Page 15

FIFTEEN

MOIRA

The sun drifts lower in the sky, and I let out a shaky breath. It’s almost sunset. I’ve almost made it through this whole goddamn day without losing my mind.

Almost .

Every other second, I was right there—on the edge of screaming my safe word and ending this whole stupid experiment in self-discipline.

Because let’s be real: I don’t do discipline. Ask any of the nuns back at The Sisters of the Immaculate Heart Academy for Girls. They tried. They failed.

I tug at the silk binding my wrists. It doesn’t give. Of course, it doesn’t. Bane’s too precise for that, too maddeningly perfect at tying me just tight enough that I can’t slip free but not enough to actually hurt me. It’s like he knows exactly how to push me to the edge but never lets me fall.

I should hate that. I do hate that.

Don’t I?

My thighs twitch, and I would rub them together for some semblance of relief, but a couple of hours ago, Bane tied my ankles apart, too. Because he knows me.

How the fuck does he know me so well when he’s only just met me?

Uh, probably because you’re so fucking obvious ? I never was one of those polished, mysterious girls. I was half-feral as a kid. Only Domhnall could keep me in check. The nuns tried. I bet they wanted to tie me down, too.

Bane is the only one I’ve ever let do it, though.

I hate bondage. It makes my skin crawl, makes my brain itch, makes me want to scream and run and never stop moving.

Being so still, there’s nothing to do but sit here and notice little details like the way Bane’s shoulders shift when he leans forward. Or the way the light catches on the muscles in his forearm when he moves. It’s stupid. All of this is stupid.

I’m going to go literally fucking crazy if he ties me up like this every day.

And yet, there’s also… this knot in my chest that won’t loosen. Like I’m on the edge of something, something big. I feel like my whole world is tilting, and all I can do is hold my breath and hope I don’t fall.

But also, I terribly want to fall.

It’s unbearable.

“You’re squirming,” Bane says without looking up, his voice low and steady. He says it like it’s just a fact. Like it doesn’t mean anything. But I know better.

“I’m not squirming,” I snap, even though we both know I am. The silk rubs against my skin again as I shift, the friction sending a little thrill of frustration and something I don’t want to name shooting through me.

“You’re restless,” he says, his pen pausing mid-stroke. His eyes lift to meet mine, and there’s that calm, piercing gaze of his that makes me feel like he sees right through me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” I say, a little too forcefully. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smile. The knot in my chest tightens. I’m a simmering tea kettle about to combust from the pressure. How long has it been since I’ve gone a whole day without masturbating? Of course, I’m about to burst!

“Suit yourself,” he says, going back to his writing like I’m just another piece of the furniture. Like he hasn’t tied me to this bed and left me to stew in my own thoughts.

I glare at him, wishing I could set him on fire with my mind. He’s too calm, too in control, and it pisses me off.

I shift again, trying to find some position that doesn’t make me feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. My legs ache from lying still for so long, my wrists are starting to tingle, and the damn chastity belt is driving me mad. Every little movement sends a reminder of how close I am to relief. And how impossible it is to reach it.

It’s torture. Delicious, infuriating torture.

“Stop wriggling,” Bane says without looking up.

“I’m not wriggling,” I bite back. But I am. I can’t help it. My body is restless, desperate for release in more ways than one.

I hate this! I hate how he gets under my skin, how he makes me feel things I don’t want to feel.

And most of all, I hate that deep down, beneath all the frustration and anger, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want him to stop.

I pull against the silk again, testing its strength, even though I know it’s futile. The bindings hold firm, and I feel a sharp pang of something like defeat that I immediately try to smother.

I don’t lose. I don’t give up. Not like this. Not to him.

“You’re quiet,” Bane says, his pen stilling again. He leans back in his chair, watching me with that same infuriating calm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. Too quickly.

“Liar,” he says softly, and the word sends a shiver down my spine.

I look away, focusing on the patterns in the rug instead of the way his voice makes my stomach twist. I hate this vulnerability, this feeling like he can see right through me.

So I do what I always do when I feel cornered: I lash out.

“This is ridiculous,” I say, my voice sharp. “Tying me up, locking me in this stupid belt. You get off on this? Keeping me here like some prisoner?”

His expression doesn’t change, but I see the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Do you feel like a prisoner?”

“Yes,” I snap, even though it’s not entirely true.

“Interesting.” He leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Because you could’ve said your safe word at any time. You know that, don’t you?”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and for a moment, I can’t think of a single thing to say. He’s right. I hate that he’s right.

Doesn’t he know I’ve been fucking thinking about that all damn day? He even reminded me of it in the middle.

But what then?

This all ends and I go back to what?

