Reaching forward off the bed, I stoop down to retrieve the sash from the rumpled rejection of your discarded robe.
Straightening slowly, I stand to my full height, my senses straining, inhaling the very essence of your intimacy, your scent; a tight tingling of Coco Chanel, amped with arousal.
My hands reach around your wrists, and so begins the binding. Obediently you play along, respectful of the ritual, extending your arms toward me, your wild forest eyes turned down, watching the soft white sash biting tight against your skin as I draw the knot to double bind you.
“I’ve wanted you like this for so long” I snarl, my throat tight with truth, there’s an edge to my frustration, a raw need that pulls at the chords of pleasure held tight inside you.
My eyes flare with an urgency to own you, and your knees weaken with the weight of wanting to give in. You can’t win, you never can. And you groan with the knowing.
Your heart skips to a rush as I pull you by your binding and lead you, wrists bound, toward the door of our suite.
My stride is full, and you feel your feet trip and stumble as you quickly turn with the force of my pulling you forward.
“I’m not going out like this!” you protest, panicked with thinking my intentions are set.
I snatch at your bound wrists, pulling you around, my eyes bright with pleasure, punishment and desire.
Hoisting your wrists high above your head, my movement is again sudden and ballistic, a dark martial art, pushing you back against the closed door.
I hold you captive, observing you closely as you squirm against the door. Our eyes bright with inner light, the truth of our confession clear in our expression.
Wordless, speechless, our mouths motion, appealing in mime, lips licked wet with waiting and wanting, tingling with temptation, and filled with wanting to feel our full kiss.
But there’s an edge to the light you see in my eyes, telling you I won’t. Despite how much you want me to. And despite how much you want me too, I will defy you.
Your wrists tied and pinned by my hand, high above your head, I reach my free hand inside the weight of your hair, reaching my fingers around the back of your neck, my thumb brushing under your ear.
I close my grip around your scruff and take the roots of your mane into my fist, hovering my kiss over your mouth, until our lips are so close, they should be touching.
Despite your every inch, buckling and straining, wrestling and fighting to reach forward from the door and push your kiss onto my mouth, your wrists remain bound and pinned, and my grip, at the base of your skull, remains unrelenting.
There’s a hardening edge to the light behind my eyes telling you I’m determined to keep my promise. Just beyond your reach.