Page 67 of Chasing After You

It felt… soright.

“Why does this feel…” I searched for the word, struggling, feeling like I was floating through soft clouds. “Peaceful? Or… I don’t know the right word…”

He smiled faintly and knelt in front of me to check one of the knots. “It makes you feel secure, doesn’t it? Most people don’t know how much they’re craving that until they feel it.”

I let my head fall back slightly, breathing slowly. “I think I really like this.”

“I knew you would.”

His hands moved like he’d done this a thousand times before. Like he’d studied me without needing to speak, and was just now teaching my body how to listen.

And for once, I didn’t feel lost or anxious. I wasn’t worrying about the next day or if I’d remembered to do my laundry. I wasn’t hyperfixating on the way I said something to someone, afraid that I’d said it in the wrong way—too much of a pause, too loud, too fast, too jokingly, tooanything, and that person had misunderstood.

I didn’t feel any of that.

Instead, I feltheld.

And the way Dorian was looking at me… I felt proud of myself.Thiswas something I could do right.Thiswas something that brought him joy, and I could give it to him.

I didn’t even realize he’d moved until I felt a gentle touch at my wrist. His fingers brushed over my skin as he measured the distance between the knotwork already cradling my torso and the rails just above us.

“Can I?” he asked quietly, lifting the rope and gesturing upwards.

I nodded.

He guided my arm up slowly, methodically, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like he knew that if he moved too fast, something inside me might shatter.

One loop around my right wrist. A tug. Another loop. He tied it off with a practiced pull that left me feeling strangely… still. Then he made a loop around my left wrist, his hands lingering a second longer there, fingers grazing the inside of my palm as if to ask if I was doing okay silently.

“Mhm,” I threadily breathed.

With my hands now bound just above my head and the harness still snug across my chest, my body felt… stretched. Not painfully, but purposefully, like something long coiled inside of me had been drawn out and softened. I could move a little or shift. Breathe, but not flee.

My eyes fluttered shut as I relaxed completely into the hold of the rope, my knees feeling like jelly against the mattress, arms lightly straining, muscles quivering.

I could feel every point of contact where the rope met my skin.

And everything slowed.

Every thought, every background buzz of doubt or self-consciousness, every old, ugly voice whisperingyou’re weakoryou’re too muchoryou’ll never be enough… just… dulled. Fadedbeneath the steady, quiet rhythm of Dorian’s breath somewhere nearby, and the even quieter rhythm of my own.

It was like he’d pressed pause on the world.

He was sitting beside me now. I could feel the weight of his presence, solid and warm near my hip, one hand lightly brushing against a line of rope as though inspecting his work. His gaze was intense, burning into my skin.

“How does it feel?” he murmured.

I swallowed, my Adam’s apple bobbing in my throat. “I dunno.”

“Try,” he said. “You’re safe. You don’t have to say anything perfect. Just be honest.”

I licked my lips. My voice came out rougher than I meant. “It feels like… I don’t know, Dori. It’s like you’re holding all of my weight, everything. My brain feels soupy. Like warm soup.”

He brushed his lips against my jaw, speaking into my skin, making me shiver, “That’s good, very good.”

A silence bloomed between us, but it wasn’t empty.

I didn’t want to cry, but at the same time, I kind of did. I wasn’t sad, but the tension inside of me felt as if it were unraveling in slow waves, ready to bubble up and out of my body.