Page 52 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

Something changes in her expression. The tightness around her eyes eases. Replaced by alert curiosity. Her gaze tracks along the rope patterns I've created. Following each line and intersection with newfound interest.

"It's the Millennium Falcon." She whispers suddenly. Examining the pattern formed by the rope on her right wrist.

I follow her gaze. See only the functional restraints I've applied. The primary cuffs, the connection points, the tension distribution. All tactical considerations.

She continues with growing animation. "See? This crossing pattern here looks like the cockpit section, and these loops resemble the mandibles..."

Her observation stops me cold. Tactical assessments fade. Threat monitoring ceases. There's only her voice, finding patterns in rope.

"What am I going to do with you?" Relief loosens something in my chest. Her mind is finding patterns again. Functioning. Stabilizing.

"Keep me?" She replies simply. Her eyes meeting mine with unexpected clarity.

The question hangs in the air between us. My heart rate increases.

Our eyes lock. The atmosphere shifts instantly from therapeutic to charged. Something electric passes between us. Changes the molecular structure of the air in the room.

I don't decide without analyzing variables, without measuring risk. But right now, with her bound and calm before me, looking at me with those clear eyes, certainty settles in my chest.

My hand slides along the rope on her wrist. Testing the tension. The material is smooth against my palm. The resistance perfect.

"Tell me what you need, Vanessa." My voice drops to a dangerous register.

Her breath catches. Her eyes darken as she scans my face.

"You." She whispers. "I need you to make everything else disappear."

"Is that what this is about?" I require verbal confirmation before proceeding.

She nods, then remembers herself. "Yes."

"Tell me more specifically what this is, Vanessa."

Her throat works visibly as she swallows. "You're helping me stay present. Keeping me here when everything wants to scatter."

"And how does that make you feel?" I need to hear her state it.

"Safe." The word comes instantly. "Quiet. Like I can breathe again."

I lean forward. My lips find the pulse point at her neck. Her heart rate increases; within expected parameters for arousal.

"Then I'll keep you here." I murmur against her skin. "In this moment. With me."

My teeth graze her collarbone. She gasps. The sound travels directly through my system. Triggers a cascade of chemical responses. Possessiveness. Desire. Purpose.

Tank top. Sleep shorts. I need skin.

I reach beneath my pillow and extract the tactical knife I keep there. The blade catches the early morning light as I hold it between us.

Vanessa's eyes widen. "You keep a knife under your pillow?"

"Operational necessity." I test the weight in my hand. "Nine-point-seven seconds faster response time than retrieving from the nightstand."

A small, shaky smile forms on her lips. "Of course you've timed it."

"I've timed everything." I run the dull edge along her arm. Watch goosebumps erupt from her skin. "Cold, isn't it?"

She nods. Eyes fixed on the metal. "Another anchor point."

"Exactly." I slide the knife between her skin and the hem of her sleep shorts. "I need to remove these. Stay very still."

Her breath quickens, but she remains motionless as instructed. Her pulse jumps visibly in her throat.

With carefully controlled pressure, I draw the blade upward. Its sharp edge slices through the fabric with minimal resistance. The sound of cutting cloth fills the quiet room. Her skin pebbles as the cool metal slides along her thigh.

"Concentrate on the cold." I move to the opposite side to cut the remaining fabric. "What does it feel like?"

"Like ice." Her eyes never leave the knife. "Sharp but not cutting. Controlled."

I nod approvingly as I finish removing the ruined shorts. Leave her lower half exposed between the ankle restraints.

I place the knife on the nightstand. Within view but out of reach. Security through surrender.

My hands move to her inner thighs. Stroke upward with firm, steady pressure. Her skin warms beneath my touch. Contrasts with the cold metal from moments ago. Her muscles tense. Response confirmed.

"Keep your eyes on me." I push her tank top up. Expose her breasts without removing the garment. "Don't look anywhere else. Just me."

She obeys. Her gaze never wavering. The position leaves her exactly where I need her—secure but not strained, partially clothed yet exposed where it matters.

"Tell me what you're thinking now." My hand rests on her hip.

"You." Her voice steadier than it's been for hours. "Only you."

Each answer confirms my approach is working. I slide my hand between her legs. Find her already wet. My fingers circle her clit with measured pressure. Her back arches as much as the restraints allow.

"Stay with me." I remind her as her eyelids flutter.

"I'm here." She gasps. Her eyes locked on mine. "I'm right here."

I maintain the rhythm that draws the strongest responses from her. Watch as her expression tightens with rising pleasure. When her breathing speeds up toward climax, I withdraw my hand.

"Not yet. I need more of you first."

She whimpers when I pull away, but doesn't protest. The restraints hold her in position. Prevent her from closing her legs or hiding from my gaze.

I position myself between her thighs and let my breath warm her skin. Her hips try to lift toward me, but the restraints hold her exactly where I want her. I trace my tongue along her inner thigh, tasting salt and arousal.

When I finally put my mouth on her, she cries out. The sound echoes off the walls as I work my tongue in slow, deliberate circles. Her pussy is slick and hot against my mouth. I slide two fingers inside her while my lips close around her clit.

