The night was silent except for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. I was curled on the couch, my legs tucked beneath me, I felt the shift of the cushion beside me. He sat down next to me without a word, yet the room changed, the air growing heavy like it always did when he was near.

My heart jumped, but I didn’t move. Then his hand brushed lightly against my arm, his touch slow, deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world.

I leaned my head on his shoulder, that small act of closeness unraveling something inside me.

His hand moved lower, a slow glide along my side, pausing here and there like he was mapping my pulse points. Every nerve lit up beneath his fingertips. The quietness was loud - loud with my heartbeat, my thoughts, the unspoken, hanging between us.

He' s voice arrived, low and rough. “Go to the bed. Clothes off. Lie down.”

The words landed like a command, something deep inside me obeyed before my mind caught up. My body carried me down the hallway, breath uneven, as though my own anticipation was leading me forward.

When I reached the bed, he followed. The blindfold came first, slipping over my eyes, stealing away my vision to the room, the light, the uncertainty. Darkness bloomed around me, like ink in water.

The ropes came next, firm. Not cruel—but undeniable. My wrists and ankles bound, my body stilled, I actually became aware of my hearts beating, the rise and fall of my breath.

I was floating in the unknown when I heard — the sharp crack of leather against the bed. Not touching me yet. Just the sound. A promise.

I flinched.

A hand, warm and grounding, slid across my skin again. A contrast. Softness before the storm.

He leaned close, his breath brushing my ear, the world around me shrank to that single moment of waiting, wanting, fearing, hoping.

The tension snapped, and I was lost in him.