Playing Knotty (20 page)

Chapter 22

D
amn, she looked hot.
Ian couldn't stop himself from looking over at Emma as they drove to the play party, glancing her way so often that she finally scolded him, laughing as she did, her earlier tension forgotten. “Seriously, you're making me self-conscious. Keep your eyes on the road or I'm going to get out and walk.”

“You wouldn't make it two blocks in those shoes.”

“I'd take them off.” She shifted in her seat, tugging down the hem of her black dress.

He liked this Emma, the one who laughed and teased and seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. Where had she been the other night, after they'd had sex and she'd practically run from the apartment? How was he supposed to reconcile those two sides of her personality? Every time he thought they were moving forward, that she really liked him, she turned tail and ran away. Maybe it was all about sex for her, then, though he was starting to think he wanted more.

“You . . . you like the dress?”

“Fuck yes, I like the dress.” He looked over at her again, at the little bit of thigh he could see below the hem, and she raised her eyebrows, a blush coloring her cheeks. Well, if all she wanted was sex, then he was going to make the most of it tonight.

“Eyes on the road, sailor.” Her smile, barely repressed, told him she liked the attention. “I can't believe I'm actually wearing it out. It's not anything like what I'd usually buy. There's so much . . .” She trailed off, then gestured at her body. “There's so much me. Visible. Skin.” She tugged at the neckline, which plunged low enough to reveal the rounded tops of her breasts, as if she were trying to hide her cleavage. “And it's clingy.”

“Leave it. You look great.” He looked over again, his gaze lingering on her soft curves, and she slapped his hand where it rested on the gearshift.

“I knew we should have taken the T. I didn't even know you owned a car. I didn't think anyone in this city owned a car. And now you're going to crash and we're both going to die.” She looked out the window as they edged their way through the city, creeping from stoplight to stoplight until they were out of Boston proper and heading north. “Why aren't we taking the T, anyway?”

“It's not on a T stop.”

“Where are we headed?”

“North Shore. Manchester-by-the-Sea.”

In his peripheral vision, he could see her head whip around toward him, dark curls flying. “Manchester-by-the-Sea? I don't think there's a house there worth under a million dollars. I am so not Manchester-by-the-Sea. I got this dress on the
sale rack,
Ian.”

“You look amazing. You'll be the hottest one there.”

Her snort told him all he needed to know about her state of mind, reinforced by the way she twisted the hem of her dress between her fingers.

“You look beautiful, Emma. I wish you'd stop second-guessing yourself.” Once they were on Route 1 and out of the city, he chanced another long look. He wasn't lying. The black dress clung to her curves, cut low up top and high at the bottom, molding to her form.

“I've never worn anything this tight. It seemed like a good idea earlier this week, but now I feel naked.”

“You could take the dress off if you want.” He tried to keep a straight face.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you seem so uncomfortable in it. I'm only trying to help. Plus, I'm dying to see the lingerie you're wearing under there.”

Emma turned her face to the window, but even in the fading light, he could see her blush. He reached over and placed his hand on her knee, wanting to slide it up higher to her thigh but holding himself back.

“We can leave whenever you want. This is supposed to be fun, remember. It's a play party.” He turned on the radio. “Just relax.” His own heart was racing, though, and he wished he could follow his own advice.

A half hour later, they pulled up the long gravel driveway of the Franklin Estate. Ian used to think that anyone who called a home an “estate” had to be pretentious as fuck, but then he saw the place for the first time and understood. This was more than just an estate; it was the type of house that people named, usually something like “The Willows.” Even calling it the Franklin Estate seemed modest.

Emma's mouth stayed open as Ian pulled into the circle and parked. “What, no valet?”

“It's their actual house, Em. Come on.” Taking the two suitcases out of the backseat, he gave her a hand getting out of the car, then grabbed his overnight bag. At his suggestion, she'd also brought a small bag of clothes to change into afterward, and she shouldered it while examining the mansion. While looking up, she tottered on the gravel, and he took her arm to steady her. “Those heels are going to kill you.”

