Free Make Me Risk It by Beth Kery Page A

right now. We’re the only two who have to decide. Ours is the only opinion that counts, and it only counts for us.
Is
it sick, Harper?”
    “I don’t think so,” she whispered shakily.
    “But you’re not sure? You’re willing to take the risk of being wrong?”
    She hesitated. “For you, yes. As long as you’re here. With me.”
    “I promise.”
    Her face pinched tight as emotion shuddered through her. She felt that sense of déjà vu again, the one that made no sense to her, given what was happening in the present. She’d never experienced anything remotely like what she was feeling with Jacob, there in that moment, so why did she have a feeling of familiarity? As if he sensed her anguish, he cupped her jaw, his thumb feathering the corner of her mouth—her scar. This time, she didn’t flinch away.
    He stood after a lung-burning moment. “I’ll be right back.”
    He walked toward his private office, and she knew what he was going to get: ropes. It stunned her. She would never have guessed in a million years she would willingly allow this, of all things. And yet . . . she longed for it. Ropes would declare she was his for the taking . . .
    Undeniable, flagrant evidence of their bond.
    * * *
    His hand closed around several bundles of rope.
    Why did he feel so compelled to do this after he’d exposed part of his past, and they’d acknowledged their mutual uncertainty about their sexual preferences? Maybe it was because he despised anything that kept him from Harper: even doubt.
    Nevertheless, that’s what he saw on her face when he closed his office door and walked back toward where she lay on the bed, bundles of black rope in one hand, a towel and a pair of blunt-ended, EMT shears ideal for rope cutting in close quarters in the other. He sat on the edge of the bed, seeing the whites of her eyes as she looked at the shears.
    “I need to cut the rope at times, and I want to do it safely,” he explained. “Besides, I’ll always have the shears on hand. If you start to have any pain or numbness from being in the restraint, or if you start to feel uncomfortable and want to stop, just say so. I’ll immediately get you out, if not from the planned releases I’ll put in the rope, then by using these. I’m pretty good at knowing where and how hard to bind to maintain good blood flow, but everybody is different. I refuse to have you marked or hurting in any way, but I need your input to make that happen. You have to speak up. Say you understand.”
    “I understand.”
    He nodded and set the shears on the bedside table. He saw her look down anxiously at the neat bundles of rope resting on his thigh.
    “The rope ties me to you as much as it does you to me. Do you understand, Harper?”
    She glanced up, her mouth falling open. She nodded. His reassurance had worked, and that gratified him. He, of all people, knew what a challenge this would be for her.
    He reached and turned on a bedside lamp.
    “I want to see you better. I’ve fantasized about this. If you knew how much, you’d probably be shocked. Forget the
probably
,” he added harshly under his breath.
    With the soft glow of the lamp, he could more easily read her expression, but it revealed other things to him, as well. The soft glow of her flawless skin, the telltale pink flush of her cheeks and lips, the hardness of her nipples. His cock tugged at him. He ran his hand over her chest, glorying in the firm swells and tight, rigid nipples. The ache in him swelled.
    He slipped the silk nightgown over her head and tossed it aside.
    “I’m going to turn up the air-conditioning,” he said, standing and setting the coils of rope on the table.
    “Why?”
    “I know it may feel chilly now. But I’m going to put quite a bit of rope on you. Things will get hot. Fast.”
    He saw her throat convulse as he turned away. He thought he saw arousal in her large eyes, and prayed he was right in that assumption. When he returned he saw that her head was