Playing Knotty (17 page)

“Okay, now what?” Both hands rested on his midsection, including the one currently wrapped snugly in a cat's-paw tie.

“You know what.” Emma couldn't help rolling her eyes. Why was he being difficult?

“Yeah, but I like you to tell me.” Ian's grin was so playful, so effortless, that Emma felt herself caught up in his enthusiasm.

“All right. Put your arm up by the bedpost.” He complied. “So is this why you have a four-poster bed?” She tied his wrist off to the bedpost.

“Of course.” He held the other wrist out to her, letting her wrap another cat's-paw around his left hand and tie it to the other post.

“How's that? Not too tight, right?”

“No, it's perfect.” He tugged at his bonds and then looked back at her. “Now what are you going to do?”

“I'm going to . . . take your pants off?” It was mostly a question.

He grinned wider. “Yes, you are.”

His happiness infectious, Emma found herself smiling as she unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down his hips, revealing snug green boxer briefs and a noticeable erection. Ian lifted his hips to help, and she slid the jeans down and off his feet. As an afterthought, she tugged his socks off as well. He wiggled his toes at her. “And now what?”

“I'm going to tie your feet up.” She said it with more confidence, encouraged when he nodded. Picking up the next coil of rope, she paused. “Do I . . . do I use the same tie?”

“For men? Yeah. There's a modification in there if you want to turn the person's feet out to the side, but that's more applicable for women.” He lifted his head, watching the proceedings. Two more cat's-paws later, and Ian was spread-eagled on the bed. She climbed up onto the bed between his legs and knelt there.

“You've got me where you want me.” Ian was grinning, but when her fingers brushed against his ribs beneath his shirt, he sucked in a breath, muscles tensing.

“I certainly do.” She traced her fingernails lightly against his skin. He responded immediately, twitching, unable to get away.

“Emma . . .” He pulled at the bonds as she continued to tickle him, hands opening and closing on the ropes. When she tickled lower, brushing his hip bones, he couldn't keep in his laughter, squirming on the bed. She loved his reactions, felt the heady thrill of control. “Okay!” he said at last. “Okay, I give in. I give in.” His head flopped back on the pillow when she stopped, both of them smiling.

Feeling emboldened, she took his cock in hand through his boxer briefs, and his sigh became a choked gasp. “Fuck!” He bucked up into her hand, fists closing on the rope holding him prisoner.

“You like that?” Emma continued to stroke him through the fabric, watching his erection twitch under her hand.

“Y-yes.” His arrogance was gone, replaced by pliant submission that took Emma's breath away. She worked his cock out through the opening, thumbed the wetness already gathering at the tip, and he arched up off the bed with a groan. Wrapping her hand around his length, she began jerking him in long, slow strokes, fascinated by the bend and flex of his muscles as he strained in bondage. She now understood the appeal of being the rope top, the excitement, the heart-stopping beauty of the man beneath her hands. She wanted more, though, wanted to make him come completely apart.

Bending down, she took him into her mouth.

“Em—” he gasped, only part of her name escaping his lips before he groaned, low and filthy and desperate, a sound that went straight to her clit. When he bucked up involuntarily, she pulled off.

“Keep still or I'll stop.” She felt silly saying it, honestly, but he looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes, mouth parted, and nodded meekly, and God, that was
so hot
. When she returned to her task, he moaned again, kept moaning, and only the quivering of his thighs beneath her hands let her know how much he was struggling to keep still. She might not be very good at this, hadn't had a lot of practice, but his whimpering and panting made her feel like a goddess. Every noise he made turned her on even more. She was soaking wet and hadn't even touched herself.

“Emma, Emma, you—
God—
you've got to stop, or—” His voice sounded rough and desperate, and she pulled off, licking her lips out of reflex.

“I want to fuck you, just like this. Can I do that?” She ran her hands up his sides, pushing his shirt up and out of the way. When she brushed her fingertips over his nipples, he bit his lip.

