I flex my arms, testing the rope again even though I know it’s futile. As expected, there’s almost no give in the restraints; the rope bites painfully into my skin when I try to pull on it. I’m nearly naked and alone, blindfolded and tied up in this unfamiliar house. And even though I know Julian won’t let anything bad happen to me, I can’t help the tension that invades my body as seconds tick by with no sign of his return.

After a couple of minutes, I test the rope again. Still no give in it… and still no sign of Julian.

I force myself to take a breath and slowly let it out. Nothing terrible is going on; nobody is hurting me. I don’t know what game Julian is playing, but it doesn’t seem particularly brutal.

But you want brutal, a small, insidious voice inside my head reminds me. You want pain and violence.

I quiet that voice and focus on remaining calm. Julian’s mercurial approach to lovemaking may excite me, but it also frightens me. The sane part of me, at least. I want pain, yet I dread it in equal measures. It’s always that way nowadays. It’s as if I’ve been split in two, the remnants of the person I used to be warring with who I am now.

Another few minutes crawl by.

“Julian?” I can no longer remain silent. “Julian, where are you?”

Nothing. No response of any kind.

I rub the back of my head against the sheets, trying to dislodge the blindfold, but it doesn’t budge more than an inch. Frustrated, I yank at the restraints with all my strength, but all I succeed in doing is hurting myself. Finally, I give up and try to relax, ignoring the anxiety creeping through me.

A few more minutes pass. Just when I think I might go out of my mind, the door creaks open, and I hear the soft sound of footsteps.

“Julian, is that you?” I can’t hide the relief in my voice. “What happened? Where did you go?”

“Shhh.” The sound is followed by a tickling sensation across my lips. “Who told you that you could speak, my pet?”

My pulse jumps at the cold note in his voice. Is he punishing me for something? “What—”

“Hush.” His fingers press on my lips, silencing me. “Not another word.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly feeling dry. He’s not touching me anywhere but my lips, yet my body ignites, my earlier arousal returning despite my growing nervousness.

Or maybe because of it. It’s impossible to tell.

“Suck on my fingers.” His whispered command is accompanied by increasing pressure on the seam of my lips. “Now.”

Obediently, I open my mouth and suck two of his large fingers in. They taste clean and slightly salty, the edges of his short nails rough against the tender roof of my mouth. I swirl my tongue around his fingers as I would over his cock, and his hand jerks, as though the sensation is just as intense for him.