Page 12 of Tied up in Knots (Gummy Bear Orgy #4)
“Are we done reminiscing now? It’s not exactly warm and cozy in here and I think I hear my couch calling.” Me wanting to leave has nothing to do with the fact that Warren is coming over. None at all. I’m simply cold and tired from working at the shop all day. That’s all.
“Fine, you party pooper. We can go now.”
The four of us pile back into Warren’s truck after one last long look at the house. Again, Owen drives and Warren insists I sit on his lap for comfort. The press of his hand to my thigh, a promise of things to come.
~
When Warren leaves the diner he heads in the direction of his boat at Gigi’s, and I walk the block to The Book Vault and my apartment above.
This secret meeting each other and hiding it from our friends feels odd.
I’ve always told Izzy everything, including all the men I’ve slept with.
How good or bad they were, things they did that were weird or amazing.
If they wore socks while having sex. Not telling her I finally got to be with Warren feels unnatural.
But what would it accomplish telling her?
Warren’s still leaving in less than a week.
Nothing is going to come of us spending a few nights together.
Bringing it up would only make things awkward.
I’ve kept my feelings for him hidden from everyone for this long, why change that now?
Especially when telling Warren hasn’t really changed anything.
I make it into my apartment and set about filling the wood burning stove to heat up the place.
It has a heating unit, but the stove is more efficient and costs way less to heat the small space.
There’s only two bedrooms and one bathroom, a small kitchen connected to an all-in-one living space that houses my cozy couch and four-person dining table.
Nothing in my home matches per se. The dining table is from the fifties with glittery silver vinyl seats.
My couch Victorian tufted red velvet. The end tables spacey art deco pieces from the seventies.
It’s eclectic and I love it. Whoever said décor and furniture had to match was crazy.
The pieces are still completely functional even if they don’t.
Books lay stacked and open on nearly every surface.
Living above and owning a bookstore comes with its perks.
Especially a new and used bookstore. No one minds the creases or bends on the well-loved books.
I’ve even implemented a rental system, so if there’s something here that’s not at the library, they can rent the book for a small fee.
If they love it, they can buy it or return it when they’re done.
Kinda like the old movie rental stores. I even make book baskets they can buy as gifts for someone, filled with bookish items to match their book of choice.
I just wish we weren’t so far away from the lower forty-eight. Maybe then I could schedule some authors to come in and do a signing event.
I sigh, striking the match to light the wood in the stove. There are just some things you have to accept when living in Alaska. Like always being cold, and living for months with no sunshine and the possibility of being snowed in.
You might not think the shop would do well when businesses have to shut down sometimes for weeks, but being a bookstore, we do fairly well.
When the internet goes out what do you think people do to fill the time?
Read. Which is why the rental program is great.
I make weekly deliveries to local homes on my snowmobile.
Okay, well it's Gigi’s snowmobile, but she lets me use it when the snow is too deep or icy for the car.
People love it and it helps keep me in the black during those times.
I straighten up the place, neatly stacking the haphazard books and put a record on the turntable.
Another analog way to keep entertained when the power or internet goes out.
Living off a generator is a real thing here and not having to charge devices and use up fuel is a great saver.
There’s a lot Alaskans have to consider when living here that many other Americans don’t ever have to worry about.
It’s just one of the things that makes living here so unique, and why I don’t want to leave.
I’d hate to be so glued to my phone and computer all the time that I don’t know what to do with myself if the power went out.
Or how to get warm without electricity and store food for when the delivery trucks can’t get to us.
I just feel more involved in living and enjoy the world around me more this way.
Makes a person look up, notice, and appreciate what’s around them.
I don’t have to wait long to hear Warren’s footsteps climbing the stairs to my door. I turn to watch as he enters. He hasn’t needed to knock in years. Hell, all three of my best friends have keys to my place just in case. You can’t be too safe when living alone.
Warren strides in, silently shutting and locking the door behind him. Sliding the chain into place just in case any of those with keys try to stop by uninvited.
I swallow thickly. The look in his eyes is predatorial, and like his prey I freeze in place. Watching him make his way across the room at a pace that says I’m in no rush.
Stepping around me, he reaches out to the floor to ceiling curtains bracketing my large bay of front windows.
Pulling on the tassel rope tie, he releases one set of curtains and pulls them over half the windows.
Then repeats the action on the opposite side, concealing us from the world outside.
The turquoise rope tie remains in his hands, and he wraps it once around his fist.
My gaze remains fixed to his hands and my pulse quickens at the tightening of the cord and flexing of his fist. My mind is a bit fuzzy on the specifics of our first time together, but I do recall him liking my hands wrapped in the rope hanging from the ceiling of his boat.
I picture Warren tying me up and having his way with me and I’m not turned off by the image.
“Wrists,” he commands in a calm even voice. I raise my wrists in obedience, positioned in offering to him.
Warren’s eyes darken and he exhales heavily, as if he wasn’t expecting me to obey but thrilled that I did. This tying up thing must be a kink of his. Is it just restraint he likes or is it the ropes? I may not be practiced in the art of kink but I’ve read plenty.
He reverently wraps the sleek rope around my wrists in a practiced manner that says this isn’t the first time he’s done it.
A spike of jealousy shoots through me knowing he’s done this with other women.
But another stronger emotion overpowers it.
Lust. Desire. I want him too much to worry about the women who came before me, and the ones who will come after.
Securing the knot on the rope he checks his work, satisfied. There’s still room for movement so I don’t chafe but there’s no way I can work myself free from his skillfully crafted knots. My wrists are bound together with one tasseled end dangling like a leash, held tight in Warren’s hand.
Lifting my bound wrists, he slips them over his head, causing me to stand on my toes. Our new position brings our faces so close I can feel his breath on my lips.
“Just where I want you,” he whispers into my lips before finally kissing me.
It’s a desperate but reverent kiss. Water to a man dying of dehydration.
He savors me, wrapping his arms around my waist and digging his fingers into my ass.
Lips pressing and sucking, his tongue languidly learning every inch of my own.
Unhurried and purposeful in his exploration, as if he hadn’t learned every inch of me the other night.
My knees go weak and I’m glad for Warren’s arms around me and the rope holding mine together.
“Can I have you a little longer, Bambi?”
The question is a plea spoken against my jaw as he trails the lightest kisses along my skin. Doesn’t he know by now I will always say yes to him? That I would take an eternity or an hour with him.
“I’m yours for as long as fate allows.”
I feel a little poetic in my response, probably too many romantasy novels. Even with my whimsical answer he understands, his mouth finding mine again. This time hungry and demanding. I give as much as I get and am rewarded with a growl in the barrel of his chest.
Lifting me by the back of my thighs, he wraps my legs around his waist and grinds the thick length of his erection directly against my core and I whimper. I may never get over this man, even after having him I’ll always compare men to him, and none will ever match up.