“Yes! Please, yes.”

Emma was halfway through undressing before she realized that all the lights were on. Arms behind her back, holding the clasp of her bra, she froze, looking to the lamp. The last time they'd done this, her room had been dark.

“Come on, Emma.” Ian's voice, soft and hoarse, drew her gaze back to his. He nodded, encouraging. “Let me see you.”

Emboldened by his obvious desire, she slipped out of the rest of her clothes. When her last piece fell to the floor, she looked back to him, and his eyes were dark with need. He lifted his head, looking over at the bedside table. “Condoms.”

Emma pulled one out of the nightstand, surprised that her hands were trembling even though she wasn't nervous. She wanted this, wanted it so badly that she
ached
for it, and the soft noises he made as she rolled the condom onto him only got her hotter. Then she straddled his hips and waited there, rocking back and forth over his tip, loving the way his dick rubbed her clit with each pass.

“Jesus fuck, Emma.” Ian arched up, though in his current position, he couldn't do much. The power rush made her dizzy.

“Do you like knowing you can't get away?” Emma remembered what she liked about being tied up, the sensation of being bound and helpless. “Is that what you like about this?”

“Yes! God, I love it.” He opened his eyes, and they looked wide, desperate, and gorgeous. “Do you want me to beg?”

In response, she took his cock in hand to get the angle right and slid all the way down, taking him deep inside her with one smooth stroke.

They moaned in unison. He was so hard, so hot, so thick, exactly what she wanted. The feeling of him pressing deep inside her took her breath away. With her hands braced on his chest, she started to move, first slowly, then faster, riding him. As she fucked herself on his cock, she watched him, wanting to see his reactions. His eyes were open, lips parted, breath coming in shallow gasps. His hands hung limp from their bonds; every so often he twisted, but he couldn't get away. She could take her time, here, drive him absolutely crazy, and he was at her mercy. When she tightened around him, he whimpered through clenched teeth, tossing his head back and closing his eyes.

Reaching one hand down between her legs, she found her clit. He opened his eyes to watch her again, rocking his hips as much as was possible in his position, which wasn't very much. Running his tongue over his lips, he nodded.

“That's right. Touch yourself. I want to—I want to watch you come.” He spoke breathlessly, obviously right on the edge himself, and Emma got lost in the pleasure building inside her, lost in his words as he kept talking. “I'm so—I'm so close. God, I want to come inside you.”

Emma rubbed harder, faster, chasing her pleasure, each movement of her hips pressing his cock
yes right there
inside her, and this was it,
fuck,
she was going to come
right now
.

And then she was lost, pleasure and heat overwhelming her in waves. The sounds falling from her mouth were unintelligible cries, and she dimly heard Ian shout her name, felt his cock throbbing and pulsing as she clenched around him and he emptied himself inside her. She rode out the aftershocks, her body trembling before all her muscles went limp.

When she opened her eyes, Ian was sweating and panting beneath her, looking every bit as wrecked as she felt. She climbed off him gingerly and disposed of the condom, careful of his softening cock. With hands that wouldn't stop shaking, she started untying him, beginning with his feet. Once she'd untied his hands, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back onto the bed, wrapping her in his arms and covering her noise of surprise with a kiss. After a moment's stiff shock, she melted into him. His kisses were no longer lust-fogged or desperate, but sweet and warm and open, and she lost everything except the feeling of his mouth on hers.

When they broke apart, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together, Emma closed her eyes. The world came back, and none of it made sense, not this warmth inside her or the overwhelming desire to wrap herself in Ian's arms and never leave.

Eyes still closed, Emma said, “I have to go.”

She felt Ian exhale against her mouth. “You don't have to.”

Hope fluttered in her chest, dangerous, traitorous hope, and she pressed it down. If she let this go too far, she was going to get hurt.