“No, they're not.” She stood up straighter, squaring her shoulders, and took a deep breath. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Sarah Franklin, always a gracious host, was waiting in the foyer to greet people. This wasn't the sort of party where people were asked to pay; the Franklins obviously had no need of it. Ian had brought a bottle of wine he knew they liked, and Sarah accepted it with her thanks while Ian made introductions. He wondered if Emma would be intimidated by Sarah, who had been a professional ballet dancer in her youth and still looked the part, all sharp angles and long, lean lines. Now in her mid-forties, she taught ballet in downtown Boston. Although she was unfailingly amiable, Ian understood how people could be cowed in her presence. If Emma was uncomfortable, though, she wasn't showing it, smiling and shaking hands.

“This is Emma's first party.” Ian placed a hand on Emma's lower back, feeling protective. “She's been helping me out with workshops.”

“Oh, aren't you a lucky one?” Sarah flashed Emma a conspiratorial wink. “He's got a way with the ropes, doesn't he?”

Emma nodded, her composure faltering as she tried to stammer an answer, but Sarah was already turning to Ian. “Well, Ian, you know the house rules. Have a lovely time, and let me know if you need anything.” Sarah patted him on the arm and turned back to the door as another couple entered.

As they passed out of Sarah's earshot, Ian bent low. “You've passed the Sphinxes' Gate, Atreyu.”

Emma's eyebrows drew together in confusion.

“Really? You didn't get
The Never
Ending Story
?” he asked. What kind of deprived childhood did she
have
?

“Oh, that thing with the lasers. That's a pretty obscure reference.” Her laugh was tinged with anxiety, and she took one of the suitcases from him as they continued down the hall.

Ian was showing Emma where they could leave their bags when he ran into Sakio and Mina, fingers intertwined, both smiling. He knew them from his local kink group. Mina wore a black vinyl dress, and Sakio was in a pair of leather pants with a mesh shirt. To her credit, Emma didn't blink at their fetish wear, just returned their warm smiles with her own as he introduced them. “Oh, the ones you're doing rigging for.” She held out a hand. “It's nice to meet you.”

After shaking hands and finding out where they'd want him to set up (room 3 in about an hour), he gave her a tour, pointing out the signs on the doors indicating whether a room was in use and whether it was reserved for private play. After going through all three floors, they ended up back in the living room.

“Come on downstairs and I'll show you the dungeon.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Really? A dungeon? That sounds . . . horrible.”

Ian laughed. “Come on, it's not what you think.” This early in the party, no one was using the dungeon yet; everyone was mingling upstairs. In the dungeon, he pointed out the various types of equipment and what they were for.

“I thought you weren't into this stuff.” Emma ran her hand down a St. Andrew's cross.

“I'm not. But I like to watch as much as the next person.” He took her hand to lead her back upstairs just as a couple entered the room, discussing scene negotiations and carrying a small duffel bag.

Within an hour, the house was at capacity. He'd introduced Emma to several dozen people, enough that she'd probably forgotten names already, and couples were starting to disappear into various rooms. The first two floors were mostly public play spaces, with a third floor of entirely private rooms. The room Sakio and Mina had requested was a public room on the first floor. Ian checked his watch and interrupted Emma's conversation with Francine, something about a new book series they'd both started.

“I'm going to go do rigging for Sakio and Mina. Want to come and watch?” He took her hands in his, running his thumbs over her knuckles.

She didn't draw back from the intimacy. “Sure,” she said. Waving goodbye to Francine, Ian and Emma made their way down the hall.

Mina and Sakio were sitting on the bed and talking. No one was watching them yet, although a few people wandered by the open door. The coil of rope Ian had requested was sitting on the bed beside them, and he took out his extra pair of safety scissors. “So tell me what you're looking for.”

Being a switch himself, Ian should have known better than to play “guess the rope bottom,” but he couldn't help being surprised that it was Sakio. He wanted a rope cage full-body harness, which was fairly straightforward but time-consuming to set up for anyone without training. The finished piece would keep Sakio on his feet but unable to move. Ian took a few minutes to explain safety procedures to Mina; although the position wasn't particularly constricting, it never hurt to be cautious.

“Do you want me to stay and help untie him?” Ian checked in with Mina, who shook her head.

“We used cheap rope so I can cut him out after.” She smiled, her expression unexpectedly wicked.

While Sakio stripped down to his black briefs, Ian turned to Emma, who had settled into a two-seater bench and was watching with some interest.

“After this, do you want to find a room?” he asked.

