It started with the sound of rope slipping through Callum’s hands—soft, slow, deliberate.
Mira watched from the bed, legs tucked beneath her, wine forgotten on the nightstand. Her breath was shallow. Excited. A little nervous. Across from her, Lina was already half-bound—arms behind her back, chest lifted by a series of intricate knots wrapping around her breasts and ribs. Her skin flushed deeper with every pull.
Callum was patient. Always was. His hands moved like he was painting something only he could see, his focus absolute. The three of them had been together almost a year—some nights just kisses and stories, other nights wild with need. But rope was different.
Rope was a conversation.
He looked over at Mira. “Come here,” he said quietly. “You ready?”
Mira’s skin prickled at the sound of his voice—low, steady, coaxing. She nodded, stood, and stepped into his space. Callum kissed her temple, then reached for another length of rope. Smooth, soft jute. Dyed midnight blue. Mira lifted her arms without needing to be told.
“You remember the rules?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her voice trembled slightly. “Color system. And if I want out—”
“You say stop,” he finished, meeting her gaze. “Any time.”
He began to bind her wrists together, front this time—slow and snug. Each loop added weight, a gentle restriction that grounded her. She could already feel herself slipping into that sweet, warm headspace she loved. Lina watched from the chair, still bound, lips parted, chest rising and falling.
Callum looked between them, pleased.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, running a finger down Mira’s chest. “Both of you.”
He guided her next to Lina, and with skilled hands, began linking them. Wrists to thighs. Thighs to calves. A kiss placed here, a soft smack of palm against inner thigh there. He didn’t rush. He never did.
Soon they were tied together—two bodies breathing in rhythm, heat rolling off them. Lina turned her face and kissed Mira softly, mouths brushing, tongues tasting. Mira melted into it, bound and unable to touch back, every sensation sharper in its absence.
Then Callum knelt between them, his breath hot, his touch firm.
He kissed Mira first—deep, claiming—then Lina. His fingers moved between their thighs, teasing wetness from both, making them squirm, tug at the ropes, moan into each other’s mouths. Mira tried to arch her hips, but the ropes held her fast, forcing her to take every slow, deliberate touch.
The pleasure was maddening. Delicious.
“You can’t move,” he whispered, voice a rough velvet against her ear. “You’re mine to unwrap when I say.”
Mira gasped, and Lina echoed her—bodies tied, nerves on fire, dripping and aching.
And then, finally, when he saw them trembling—eyes wild, lips begging—he undid a single knot.
Just one.
Enough to slide his fingers inside Mira as Lina kissed her throat, her shoulder, her mouth. Enough to push them both to the edge and hold them there, helpless in his hands and each other’s arms.
When they finally shattered—together, loud and raw—he didn’t untie them right away.
He just kissed them both gently, slowly, whispered praise into sweat-slick skin.
“You’re safe,” he said. “You’re perfect.”