Page 10 of The Handyman

That wouldn’t do anything.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” I asked. “To be a person you can be comfortable with and also be someone your parents are proud of when your perceptions are so different.” I reached to cup her quivering chin, but Riley refused to open her eyes for me. Which was fine. She didn’t resist as I lifted her red, raw face up. She was open to me even if her eyes weren’t. “Who do you want to be, Riley, and why? Having a clear picture of yourself is more important than what anyone says.”

Somehow, by the grace of God, Riley managed not to burst into tears even as she sniffled viciously. Her stiff fingers flexed in mine.

I cupped her cheek with my free hand to wipe away the tears leaking down her face.

Shuffling closer to me, her breasts pressed against my chest as she tucked her face in my chest. “I-I don’t even enjoy writing anymore. I don’t know. . .” Riley hiccupped faintly, her curvaceous body trying so hard to melt into mine. “It’s so stressful— and money is awful, and— and I never had a passion for it, but now—I’m starting to hate it.”

Her lips were hot and chapped against my skin, and I wrapped my arm around her to squeeze. “That’s a great place to start, baby.” I remembered what it was like not to have support from my mom. She was just too worn down by the pressure of her family to add my future to her long list of stressful shit to think about. While she never actively discouraged me, she never really took interest in me, either. “Acknowledging your troubles is the first step to fixing them.”

“How do I do that? Where do I even start?”

My lips thinned at the lost tone that swept under my collar. Riley’s shuddering exhale scorched a path down my chest and threatened to set my shirt on fire. “Let’s start at Black Cat.” I’d reserved a slightly more expensive room, with a shower and a few other expensive, little amenities.

Pulling back slightly to finally meet my eyes, Riley’s glistened even as she reached to wipe her nose with the shoulder of her shirt. Nodding a little, her face drawn, red and rough for all the wrong reasons, she stepped out of my hold to rub her face.

8

Riley

“You’re much more relaxed than you were when we got here.”

Reece’s smooth, deep timbre seeped into my skin like areallyexpensive lotion, but all I could do was gasp. Goosebumps blanketed my body.

“Are you relaxed, Riley?”

“Y-yeah…” The coarse hairs on his knuckles tickled my jaw when he grabbed my face gingerly, and the strain of ropes creaked loudly above the blood drumming in my ears. “I am…yes.”

“Good. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Are you uncomfortable, Riley?”

“N-no. I’m not, no.” I panted faintly as Reece dragged his finger down my jaw before releasing me. My brain was drowning in massive doses of rosy chemicals— all those good emotions that usually only swamped meaftersex. When I was exhausted and sweaty and spent, that fuzziness that made it hard to open my eyes and move my limbs.

Only this time, it was entirely manufactured. I hadn’t had sex. I couldn’t see anything because of the mask. I was bound, unable to even clench my fists beyond a slight curl of my fingers.

When Reece wasn’t touching me, all I could feel was rope. Hanging from a mast off the ceiling of Black Cat, I could picture myself in the deep darkness behind the blindfold. Reece had taken his time binding my left ankle up under my ass— the rope knotting beautiful and straight to hide the crease between my thigh and calf. The blindfold itself was tied to the rope, craning my neck and forcing my head back.

Rope even bound my hair, tugging the strands until they nearly reached my foot curling sharply against my back. If I could wiggle my toes, I’d feel them brushing between my shoulder blades.

The physical act of Reece so gingerly and precisely tying me up sent me skyward harder and faster than I’d ever experienced. Our previous two times together couldn’t even compare. He tightened the ropes so gently, so carefully, making his way from my hair down every inch of me. Slowly, I lost the use of my arms, and then one leg at time. He’d looped my fingers so I could barely curl them around my elbows behind my back.

I wasn’t even sure what direction I was hanging, but I could feel the pull on my left leg. Just there, horizontal in the air, still and quiet.

“I’m going to take your picture, Riley. I want you to see what I see right now.”

Reece’s words droned unintelligibly in my ears, and I gulped harshly as my abdomen clenched. He walked around me with deliberate, loud steps, and my heart beat harder in the silence. The cold air slithered between my parted folds, rolling up my spine between expert knots and ties. Delicious shivers danced between my spine and the knots, playful and free.

“Tying you up, being tied up. . . it’s so liberating, isn’t it? The simple act of tying a rope around you binds your body, but it frees your mind. You don’t have to worry aboutanything…breathing, standing, holding your head up or trying not to make a face. All you can do is look inward as your soul blossoms, unrestricted of the restraints of expectation.” Speaking softly, monotone, Reece’s voice beckoned me deeper into the mist, he brushed my mouth and chin. “Tell meexactlywhat you’re thinking, Riley.”

The fine hairs on my cheek stood up from the warmth of his breath. “Th— there’s nothing—nothing there,” my murmur of a voice rang overly loud in the otherwise quiet room. Reece caressed down my neck. A tremor raked down my spine, shuddering my sternum and curling my toes as I sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers slipped under the loops and blood drummed in my ears.

“Think harder, baby. What’s hiding in that brain of yours? Deep, deep down, where you buried it because no one wanted to hear about it, when you gave up because no one cared when you talked about it. What dream did you dream until it was beaten into insignificance? What slightly outlandish passion did you shield from being extinguished completely by all those people that threw sand on the flames?” His tone never wavered, it remained soft and sure.

I blinked hard against the blindfold. Not even the slightest hint of light breached the fabric, the tug of my hair against my scalp threatening to pop my head open like I was a cartoon character.

When I was a kid, all I ever wanted to be when I grew up was a professional princess at one of those RenFaires. The dresses, the speech and the romanticized beauty of it all seemed so wonderful to a six-year-old.Every six-year-old wants to be a princess, though.I grew out of it, but that kind of stuff is still really cool.

When I was thirteen, I discovered singing when I was forced to join the choir at school. I wanted to take extra lessons, and my choir teacher had taught me how to play the piano. She’d said once that I picked up the piano very quickly, even though I ‘wasn’t some prodigy’…that I had talent. After two years and changing schools, I had enough confidence to sign up for the school talent show at age fifteen.