Emma looked up, her eyes sparkling in the low light, and smiled.

Sakio stood against the footboard of the bed, upright, his hands clasped behind his back. Ian would tie those last. He worked quickly and efficiently, tying a double coin knot in the middle of Sakio's chest and another halfway down his stomach, another at his knees, another at his lower calves. Kneeling down, Ian began binding Sakio's feet together before weaving upward.

Mina sat down facing Sakio to watch. Ian turned once and saw her inching her vinyl skirt upward, eyes on her partner. As he moved up farther in the tie, he heard the unmistakable sounds of Mina touching herself, then the sharp intake of breath from Sakio, who could do nothing but stand in place and watch her.

When the piece was finished, Sakio's body was crisscrossed with rope in a diamond pattern, like a chain-link fence. The final step was his hands, which Ian bound to the footboard behind him, leaving him immobile. Sakio's erection strained its confines as Mina touched herself in front of him; by now a group had gathered to watch the scene. Ian watched Emma out of the corner of his eye as he packed up. She kept glancing from Mina to Sakio, eyes wide, lips parted, and he knew this was turning her on. When he had packed up, he sat next to her on the bench. She didn't look away from the scene playing out in front of her. Mina brought herself to orgasm, throwing her head back and gasping, and Ian's pants were uncomfortably tight.

When Mina had finished and Sakio was whimpering, his cock so hard it looked painful, Mina got a condom from the basket near the door. Ian felt Emma's hand on his arm and turned to her.

She looked to the door. “I think I want that room now.”

Chapter 23

A
s they climbed up
to the second floor, Emma thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest, because
fuck
, she was actually going to do this. And she was going to let people
watch
.

The room Ian had chosen didn't have a bed at all. It looked like a combination living/dining room. A slipcovered couch took up part of the space and was paired with an armchair. There was also a dining room table and four chairs. Emma stood and looked around, getting her bearings, as Ian unzipped the suitcase and began unloading rope. It was hard to look away from the chairs and benches near the door. Right now they were alone, but she had a feeling that was going to change as the evening progressed, like it had with Mina and Sakio.

“Okay.” Ian took off his glasses and set them on top of his suitcase, then stepped up to her and took her in his arms, kissing her without preamble. After a moment's stiff surprise, she eased in to it, his body hot and firm against hers, his mouth soft and sweet and
talented.
She didn't know who had taught him to kiss, but she wanted to send them a thank-you note. When he pulled away, she was a bit dizzy, arousal still running through her body from the scene downstairs. “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

Emma nodded. She kept glancing over his shoulder at the open door, confirming that they were alone.

“Do you want me to shut the door? Keep it private?”

Emma swallowed. Did she want that? She could have the time with just Ian, but she'd been thinking about this all week, touching herself at night imagining this very situation, and now it could be a reality. She shook her head.

“Are you sure? You're not saying that because you think that's what you're supposed to say?”

Emma felt herself blushing, but not for the reason he probably thought. She had to tell him. “It . . . it turns me on to think of people watching.”

Ian grinned, a delighted smile that made it hard not to smile back. “You're gonna love this, then.” He reached behind her, finding the zipper on her dress and easing it down. “Tell me to stop anytime, Emma.”

“No. Keep—keep going.” Talking became more difficult as he slid the dress down over her hips and let it pool on the floor. This left her in nothing but lingerie, and Ian stepped back. “Holy fuck, Emma.” He sounded reverent.

She refused to cover herself. Not even when she was standing there in a snug chemise with garter belt straps and thigh-highs, her breasts practically spilling out of the top, not even when she kept second-guessing her courage. Instead, she was going to stand here like she had no reason to be embarrassed. And . . . maybe she didn't.

After a moment's hesitation, fingers twitching as if he couldn't resist, Ian slid his hands onto her hips, running them up and down the satiny material clinging to her like a second skin. He turned her around, her back to the door, and traced his fingers over the lace-up back. “You look incredible.” She felt him step closer, pressing against her, holding her hips firmly against him. He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “I'm going to tie you down to that table.”

A shiver ran through her, her body trembling with anticipation. Emma looked over at the door again; they were still alone. Maybe it would be better if someone came now, so she could stop wondering when they were going to show up. Ian selected the rope coils he wanted, then moved three of the four kitchen chairs over to the seating area to get them out of the way.

