Page 25 of Chasing After You (Twisted Desires #3)

Josh

“F-for more?” I looked up at Dorian from where I knelt, clocking the hungry look in his eyes.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you? That was just the appetizer,” he cooed, running his fingers through my hair, gently scratching my scalp with his nails. “Can you stand?”

I rose up on shaky legs, now looking down at Dorian, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed. He grinned and looked around the room.

“Hmm, where should we set you up?” he wondered, an almost manic edge to his voice. “I guess the bed would be best since it’s your first time. Alright. I want you in the middle, up on your knees, please.”

“Okay,” I managed, feeling like a newborn deer as I tremulously climbed onto the mattress and knelt in the center.

Dorian clapped his hands on his thighs before standing, taking his pants all the way off, and pulling his shirt over his head.

He gave me a sultry once-over before turning and walking towards the wall that displayed a rainbow of rope.

“You haven’t been tied up before, right?” he hummed in question.

“No, just… just the fuzzy cuffs like I said. Are you going to…?”

“Yes. I think you’ll like it. But remember to use your safe word if you need to. I’m using hemp this time, so it shouldn’t scratch or hurt. If it does, you need to tell me, okay?”

“Okay.” I watched as he gathered the white rope in his hands, a secretive smile on his lips.

Holding the rope, he continued walking along the wall, seemingly searching for something.

He grabbed a small cloth—maybe a blindfold—I wasn’t sure.

His hand hesitated briefly over what I was pretty sure was a ball gag, but he must’ve decided against it.

A bottle of lube and a pink dildo later, he returned to the bed, depositing his selections next to me.

He climbed up onto the mattress and coiled the rope in his hands. “Good?”

I shifted a little on my knees, nervous but horny as hell. “Mhm.”

The first wrap around my chest felt oddly reassuring—not too tight, not constricting, but present —a whisper of tension across my ribs, like a quiet reminder that I wasn’t going anywhere.

I raked my gaze over his naked form, never having seen it up close before. Sure, I’d seen him shirtless after his showers, but that was also back when I was desperately trying not to get aroused by him and tried not to look too closely.

But now that he was directly in front of me, I let my eyes wander. I took in each and every tattoo. There were so many, he was practically covered in ink.

And because he was so covered in designs, I almost missed the most important one.

A fine line J over his heart.

“Is that for me?” I whispered.

Dorian glanced up at me. “Is what for you?”

“The J. ”

He smiled kindly, his eyes soft and full of warmth. “Yeah. It was my first.”

“Oh,” I murmured.

As I continued my perusal of his body, Dorian worked silently, fingers precise and sure as he looped and tugged, adjusting angles with a quiet sort of focus that made it feel like he was sketching on my skin.

Like he was an artist and I was his medium.

The rope was warm from his hands, but it didn’t hurt. It just made me aware of myself—of my body, of where my arms were, where the pressure settled, where the pattern took shape.

“I’m starting with a diamond harness,” he murmured, almost like he was talking to himself. “It suits you.”

I didn’t know what that meant, and had no idea why it would suit me, but I didn’t ask. I just closed my eyes and breathed, sinking into the feeling.

As he worked, the lines of rope began to map a shape over my chest and shoulders—symmetrical, deliberate, like a net that caught the parts of me always threatening to float away.

It felt like I was being translated into something else.

Like the knots had meaning I didn’t understand, but my body did.

He moved slowly, never rushing, constantly checking how the tension sat against my skin. Sometimes he’d pause and rest his hand on me, a brief grounding touch, before threading another line. One rope wound diagonally across my sternum, another curved under my arms and across my back.

At some point, I exhaled deeper than I meant to.

“You’re doing very well,” Dorian said quietly, his voice softer, but not teasing.

The last few ties settled at my waist, not pinning me anywhere, not suffocating me, just holding me, framing me. Like the ropes were hugging the parts of me I never knew needed it.

When he finished, he sat back just slightly to look at me, and I looked down, taking it in.

The diamond pattern over my chest gleamed slightly where the rope overlapped and pulled. I sucked a breath in at what I saw. It didn’t feel humiliating. It didn’t feel strange.

It felt… so right .

“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, too anything , and that person had misunderstood.

I didn’t feel any of that.

Instead, I felt held.

And the way Dorian was looking at me… I felt proud of myself. This was something I could do right. This was 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 whispering you’re weak or you’re too much or you’ll never be enough … just… dulled. Faded beneath 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.

But still, the ropes held me together. They reminded me I hadn’t broken, that I was being supported. That Dorian had me.

I opened my eyes and looked at him through a half-lidded gaze. “Why do you know how to do this?”

Dorian tilted his head a little, one corner of his mouth pulling upward in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“When I thought you had run from me back then, I was so angry. So, I guess the start of my fascination with it wasn’t from good intentions.

I wanted to tie you up so fucking tightly that you’d never be able to leave me again.

I wanted to be in complete control of your every move.

Then from there, it evolved as I got older.

I learned more about the art of bondage.

I went to a few different kink clubs to learn how to do it.

And as I got to know some of the subs there, I learned that being tied can feel freeing for them. I wanted that for you.”

He reached out, not to touch the ropes, but to touch me, his fingers brushing against the side of my neck, just a whisper of contact.

“I still like being in control,” he clarified, humor in his voice. “And I think you like me being that way.”

“Yeah,” I answered almost silently.

“You’re gorgeous, big brother,” he crooned, devouring me with his gaze. “Let me just get this blindfold on you, then we’ll really begin.”