Chapter 13: I Wanted You

“We could’ve put you in the longer ones,” I said again as we got off the highway.

Isla glanced over at me. “They’re fine,” she said with a slight shrug. “It’s just from the apartment to the car and back. Not exactly a marathon. Better than Friday, when I was stuck in these fucking things all day.” Then, with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she added, “Besides, I’m not really supposed to be out anyway.”

I knew what she meant—the deputy’s warning from yesterday. It still hung heavy in the air. And it was clear that it hadn’t left her mind. It was weighing on her.

“I don’t think walking to and from the parking lot is what he meant,” I said. “I mean, how else are you supposed to leave the apartment? He was warning us about public places—crowded ones. Like the fair.”

She nodded slightly, her fingers absently toying with the edge of her cuffs as the car rolled through the quiet streets. “Yeah. I guess,” she murmured. “Unless one of our fucking neighbors decides to make a call.”

She shifted in her seat, spreading her legs just enough to make the short chain between her ankles go taut. The small ring at the end of the connecting chain slid left, then right, catching a glint of morning light as it moved.

Her mind was on everything—the fair incident, the neighbors. The way she kept fidgeting with the leg cuffs only confirmed it.

“We could’ve just brought them,” I offered. “You could’ve worn the regular ones. I would have switched them out when we got there.”

She met my gaze, her voice calm. “It’s fine. Honestly. They’re not as bad as they look. Just slow me down a little.” Then she added, “I figured you’d like me hobbled.”

Isla was still thinking about what she’d learned on Friday—how she’d confronted me about a lot of things. She now made it clear that this went beyond yesterday. Our conversations were part of it, too. Everything was tangled now—between us, the things we’d said, and everything that had happened. She wasn’t hiding her unhappiness.

And now we were heading to the Prescotts for lunch—and to borrow clothes. I knew that had to be exacerbating things, just making it all worse. Isla had texted Sophie yesterday while I was at the grocery store, but she hadn’t seen the response until this morning. Apparently, Sophie had everything Isla had asked for—and then some.

“She said to wear the shorter ones?” I asked, still not quite understanding ... because it didn’t make sense.

Isla was scrolling through her messages. “Yeah. Said they’d work better with the stilettos.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What sense does that make?”

She turned her phone so I could see the exchange. “She said the longer chain might tangle in the heels,” she explained.

“That feels ... counterintuitive,” I said. “Six-inch heels and a six-inch chain?”

She gave a soft snort. “Yeah, well ... I don’t think the cuffs are going to be the issue. Pretty sure it’s the six-inch ‘come-fuck-me’ heels.” She leaned back into her seat and added dryly, “It’s not like I’ve had much practice in heels like that. At least not that high.”

I glanced at her sideways. She’d mentioned once that she’d worked at a place where wearing heels was part of the job—but she hadn’t stayed long, and never gave me the details.

So, I knew she could walk in heels ... just not six-inch ones.

“They’re actually six inches tall? She said that?”

“Yep,” Isla said, eyes still on her screen. “Sophie says they’ve got everything—leather teddy, tailored suit, garter belt, panties, seamed stockings. Everything I mentioned in the text.”

She looked over and smiled, but it was a forced one—another mask. She was unhappy.

“Surprised?” she asked.

“Not about the clothes,” I said with a chuckle. “Just the heels, I guess. Six-inch stilettos aren’t exactly something you keep in the closet for casual wear.”

Isla laughed softly. “Seriously? They wear fucking prostitute heels to work,” she said. “When you’re used to walking around in five-inch heels, six inches isn’t shit.”

“I guess not,” I said, shaking my head with a grin. “Still.”

We were passing the museum now, the familiar building slipping by as we entered the narrow downtown stretch. The bookstore came next, its wide windows catching the soft morning light. That same light filtered through the windshield in shifting patterns, dappling across Isla’s legs and the silver line of chain that still moved lazily between her ankles—left, right, then back again.

“I guess you’ll be trying everything on?” I asked, mostly to break the quiet that had settled between us.

Isla glanced over, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Probably. You don’t just borrow clothes like that and assume they fit—especially not heels that high. I think you’re supposed to go a size up or something ... I don’t fucking know. Never had to be fitted for anything you’d call professional escort wear.” She caught herself and added with a bitter edge, “But until Friday, I’d never been fitted for prison restraints either.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Makes sense.”

I was doing my best not to say anything that might make her any unhappier.

She turned toward me with a mischievous smile this time. She’d seen right through me—knew I was holding back. But she also knew exactly how to get a rise out of me.

“Why?” she asked, a strained edge behind the smile. “You looking forward to seeing me all dressed up? In sexy clothes—the kind you think girls are supposed to wear?” Her voice dipped lower, teasing. “And in these? All chained up, too.”

I must have flushed or looked away too quickly, because she giggled softly and leaned in close, her breath warm against my skin.

“I can’t even imagine what you’ll do to me once I’m all dressed up in these,” she whispered, her voice rich with promise.

“Dressed and bound ... your own little sexy secretary. Submissive. Obedient. Completely yours.”

She leaned in closer, her gaze steady, lips curved in a slow, knowing smile.

“Your personal plaything. Your perfect little bondage slave.”

Her lips curved into a wicked smile. “We both know what just these cuffs do to you. You made that very clear last night.”

I side-eyed her, sheepish. “I—I’m sorry. About—”

Isla cut me off with a smirk. “You mean being even deeper inside me than the night before?”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, quieter this time.

She said it with a sexy, teasing voice, tilting her head slightly.

“Me being chained up like that ... bound? Unable to get free. It just makes you ... so big.”

“I was fine being in the handcuffs,” I told her. “You didn’t need to be the one cuffed to the bed. I was okay wearing them. You seemed to like that.”

“It was nice,” she admitted, slightly embarrassed. It was clear I’d said something that was starting to get a rise out of her.

But, of course, she flipped it quickly.

“But ... you weren’t like you were the night before. I mean, yeah, you were big. But not like that.”

“Is that why you wanted to be cuffed?” I asked.

She nodded, thoughtful now. “I wanted to see if it was just a one-time thing. Or if me being tied up—if that did something to you.”

Then, before I could ask, she answered herself.

“And it did,” she said, letting out a shaky laugh.

“God, yeah ... right after you cuffed my legs and I couldn’t move.”

She looked at me, her breath catching.

“Jesus ... you were so fucking hard. Looks like I’m the one who needs to be tied up.”

She turned to face me more fully. “It’s the submissive thing, right? The obedience?”

I nodded once.

“But I’ll wear them,” I told her gently. “If ... if you want. You seemed to want me in them.”

Isla’s cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink. She gave a little shrug. “It was nice,” she said again. “Seeing you in them.”

“So, you like me in them?” I asked, more curious than anything else. It was nice that she was in the hot seat now, but I was mostly interested in understanding.