“Hop up.” He patted the tabletop. It wasn't a large table, probably big enough for four people to eat dinner, which was kind of an odd thought at that moment. She hesitated; was it sturdy? At Ian's raised eyebrow, she acquiesced. The table didn't even squeak as she climbed up. He had her sit facing the short end, the sitting area off to her left. Stepping between her legs, Ian looked right into her eyes. Emma couldn't look away from his intense stare as he put his hands on her knees and pushed them apart. She was already breathing fast, and he hadn't even grabbed the rope yet.

A noise at the door made her turn and look. Maybe that wasn't proper etiquette; Mina hadn't looked away from Sakio once, but Emma hadn't done this before. Francine and Salome stood at the door. Emma wasn't sure if she was more or less comfortable, having already met them.

Salome twined her fingers with Francine's and raised an eyebrow, asking the question without words.

Emma licked her lips. If she shook her head, they'd probably leave. But she didn't want to shake her head; she wanted them to sit and stare and share this experience with her. She wanted to be on display. After only a brief pause, she nodded.

When she turned back to Ian, he wore a wide grin. Stepping in closer, he leaned in so only she could hear. “I'm going to make this so fucking good for you.” Emma shivered.

When he pulled over a chair and a few smaller bundles of rope, she expected him to tie her ankles first. Instead, he wove a quick cat's-paw, which she recognized from tying him to the bedpost last weekend, and slid it up over her ankle, where it got caught on her shoe. She still wore the ridiculous three-inch black heels that Bethany had insisted she buy, fastened on to her ankles by tiny straps. Dangling off the edge of the table, they looked . . . sexy. Rather than stopping at her ankle, Ian kept moving the rope up her leg, fingertips gliding along her sheer black stockings, until the rope was situated midthigh right where her stockings ended. He left the rest of the rope dangling and picked up a new coil of rope to give the other leg the same treatment. Then he reached down beneath the table for the hanging ends of rope, and she felt her thighs pulled all the way apart as he tied the ropes together under the table. Emma gasped, gripping the edge of the table for stability. Already he had bound her legs far apart, exposing her to his gaze, and she wasn't wearing any underwear beneath the chemise.

“Good?” He met her eyes, hands resting on her thighs. She nodded, breathless, and he returned to his work with a smile.

Her ankles were next. She continued to watch as he began tying a basic wrap, which she knew well by now. He wrapped a few coils loosely around her ankle and the table leg before winding the rope around the space between them, cinching them in place. When he finished, her lower body was immobile, legs spread and bound.

“Lie down.” With his hand in the middle of her chest, right above her breasts, Ian pressed Emma back until she lay flat on the table. She wriggled, the flat wooden surface pressing on her in an uncomfortable way. Ian stepped away, and she turned to watch him get a towel from his bag and roll it up. When he slid it beneath her hips, she breathed out a sigh of relief. “Better?” he asked. She nodded. “Hands up.”

Emma raised her arms and rested them above her head on the table. Ian spaced them a short distance apart and tied them in a basic wrap like the one he'd used on her ankles, like the one she'd used on his wrists last weekend. She couldn't see what he was doing to her hands, but when they felt snugly secured, they were pulled farther up, stretching her body and probably tied off to the table legs. The position took up the slack in her arms without overstretching her.

“Good so far?” Ian appeared off to her left again, standing between her and the front of the room, where she knew Francine and Salome were watching. Her throat felt too tight to speak, anxiety and arousal combining to make her a jittery bundle of hormones, so she just nodded again.

Ian grabbed one last bundle of rope. What else could there possibly be left to tie? She found out when he started wrapping it around her waist and the table. After several wraps, he crossed the rope beneath her waist as well, and a few ties she couldn't see kept her from lifting up or wriggling side to side. None of the positions in which he'd bound her had ever kept her this still. When she tried to shift, she managed only a fraction of an inch. She tingled with anticipation, the excitement an electric current running through her veins. Ian leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Do you want me to blindfold you?”

She thought about it. Blindfolded, she wouldn't see anyone watching, even though she'd know they were there. She also wouldn't see what he was doing to her or his expressions. Emma shook her head.

Ian caught her earlobe between his teeth, nibbling, and she shivered violently. “Sensitive?” His breath was hot on her cheek.

