Chapter 9: Light Bondage Edging Session

The silk scarf felt impossibly soft between my fingers as I looped it once around my palm, testing its give in the warm glow of my bedside lamp. I’d chosen the deep emerald one from my drawer on purpose—the color that always made my skin look flushed and alive against it. My apartment smelled like the jasmine tea I’d brewed earlier, steam still curling from the half-empty mug on my nightstand, and the faint vanilla from the candle I’d lit to cut the evening chill seeping through the cracked window. Rain pattered lightly against the glass outside, a steady rhythm that matched the low pulse already beating between my thighs.

Ethan let himself in with his spare key just after eight, shaking droplets from his dark hair as he stepped inside. He wore the same gray hoodie from our last hangout, the one that stretched across his shoulders and made him look both boyish and impossibly tall. The hug we shared lingered longer than it used to, his arms wrapping around my waist, palms settling at the small of my back like they belonged there now. I breathed him in—clean soap and that subtle citrus edge he’d started wearing—and felt the familiar twist low in my belly. Not just practice anymore. Not after the way he’d looked at me while I came on his tongue last week. The lines had dissolved weeks ago, but tonight I wanted to test how far we could stretch them before they snapped.

We settled on the edge of my bed with the usual easy banter, legs brushing as we recapped our days—my nightmare deadline on a rebrand that had me cursing at my screen, his latest bug that refused to die in testing. But every word carried an undercurrent. I could see it in the way his gaze kept drifting to my mouth, the faint flush creeping up his neck. I reached into my nightstand drawer and pulled out the scarf, letting the emerald silk unfurl between us like a promise.

“New training tool,” I said, voice low and steady even as heat bloomed across my skin. “Tonight I’m taking away your hands completely. Silk around your wrists, tied to the headboard. You focus only on breathing through it while I edge you until you’re shaking. Mouth, fingers, the whole works. And I’m going to play with myself right where you can see every second of it.”

His eyes darkened, breath catching in that way that always made my pulse kick. “You really want to tie me up?”

I nodded, letting the silk trail across his thigh just to watch him twitch. “Only if you’re comfortable. Safe word is ‘red.’ I’ll check in the whole time. But yeah ... I want you helpless while I decide exactly when you get to come.”

He swallowed hard, then stood and stripped without being asked, revealing the long, lean lines of his body I’d memorized by now. His cock was already half-hard, curving upward with a glossy bead at the tip that caught the lamplight. I guided him onto his back in the center of the bed, the sheets cool against his skin. He lifted his arms willingly, and I straddled his waist for a moment, knees bracketing his hips so he could feel how wet I already was through my thin sleep shorts. The scarf slid around his wrists in smooth loops, then I tied the ends securely to the slats of my headboard. Not tight enough to hurt—just enough to keep him stretched and open, chest rising faster now that he couldn’t reach for me.