Page 80 of Threads That Bind Us

“Charlie,” I say, planting my feet and tugging on him to stop. When he turns around, his grin is so wide it’s got to hurt. I’ve never felt less like a means to an end in my entire life. “I love you, too.”

We sign a shocking amount of paperwork, pay our fees, and wait in line with the people we love, laughing and talking. There’s not a moment where Charlie lets go of my hand.

When it’s our turn, we file into a dimly lit room, Ana standing next to me and Zane next to Charlie. We repeat the vows the judge dictates. Charlie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a long, red thread, tying one end around the ring finger of my right hand.

“From your dress in Trani,” he whispers so only I, and maybe the judge, can hear. “Ana insisted you’d want to pick out your own ring, anyway.”

I can’t respond, because if I do, I know I’ll cry again. So when the judge tells me to, I tie the other end of the thread around Charlie’s ring finger.

And right before he kisses me, for the first time as my husband, he whispersmy threadagainst my lips.

Chapter 28

Gwen

Ithought my heart would be racing, but it’s not. It’s just loud.Soloud. He has to hear it from across the room, leaning against the door, staring at the box in his hands. Or maybe his heart’s beating just as hard, and he can’t hear mine over his own.

I’m sitting cross-legged on our bed in an oversized shirt and bike shorts. I thought about dressing up for this, about digging through the drawer of lingerie, half of which still has the tags, and finding something that screamed control and dominance. But it didn’t feel right. As much as we’ve talked and planned, laying in bed tucked against each other, this moment seems too vulnerable to be fully orchestrated.

I think there’s a lot of things people get wrong about control, and about giving it up. Based on the things I’ve seen and read, I should take control of this moment. Tell Charlie to come to me, direct him to take off his clothes, or take mine off. Dictate his choices to relieve him of the burden of them. And fuck if that hasn’t worked for us before.

But for us, domination is about compassion. It’s a walk on atightrope, balancing desire and comfort, vulnerability and abandon.

And right now, that balance requires patience. Every moment between us feels big and momentous, like we’re excavating our true selves from underneath layers of pain and expectation. There’s no one else I could do this with.

“I didn’t know I could trust someone this much.” He’s still looking at the box when he says it, and his voice is tight with emotion.

Ever since the courthouse, he doesn’t hide anything from me. Not when we’re alone, or with our friends and family, not when he’s teaching me to kill, not ever. It means more than the thread I can’t remove from my hand, even though we had to separate the sides.

“I think you didn’t know you could trustyourselfthis much,” I reply, trying to ease the tension coiling in his muscles. And it works, because he looks up at me, and his smile is so soft and genuine I could cry.

He walks toward me slowly and sinks to his knees at the edge of the bed, placing the box next to me and crossing his arms to lean his head against them. I shift forward and run my fingers through his hair at the crown, watching his eyes drift shut and his shoulders relax. This feeling, like I’ve brought him even one moment of calm and reassurance, will never get old. I’ll never get tired of feeling like this with him.

“Open your present, mia filettatura,” he says, keeping his eyes closed.

I know what’s in the box—we’ve sent links back and forth for days—but I humor him.

I slide my finger under the hinge and lift the lid, revealing an assortment of toys laying on top of a bed of silk. A midnight-black dildo, smooth and soft under my fingertips. Next to it, a small black bumper with a round, open base.Folded neatly underneath is a black harness made of vegan leather, the straps connected with a shiny silver ring. A small bottle of lube is tucked in the corner.

When I look back at him, his eyes are open, his stare imploring.

“Thank you for my gift,” I whisper, leaning over and kissing his forehead.

“Anything for my wife,” he says, reaching toward me.

I raise my hands as he pulls my shirt over my head by its hem. He tosses it to the ground, and I’m naked from the waist up, heat spreading over my skin with the way he looks at me. He practically crawls onto the bed to kiss my stomach, my ribs, my collarbones, the valley between my breasts.

The sound of his breath against my skin, the gentle way he traces the lines of my body with his hands, the murmured words spoken so softly, I know this is worship. This isbeing worshiped. Being touched by him like this is a religious experience. There’s nothing I want more than to free fall into this reckless, overzealous love.

He makes me want to believe in soulmates.

He finally crawls fully onto the bed until he’s pressing me backwards, and he only takes his mouth off my body to help me pull his shirt off. The feeling of his chest against mine, warm and drumming with the beat of his heart, is both comforting and carnal, and I arch my back to press as much of my body against his as possible. We could do this for hours, teeth and lips and hands and skin, half dressed and panting against each other. But I want what comes next, and I know he does, too.

I reach for his waistband, unlacing the neat little bow at the tie, and I can’t help but grin at the endearing image of Charlie untying and retying the laces of his joggers, nervously adjusting his clothing.

I love him. I love him in this, and I love him trying to hidehis nerves, and I love him joking with Ana, and I love him teaching me to angle a knife against an artery, and I love him on his knees for me.

He pulls my thighs around his hips and rolls us so he’s underneath me. I feel his cock hard and pressed against my ass, so I rock back against him. The olive branches inked onto this throat stretch in front of me as he arches his head back and squeezes my thighs.