Her breathing becomes ragged as I build the rhythm. My fingers curve to find the spot that makes her back arch. The restraints tighten as she pulls against them. I can taste how close she is—her body tightening around my fingers.

Just as her thighs begin to tremble with approaching climax, I pull away completely.

She makes a sound between a sob and a protest, her body straining toward me.

But I sit back, watching her chest rise and fall while she struggles to catch her breath.

The flush spreads from her cheeks down to her chest.

I remove my own clothes. Never breaking eye contact. Her gaze drops to my cock as it springs free. I allow this momentary disobedience.

"You want this?" I take myself in hand.

"Yes. Please, Asher."

I position myself between her spread legs. She looks up at me. Her expression suddenly urgent.

"Don't go slow. Don't be gentle." Her voice stronger now. "I need to feel everything. I need you to fuck me until I can't think about anything else."

Her directness cuts through me like a blade. The analytical part of my mind notes: linguistic inhibitions reduced by emotional distress, demonstrating trust threshold achieved.

The rest of me simply responds.

I lean down. Capture her mouth in a deep kiss as I slide against her wetness without entering. She moans into my mouth. Her body strains against the restraints.

"Please." She gasps against my lips. "I need to feel you."

I enter her with a single controlled thrust. Watch her face transform with the sensation. The tight heat of her sends waves of pleasure through my system, but I maintain control. This isn't about my release. This is about her attention. Her presence. Her safety.

"More." She begs. Tries to shift her hips to take me deeper.

"My pace." I establish a rhythm designed to build sensation without overwhelming her system. "My control."

She stills immediately. Surrenders. The sight sends a surge of satisfaction through me. I move with intention. Watch her face for each reaction. Note what draws the strongest response.

"That's it." I gradually increase the intensity of each thrust. "Stay right here with me."

Her eyes never leave mine as I move within her. Each motion carefully measured for maximum impact. The rope creaks slightly as she pulls against it. Provides additional sensory input: sound, pressure, restriction .

"Is your mind quiet?" I need verbal confirmation.

"Yes." Wonder in her voice. "There's nothing else. Just you."

"That's the point." I increase my pace methodically. "Nothing exists but this moment."

I lift her hips. Target the spot that makes her gasp. Her muscles tighten around me. A feedback loop of pleasure that threatens my control. I push the sensation aside. Concentrate entirely on her responses.

When her breathing shows approaching climax, I wrap my hand around her throat. Not squeezing. Just applying light pressure. Another anchor point.

"Come for me. Now, Vanessa."

Her body responds instantly. Her climax washes through her in visible waves. Our eyes lock. Clarity replaces panic in her gaze. Her inner muscles contract around me. Pull me deeper.

I continue thrusting through her climax. Prolong it. Use her pleasure to keep her mind locked in the present. When the intensity fades, I increase my pace. Drive her toward a second peak before the first completely subsides.

"Asher." She cries out. The sound raw and honest. "I can't—"

"You can." I correct her. My hand moves from her throat to grasp the headboard. "And you will."

I drive into her with powerful strokes. Overwhelm her senses completely. Her second climax hits harder than the first. Her entire body shakes against the restraints.

The sight of her completely undone, bound and trusting beneath me, breaks something in my chest. I allow my own release. Fill her with a groan that surprises me with its intensity.

For several minutes, I remain above her. Support my weight on my forearms as our breathing synchronizes. I'm aware of each point where the rope creates pressure against her skin. Note the time before I need to release her to prevent discomfort.

When I finally ease out of her and begin unfastening the knots, I watch her face carefully for signs of returning distress.

I find calm. Peace. Her eyes track my movements lazily. Satisfaction clear in every line of her body.

"I've never trusted anyone like this," she admits as the last rope falls away. Her breathing finally steady and eyes clear for the first time since Slate's confession.

The truth scares me more than her fragility—that she's entrusting me with not just her body but something far more breakable: her fracturing mind.

I run my fingers gently over the marks left by the rope. Check each one for excessive pressure or abrasion. All within acceptable parameters. No damage. Only temporary indentations that will fade within hours.

"How do you feel?" I gather the rope and set it aside.

"Present." She answers simply. "Whole."

I nod. Satisfied with this assessment. I pull her against me. Position her head on my chest where she can hear my heartbeat. Another anchor point.

"Rest." My hand strokes her hair with steady, measured movements.

For once, she doesn't argue. Doesn't move. Doesn't fill the silence with rapid words and connections. She simply breathes against me. Her body heavy with satisfaction. Her mind quiet for now.

In this moment, I understand something critical. The rope, the control, the dominance—these aren't about possession. They're about protection. About creating external structure when her internal systems fail. About safety.

I've never provided safety before. Only death. Only distance.

This responsibility—her trust, her surrender, her peace—feels both right and overwhelming.

I stare at the ceiling. Evaluate the variables. Measure the risk. Protection creates vulnerability. Safety requires closeness. Neither is compatible with operational parameters.

Her breathing deepens as she drifts toward sleep. Her body warm and trusting against mine. Her trust presses against my chest, heavier than any tactical gear I've ever worn.

I should pull away. Establish distance. Plan an exit strategy.

But I hold her close, her trust heavy against my chest. The words I can't say aloud echo in my head: I'm falling for you, and that makes me the most dangerous person in your life.