“Yes, I do. I'll . . . call you.” The words sounded hollow, empty, and she knew he deserved more; they deserved more, after what had just happened. When she looked into his eyes, she saw frustration and disappointment, and fuck it, but that wasn't
fair;
this wasn't supposed to be about feelings or emotions or any of that. She couldn't meet his eyes again as she packed up to leave.

Chapter 19

A
s the Green Line
roared out of the Chestnut Hill stop, Emma considered the pros and cons of having her family only a T ride away. On the one hand, they were always available when she needed them, half an hour or so down the tracks. On the other hand, it was increasingly difficult to skip out on family events or distance herself from her mother's subtle negativity. She'd given up hope that they would move to Florida; with her sister in high school, it was unlikely they were moving anytime soon. Not that she didn't love her family; hopefully no one would think that of her. But after nights like last night, all she wanted to do was sit alone and process rather than make polite conversation and deal with well-meaning, clueless family.

With a Red Sox game later that day, the train leaving Boston was basically empty, everyone going into the city instead. Across the tracks, the stations were crowded with hopeful fans decked out for the game. Her outbound D train had only half a dozen riders. She passed the time playing Tetris on her phone rather than thinking about the night before . . . or about Ian. She would not think about Ian letting her tie him up, writhing beneath her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her like a lover. She would not think of his dark eyes, his lips against hers, the roughness of his voice. She would not think of the text message that came in at one in the morning,
I wish I had asked you to stay,
glowing on her screen as she lay sleepless in bed.

She lost three games of Tetris not thinking about Ian.

Two stops later, the train squeaked to a stop in front of Newton Highlands, and she stepped down on the curb amid a gust of rain-scented air. The three-block walk to her mother and stepfather's house wasn't nearly long enough for her to emotionally prepare for Sunday brunch, a tradition they managed to enforce about once a month, though it did give her time to enjoy the suburban vistas. Living downtown was vibrant and engaging, but it was nice to see lawns that weren't Boston Common, and being out of the city was a nice distraction from everything she couldn't figure out in her life.

Charlie's sprawling white colonial was too big for three people, but no one except Emma seemed to notice, and she certainly wasn't going to bring it up. As she rang the doorbell, she realized she still thought of it as Charlie's house even though her mom and sister had been living there for nearly five years.

Charlie answered the door in a blue polo and khakis, his thinning hair combed back. “Heya, Emma. Good to see you.” He wrapped her in a hug. Charlie had always been a hugging kind of guy, affectionate with none of the awkwardness that might come from inheriting a fully grown stepdaughter. “Come on in. Your mom's in the kitchen.” He stepped back to let her pass, calling over his shoulder as he did so, “Pauline? Emma's here!”

Although Charlie's house had a dining room, Sunday brunch was always in the breakfast nook, the bright and airy add-on to the expansive kitchen, so Emma passed right through the dining room.

Her mom's hair just brushed her shoulders, longer than the last time she'd been over, almost a month ago, and Emma was struck by the resemblance between them. Pauline turned from the stove to greet her oldest daughter with a warm smile and a one-armed hug, her other hand holding the pancake turner over what looked to be egg-white omelets. “Oh, sweetie, it's so good to see you.” She planted a dry kiss on Emma's cheek before turning back to the stove.

Emma looked around the cheerful room with its spotless granite countertops and clean white walls, a vase of calla lilies completing the
Better Homes and Gardens
picture. She could never keep a kitchen this clean. “Where's Julie?”

“Probably still upstairs. Julie!” Pauline shouted in the general direction of the staircase.

Emma looked up to the heavy footfalls above before the sound moved to the stairs. Julie was yawning as she entered the kitchen in fleece pajama pants and a sweatshirt, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. Though they'd both inherited their mother's curly hair and curvy build, Julie had their father's height, and at seventeen she was a full head taller than Emma. Their hug felt lazy, her younger sister still half-asleep. “Hey, Emma. How are . . .” She trailed off to yawn before trying again. “How're you doing?”

