When he’s done stroking me, he rolls me over onto my back and rearranges me on the bed, placing a pillow under my head. Then he grabs my arm, and I feel him looping a rough-textured rope around my wrist. He secures the other end of that rope to what I can only assume is one of the bed posts.

After that, he walks around the bed and does the same with my other arm.

I’m left lying there like some kind of a sexual sacrifice, my arms stretched out diagonally and the blindfold still covering my eyes. I’m even more helpless than usual, and that fact both alarms and thrills me, like most of my interactions with Julian. For other couples, this is only pretend. But for us, it’s as real as it gets. I don’t have the option to say no. Julian will take me whether I want it or not, and perversely, that knowledge deepens the needy ache in my sex.

“You’re beautiful.” His harsh whisper is accompanied by a feather-light brush of his fingers over the sensitive skin of my stomach. “And all mine. Aren’t you, my pet?”

“Yes.” My breathing turns uneven as his fingers approach the top of my thong. “Yes, all yours.”

The mattress dips as he climbs onto the bed and straddles my legs. The material of his jeans feels rough on my naked thighs, reminding me that he’s still fully clothed. “That’s right. . .” He leans down, the buttons of his shirt pressing into my stomach as he covers me with his hard, broad chest. His teeth graze over my earlobe, causing gooseflesh to rise over my arms as he murmurs into my ear, “Nobody will ever have you but me.”

I suppress a shudder even as my core floods with liquid heat. From a different man, this would be just possessive pillow talk, but from Julian, it’s both a threat and a statement of fact. If I were ever so foolish as to allow another man to touch me, Julian would kill him without a second thought.

“I don’t want anyone but you.” It’s true, yet my voice shakes as Julian kisses my neck, then sucks on the tender flesh under my ear. “You know that.”

He chuckles softly, the deep, masculine sound reverberating through me. “Yes, my pet. I do.”

He climbs off me, and I sense him moving to the foot of the bed. When he catches my right ankle, I know why.

He’s going to tie my legs as well.

The rope is looped around my ankle as I lie there, my heart racing. Julian rarely restrains me so thoroughly. He doesn’t have to. Even if I were inclined to fight, he’s strong enough to control me without ropes and chains.

Of course, I’m not inclined to fight. Not when I know what he’s capable of, what he’s willing to do to possess me.

When my right leg is secured, he reaches for my left. His hands are strong and sure as he wraps the rope around my ankle and ties the other end to the remaining bedpost, leaving me lying there with my legs spread open. It’s a disconcerting position, and as soon as Julian moves back, I instinctively try to bring my legs together. I can’t close them more than an inch, of course. Like the ropes around my wrists, the ankle restraints hold me tightly in place without cutting off my circulation.

My kidnapper may not be into traditional BDSM, but he certainly knows how to tie someone up.

“Julian?” It occurs to me that I’m still wearing my underwear, both the bra and the thong. “What are you going to do to me?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, I feel the mattress dip again as he gets up, and then I hear his footsteps and the sound of the door closing.

He walked out of the room, leaving me tied to the bed.

My heart starts beating faster.

I flex my arms, testing the rope again even though I know it’s futile. As expected, there’s almost no give in the restraints; the rope bites painfully into my skin when I try to pull on it. I’m nearly naked and alone, blindfolded and tied up in this unfamiliar house. And even though I know Julian won’t let anything bad happen to me, I can’t help the tension that invades my body as seconds tick by with no sign of his return.

After a couple of minutes, I test the rope again. Still no give in it . . . and still no sign of Julian.

I force myself to take a breath and slowly let it out. Nothing terrible is going on; nobody is hurting me. I don’t know what game Julian is playing, but it doesn’t seem particularly brutal.

But you want brutal, a small, insidious voice inside my head reminds me. You want pain and violence.

I quiet that voice and focus on remaining calm. Julian’s mercurial approach to lovemaking may excite me, but it also frightens me. The sane part of me, at least. I want pain, yet I dread it in equal measures. It’s always that way nowadays. It’s as if I’ve been split in two, the remnants of the person I used to be warring with who I am now.

Another few minutes crawl by.

“Julian?” I can no longer remain silent. “Julian, where are you?”

Nothing. No response of any kind.

I rub the back of my head against the sheets, trying to dislodge the blindfold, but it doesn’t budge more than an inch. Frustrated, I yank at the restraints with all my strength, but all I succeed in doing is hurting myself. Finally, I give up and try to relax, ignoring the anxiety creeping through me.

A few more minutes pass. Just when I think I might go out of my mind, the door creaks open, and I hear the soft sound of footsteps.

“Julian, is that you?” I can’t hide the relief in my voice. “What happened? Where did you go?”

“Shhh.” The sound is followed by a tickling sensation across my lips. “Who told you that you could speak, my pet?”