights me, but I finally rip it open and unwind the length. It dangles from one hand as I navigate to my saved instruction videos with the other. With a tap on the pad on my laptop, the first video starts.

I sit on the ground and try the first tie around my ankle. The instructions are clear. Keep the line straight like a stick. Stay in control, using the rope as an extension of my hands. The videos are fast and I can’t tie the knots and complete the wraps and pause the playback. It’s frustrating and there’s none of the erotic appeal I got from watching the porn. With a huff, I stop the instruction and release my thigh and ankle. There are a bunch of other videos, I watch one on basic knots. She’s talking about knots I learned to tie as a kid. Another video teaches quick release knots. I have no idea which one I should try first. The basics seems like an easier place to start. Following along, I almost manage to tie my ankles together, but the rope is so thick. It doesn’t lay the way the instructor showed. The search for other simple ties I can complete on myself leads to love handles, and breast harnesses. Too difficult. I try a single column tie on my wrist. It kind of works once I get my thumb in the loop they call the bite. The terminology confuses me, but I’m trying to tighten the wrap to make it look like the image.

A knock a the door jolts me out of my rabbit hole. I click stop on the video and pull the rope, barely getting it hidden in a drawer when a second, firmer knock echoes through my room. “Coming.”

“SJ? Are you okay.”

The calming breath I take as I open the door does nothing to slow my heartbeat. Neither does the man propped against the door frame.

I hide my mostly naked body behind the door and shoot my leg out to the frame, creating a barrier to him entering. The bag of clothespins on the bed grows ten times in size, demanding an explanation I can’t give. Better to keep him out. “Did you need something?”

He turns his attention from my face to my wrist and the corners of his mouth turn up. The devil is dancing in his eyes? “What have you been up to, little rabbit?”

My mouth moves but not even a squeak comes out.

Alex wraps his hand around my wrist and steps forward into the opening, into my body - almost a hug.

Heat flashes through me, starting right between my legs and cresting like a wave up my neck to my cheeks. I must be cherry red with a blush this hot. He takes two more steps forward and I grip his shoulder to keep from falling backward, instead it’s as if I’m falling into him, losing all sense of reality. He lowers my arm between us, and opens his fingers. “Care to explain these marks?”

A deep shiver rattles my bones. “Promise not to judge?”

ALEX

She thinks I’d shame her? Over this ?

“Little rabbit. I’m not judging, but I won’t let you hurt yourself.” She allows me to guide her toward the bed where a laptop is frozen on a Shibari training video from a reputable site. But based on the marks on her skin, the instructions didn’t capture the subtle details that make rope bondage pleasurable instead of damaging. “Show me the rope you were using.”

She tugs her arm, but I can’t release her. I gaze into her eyes, there’s a mix of fear and shame, but most importantly, desire. I step closer, our bodies nearly touching, holding her hand down by my side. When she doesn’t move, I shift my hold on her to a caress along the length of her slender arm, along her shoulder, up into her hair. Threading my fingers through her red mane, I tug her head back with just enough bite to get her attention. Her mouth goes slack and her attention is fully on me. Fuck. She gorgeous. Perfect. “Get the rope.”

The tiny nod she manages works like a key to unlock my grip on her. She moves to the dresser and bends over, her heart shaped ass in the perfect position to receive my cock. I palm my hardened length down, trying to regain some control over myself. SJ spins, the rope behind her back, but dangling, I catch a glimpse of clothesline and bite back a bark of laughter. We all start somewhere.

And she has well and truly started.

She takes the two steps, returning to me, her head low, rope still clutched behind her.

“Show me.”

Her throat undulates with a thick swallow. I lift my hand, repeating my demand wordlessly. She lifts her head, looking for reassurance. She must find what she needs because the rope lands in my hand. I carefully inspect it and consider my words, letting silence do my work. When she fidgets, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, I say, “It’s not ideal. And your placement is dangerous.”

She nods. “I had trouble hooking the bite to tighten it.”

“Stay. Right. Here.” I drop the rope on the bed and leave her to get one of my ropes. I’ve procrastinated on bundling them in preparation for our trip. I wrap one of the lengths in a long coil, more cowboy than rigger, but it works. She’s exactly where I left her. “Good little rabbit.” I hold out the coil between us. “This is quality Shibari rope. You are not wet clothes in need of a little sunshine. You are a priceless gift, and if you want me to, I’ll show you?—”

She lifts her arms to me, forearms pressed together, wrists exposed. Vulnerable. Submissive. Her trusting gaze stabs into me, locking me in place. So soft. So sweet. “Please.”

I turn her forearms so her hands can clasp, but I press them flat into a prayer position and begin. My body leads from muscle memory, allowing me to enjoy every sigh, every shiver. Every shift in balance as she tenses and relaxes. It’s our dance. And it’s beautiful. I spin her into my arms, wrapping her with my body so I can hold her as I ladder the rope up her arms, creating beautiful knots down the center. I lose track of time as she softens in my hold. The final end tucked inside, it’s a perfect binding.

She turns her head, lips so close to mine. I could bend and take what she’s offering. Her eyes are glazed with the bliss of submission, and only her arms are bound. The pleasure she could find if I wrapped her entire body. Pleasure I could give her. I could easily sweep her up in my arms right now, and lay her on the bed, work those jeans off her sweet ass. Plunge inside. My cock twitches.

Fuck.

Too much.

The door is open. For a reason. So I don’t spiral out of control because she could make me forget my rules. Make me forget why I have rules. Make me forget that I can’t have this kind of intimacy.

She’s exactly what I dreamed of finding in a sub. And I can’t have her. Can’t have anyone so intimately again. There are very good reasons I only let myself go in a club, and only so far.

I tug the quick release I formed when I placed the series of knots, they cascade free, leaving the rope limp and without purpose. I coil it up quickly, avoiding her vulnerable questioning gaze. The answers I have wouldn’t satisfy her or explain anything. “Keep this.”

She accepts the coil with shaking hands.

The word sorry forms in my throat, but I can’t say it. I squeeze her grip around the rope once, briefly, and fly from her room to the safety of my own.

Maybe it could work. If I didn’t have the past I have. SJ reminds me how sweet a connection like ours can be. I found submission like this once before. Risked and lost everything for it. Could I take that risk again?