“Good. How's school?” Emma picked up the pile of plates from the kitchen island as Julie started gathering silverware from the drawer.

“Fine. I've got my AP Bio test next week.” Julie followed her sister around the circular breakfast table, setting up silverware for each plate. “And then my AP Calc the week after.”

“Oh, wow, I forgot you were taking those. God, Jules, AP Bio
and
Calculus? What were you thinking?” Emma couldn't imagine carrying a course load like that.

“At this point I don't even know. I should have waited for Calc until next year, but I thought I'd get it out of the way. Stupid decision. Probably going to fail both of them.” Julie got four glasses out of the cabinet and set them in place.

“Nah, you'll be fine. You know you're the smart one in this family.” Ever since she'd been old enough to understand what one was, Julie had wanted to be a doctor. Unlike Emma, who had changed her mind every five minutes about career options, Julie remained focused on her goal with a ratlike tenacity her older sister admired. Between acing a challenging academic course load and summer volunteer work at the local hospital, she had set herself up to have her pick of colleges after graduation.

“Says the woman who owns her own business.” Julie couldn't help smiling, though, averting her eyes under the praise. Were all the women in the family uncomfortable accepting compliments? Was there a reason Emma never believed Ian when he told her she was beautiful? Last night, though . . . last night had been different. Last night she had actually
felt
beautiful. She wasn't sure how to make sense of that, but it felt like growth.

Thinking about last night in the presence of her family was ten kinds of awkward, so she put the thought firmly from her mind and walked over to lean on the kitchen island, watching her mom turn the omelets. Julie got the carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator and poured herself a glass, then sat down at the table to wait.

“Just about done.” Pauline always knew when Emma was looking at her, even without turning around. When she'd flipped the last one, she turned to face her older daughter and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. Though it was a family-only brunch, she was wearing a nice blouse and pearl earrings. “So, honey, I've barely heard anything from you. What have you been doing lately?”

“Oh, you know, business. Same old, same old. The shop keeps me really busy.” Emma poured herself a cup of coffee from the steaming pot, adding cream and sugar and avoiding her mom's look of concern.

“Are you getting enough sleep? You're clearly getting enough to eat, but are you resting?”

Emma felt herself bristle and took a deep breath to relax. “Yes, Mom, I'm fine. I like what I do.”

“Well, you could make time to come out and see us more often. We're only a T ride away. Or maybe we could come out to see you sometime. Why don't you ever want us to come see you?” Pauline took a bowl of fruit salad out of the fridge.

“Oh, leave the girl alone, Pauline.” Charlie entered the kitchen as if on cue, the food smell probably drawing him in. “Her apartment is too small for all of us to visit. We've been over this. Don't you listen to her, Emma.”

Emma smiled. “It's no problem, Charlie. And I've told you before, if you want to meet up with me in the city, let me know and I'll tell you when I'm free. Or you can give me two weeks' notice so I can plan my schedule around it. We can make a day of it: the museums, Quincy Market, the Aquarium, shopping at the Prudential Center, anything you want.”

“Oh, that does sound nice. Maybe when it gets a bit warmer.” Pauline began transferring the omelets to a plate.

“Looks great, honey.” Charlie peered in the oven, then stood again. “No bacon?”

“No. You'll get fat.”

“But it's bacon.” Charlie gave Pauline a puppy-dog stare, and Emma laughed. Sometimes she felt great affection for Charlie.

“So, I got nominated again for the Best of Boston awards,” Emma said when they sat down to eat.

“Congratulations!” Charlie clapped Emma on the shoulder. “See, Pauline, I told you this one was going to be taking care of us in our old age.”

Emma smiled at the comment, although Charlie said it all the time. It was probably the best way he knew to diffuse the tension from being wealthy and marrying into a family who wasn't. Say what you would about lawyers, but they did well financially—or at least Charlie did.