My apartment? The bed I can’t bear to get out of, morning after morning?

I’m twenty-two, and these are supposed to be the best years of my life. But instead of thriving, I have these dark moments I’ve never admitted to another living soul about having when I don’t want to bother even being alive anymore.

I hide so well. I’ve got such good escape hatches so the darkness never catches me, but still.

“You’re quiet again,” Bane says, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “What are you thinking?”

I shake my head, refusing to meet his eyes. “Nothing.”

“That’s twice you’ve lied to me,” he says, standing and crossing the room in slow, deliberate steps. My heart pounds harder with every step, my chest tightening as he stops beside the bed. “White lies, but still. There will be consequences.”

“Consequences… as in, punishment?” I grin up at him wickedly. I make a lusty, groaning sound, “Oh, punish me, Sir. Please, punish me.”

He doesn’t take the bait. He just stands there, so solemn, and then his hand brushes against my cheek, and I flinch, even though it’s the softest of touches.

“You’re fighting yourself,” he says, his voice low. “Why?”

“I’m not,” I say, but my voice wavers. He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze, and I see it in his eyes—that steady, unyielding certainty.

He knows I’m lying.

“Talk to me, Moira,” he says, his thumb brushing against my jaw. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid,” I whisper, but the words feel hollow. “I’m never afraid.”

My chest aches, my throat tight, and I feel like I’m on the edge again of that something I can’t name.

“Liar,” he says again, but there’s no malice in it. Just calm, steady truth.

The knot in my chest unravels just a little, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away quickly, refusing to let them fall.

“I hate you,” I whisper because it’s easier than saying what I really feel. Fuck, I don’t even know what I really feel.

I don’t want to look. Because he’s right. I am afraid.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs, his hand still cradling my face. “But you can keep saying it if it helps.”

I let out a shaky laugh, the sound bitter and raw. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I know. And yet,” his lips curve into the faintest smile, “you’re still here.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I just lie there, his hand warm against my skin, and for the first time in a long time, I feel even more fully... seen .

Exposed, yes, but not judged. Not rejected. Just... held.

It terrifies me.

But maybe, just maybe, it also makes me feel safe.

The silence between us stretches, heavy and loaded. Bane’s hand is still on my face, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheekbone.

I can feel my pulse thrumming in my neck. Too fast. Too loud. He hasn’t said a word, but his silence speaks volumes.

It makes me feel seen in a way that’s so sharp it borders on painful.

No one ever sees me.

I don’t know what to do with it.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I murmur, turning my head to break his gaze. The movement pulls my cheek from his hand, and I feel the loss of his touch like a phantom ache. My skin prickles in its absence.

“Like what?” he asks, his voice unshaken. He always sounds like he knows exactly what’s going on in my head. Like he’s ten steps ahead of me in a game I don’t even remember agreeing to play.

“Like you’re waiting for me to fall apart,” I snap. I can’t look at him. I stare at the edge of the bed instead.

He exhales softly, and I feel the warmth of his breath against my temple before I even realize he’s leaned in closer.

“I’m not waiting for you to fall apart, Moira. I’m waiting for you to let go .”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest.

My throat tightens, and I swallow hard, trying to push down the surge of emotions threatening to rise. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Yes, you do,” he says, and his certainty makes my stomach twist. “You’ve spent your whole life building walls, fighting to keep everyone out. But what has that gotten you?”

I hate that he’s right. I hate that his words cut so deep that they scrape against parts of me I’ve worked so hard to hide. But more than anything, I hate that I don’t have an answer.

“I’m going to untie you now. You’ve done so well today, dove.”

I glow under his praise. It literally lights me up from the inside, like I’m suddenly filled with helium and none of the heavy darkness or shadows can touch me now.

“I know how difficult this was for you,” he continues. “I believe in you, Moira. But this is the beginning of you learning to believe in yourself.”

I relax against the bed as his fingers come to my skin to untie the silken ropes. They didn’t actually hurt. He was skillful with the perfect amount of tension he allowed in the rope and his knots.

The moment I come free, I reach for him.

Daring what I probably shouldn’t. Maybe he’ll tie me right back up again. But earlier, he liked it when I begged.

“Please. If I’ve done so well, been such a good girl…” I swallow, but I don’t lower my head and flutter my lashes like I do when I’m flirting with a potential hookup at a bar.

I just look him straight on, my stomach swooping as his dark, intense gaze locks with mine. No guile. No games.

“I’d really like to fuck you, Bane. Please. ”

His eyes darken, and his nostrils flare. He lifts a finger in front of my face, and it’s probably only my imagination to think his hand is trembling.

“Yes. But only once a day, and only if you behave as well as you did today.”