“Mmmm” was all she could manage, a nondescript kind of assent.

He moved around to the opposite side of the table, away from the audience, and reached down to cup her breasts through the chemise. The contact shocked a gasp out of her, and when he began to brush his thumbs across her hard nipples through the fabric, that gasp became a whimper.

“That's right.” He began to twist them between his fingers. She wanted to shift, to arch up against him, but couldn't move. The sensation was dizzying, a rush like being drunk. She pulled harder, wanting to feel helpless, loving the bondage. Ian tugged down on the cups of the chemise, lifting her breasts out, exposing her to the air and whatever onlookers might have gathered; Emma hadn't looked over since he'd finished tying her down. She turned her head to watch Ian. His face was a mask of intense focus and arousal. He was hard in his dress pants, the long smooth line of his cock visible through the thin material.

“Do you like this?” He cupped her breasts in his hands, the chemise no longer in the way, and Emma sucked in a breath and nodded. She'd never thought of her nipples as particularly sensitive, but when Ian touched them, they seemed to have a direct line to her clit. And God, she wanted him to touch her there, too; she knew she was dripping wet.

She licked her lips and forced herself to ask. “Touch me.” Her voice came out as a whisper. Ian smiled, giving her nipples one last tweak.

Then he moved around to the foot of the table, where she was spread obscenely wide, thighs and ankles keeping her firmly anchored. She couldn't lift her head very far, barely enough to see his face. He was smiling. The sound of a glove snapping made her flinch in surprise. Though he'd told her this was a no-fluid-exchange party, that there would be gloves, she hadn't really considered what that meant. The gloves lent anonymity to the entire situation, an anonymity that was . . . well, fucking
hot.
She felt his hands on the inside of her thighs, and then the chemise was inched upward, barely enough to reveal that she was completely naked underneath.

“Fucking hell, Emma. God, look at you.”

Then she felt a light brush against her clit, so light that she could have imagined it, and she held her breath. The next touch was firmer, deliberate, a direct press of his fingers against her. She'd gotten waxed for this, and the slick-slide of his fingers against her smooth, wet flesh was heavenly. He began to rub circles around her bud, and she tried unsuccessfully to buck up into his hand.

“You're not going anywhere.” His voice was low and rough. “But you don't want to go anywhere, do you? You love this. Tell me you love this.”

She opened her mouth to speak, eyes closing, but no words came out. In one push, he buried two fingers into her, and
oh God.
Her eyes flew open as she cried out, a spasm wracking her bound form; she felt like she was going to shudder apart. He stroked his fingers in and out, slow and purposeful. “Tell me you love this, Emma.”

“Fuck,
fuck.
” She was having a hard time finding any words that weren't profanity. “Yes, fuck, I—I love this.” His thumb flicked over her clit and she gasped. Her body tensed, muscles drawn tight in anticipation of the next touch.

“All these people are watching you, Emma.” The blood was pounding in her ears, and Ian's voice seemed to be coming from far away. “They all want to watch you come.”

She nodded, a desperate, frantic motion. God, she wanted that. She couldn't press into his fingers and she couldn't pull away, could only take what he was giving her. And she wanted
everything.

“I want you to look at them, Emma.”

Emma's eyes flashed open. When had she closed them? She lifted her head to see Ian standing between her legs, and she could see movement out of the corner of her eye, knew there were people watching. She managed to lock eyes with Ian, and he nodded with an expression of pure lust and want. “That's right. I want you to watch them, and I want you to keep watching them when I make you come. Is that all right?”

This is what she wanted,
fuck,
she wanted it so badly, and he was making her take it. By asking her to watch, he was taking the decision away from her, making it easy to give in. She nodded, her head relaxing back onto the table. Breathing in and out once, twice, she turned her head to face the audience.

A dozen or so people had gathered in the room to watch. She recognized Salome and Francine in the front row, but more were sitting on chairs or on the benches, a few leaning against the wall. No one was touching him- or herself; Ian had mentioned that as party etiquette, but they looked like they wanted to, they looked like they wanted
her,
and fuck, she felt
sexy.
Once she looked over, it was difficult to look away. Salome was smirking at her, actually
smirking,
her hand so high up Francine's thigh that it flirted with her ridiculously short skirt.