“Nah, that'll be Jules. She's going to be a famous brain surgeon at Mass General and pay for all of us to have live-in maids to wait on us when we get too old to take care of ourselves.” Emma patted her sister's hand. Julie rolled her eyes and took another bite of her omelet.

“Really, though, we're proud of you, honey.” Pauline smiled and speared a piece of cantaloupe with her fork. She was pairing her half-omelet with a fruit cup and a dry English muffin. “I hope you win.”

“I hope so, too. The press is pretty big. If I win this year, there's a front-page spread in
Boston
magazine and a gala.” Emma sprinkled some shredded cheese on her omelet and tried not to notice the way her mother watched her. Pauline opened her mouth to say something, and Emma felt her shoulders tense in preparation, but Julie spoke up.

“When's the gala? Can you bring family?” She popped a grape in her mouth.

“It's at the end of the month, and I don't think so. It's mostly a press event. Black tie.” Emma ate some of her omelet. “Mom, these omelets are amazing, as usual.”

“I'm glad, dear.” Pauline frowned at her daughter's plate. “Are you sure you want a whole one? Half is plenty for me.”

Emma stared down at her plate, irritated that she couldn't even enjoy an egg-white omelet without her mother butting in. “Thank you, but I'm fine.” She felt that twinge in her spine like she did any time her mother brought up diets, a mingling sensation of guilt and anger that she tamped down with slow, deep breaths and a bite of food.

“Speaking of which.” Pauline put down her fork. “There's a lovely dress shop I passed last week right in town. They specialize in dresses for bigger girls. More coverage, you know?” She gestured to the area above her chest, eyes focused on Emma. “I know I'm probably getting ahead of myself, but if you're going to that gala, maybe you could pick yourself out a nice dress. We'd even pay for it.”

Emma's ears felt too hot, as if someone were holding a lit match to their tips. Normally, she would hunch down and try not to be seen, but she felt herself straighten instead. “Thank you for the offer, but I can buy my own clothes.”

“Hey, are you watching
Game of Thrones
?” Julie jumped into the conversation to swiftly divert it, and Emma could have kissed her.

“No, I don't get HBO, but Bethany at work is always raving about it. Is it good?” Emma ate some more of her omelet, moving past the halfway point without her usual guilt.

“Julia, I told you I wasn't comfortable with you watching that show.” Pauline turned to her youngest daughter, and the “Mom” expression was so strong that Emma almost laughed. This was definitely Julie taking one for the team.

“I told her she could.” Charlie shrugged. “It's not a big deal, Pauline. Most of the kids her age are watching it. There's some violence and a little nudity.”

While their mother was looking at Charlie, Julie mouthed “lots of dick” to Emma before turning back to her plate, and Emma suppressed a snort of laughter.

“Well, if you think it's all right, then I guess I can live with it.” Pauline patted Julie's hand. “I don't want my baby girl growing up too fast.”

Julie's eye roll was classic teenager, complete with an exasperated sigh. “Mom, for crying out loud. I'm seventeen. I'm
almost
a senior in high school. I have a boyfriend.”

“Hold the phone. Who's your boyfriend? When did this happen?” Emma raised her eyebrows.

“Last month.” Julie tapped her fork on the edge of her plate. “He's in band with me.”

“So when are we going to meet this nice young man?” Charlie added some shredded cheese to his omelet under Pauline's disapproving gaze.

“I told you. You can meet him on the fourteenth. We're going to junior prom together.” As she said it, Julie blushed and smiled, and Emma's heart swelled with happiness for her younger sister. That didn't last, as Julie swiftly turned the attention back to Emma. “What about you, Emma?”

Charlie and Pauline looked over at Emma, who shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “Oh, you know. No one serious. I've been on a few dates, but no one's . . . stuck. Not yet. Here's hoping.” She crossed her fingers and smiled thinly, no teeth showing. Alina would be proud.