The Bound Heart (10 page)

The attic was the full length and width of the house with a pitched roof. The support beams and joists were all exposed and many hooks and pulleys were attached to the weight bearing beams. Coils of rope hung neatly on the far wall, a tapestry of textures widths and shades.

Different pieces of furniture sat in in ordered clusters. Footstools, couches, chairs, screens. Large rolls of cotton sheeting assembled on beams and ready to be rolled down.

At the far end toward the back of the house was a large four-poster bed of heavy dark wood. Images of him with those other women, whoever they were, ate at her confidence.

Olive walked into the room, tucked her cloak around her a little tighter. All of Evie’s pep talk was almost all washed away. She didn’t want to be one of many, but she didn’t want to be one of the even more who never had him.

She wanted to hear the sounds he made, see the dark shades his eyes went, see the tight controlling hold on him slip. She wanted to know the feel of him as he tensed in sexual pleasure.

She’d had a small taste of that part of him the last time; but now, she wanted it all, even if it meant some pain and discomfort for her. If that was what it would take to have him, she would do it. Women seemed to like it from what Evie said. And Evie hadn’t told her anything from a book or hearsay, she said she liked to do it, use that forbidden place when she found a man experienced enough to make it something special.

There’s a
lot about p
leasure you don’t know Olive, just look at this shop, it’
s not here
because only a few
people
are
interested in the practices everything in here offers.
Many people hunger for deeper and sometimes darker
experiences
.

Olive’s own responses to the photos plates had shown what Evie said was true. Being here now, her body pulsing with a combination of fear and excitement that said something about her own nature.

Those other times with men, it hadn’t been everything her sisters had talked about. It had usually been pleasant. On the odd time it had been painful. It should have been more, she knew that from the pleasure her own hands gave her.

In the workshop when Jamie kissed her, when his fingers slid through her drawers and touched between her legs, that had been excitement, that had been hungry need.

Downstairs in the parlor when he pushed her legs wide, licked and sucked at her sex, when she shattered with buckling pleasure, she understood what a man and a woman coming together could feel like, what it could feel like with the right man.

Yet, if she was honest, really honest with herself, the rope biting into her hands as she tugged at them in frustration, the helpless restriction as he played her body with touches and caresses, the fear at what would come next, they all twisted together into a cord of something forbidden. Something that drew her closer as it flickered in front of her.

Jamie hung back behind her. Seemed to let her move into his space at her own pace.

She looked over her shoulder. He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed. The look on his face was hard to read but the anger that was there before was gone.

A window on the front wall overlooked the street.

“Did you see me from the window?”

“Yes.” The corners of his mouth lifted.

“How did you know it was me?”

He scoffed in disbelief as he pushed of the doorjamb then closed the door and locked it.

“Come here.”

Olive walked toward him, the sound her brace made on the wooden boards embarrassingly loud. His eyes seemed to go darker with every step closer.

Then she stood in front of him, her heart beating rapidly and her throat tight.

Heat radiated off him. The soft Jamie was gone. An intense man full of hunger was in its place.

He moved closer. His hand large, sure, and very warm, slid to the small of her back as he tugged her up against him. His touch, the warmth of him, the hard firmness of him they all sent wonderful currents through her making her breasts heavy, and her sex hot and needy.

“Are you sure?” his voice deep and surprisingly soft.

She managed a single nod.

She must be smiling because something in his face eased.

“Good.”

He gently guided her to the end of the room near the bed and over to the sideboard with a large mirror.

His hand gave her a gentle squeeze before he went behind a hand painted, oriental screen and came back with a cloth, towel, and a basin of water.

“Take off the makeup,” he said as he placed the items down next to them on the sideboard.

Heat burnt her face again.

“Evie said I looked beautiful.” Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Evie dresses people for sex.”

“Edgar said you asked Evie to do it.”

“That was before I knew it was you.” A crease formed between his eyebrows.

Olive turned to face him.

“So you do like how I look… if it wasn’t me? Would you take photos of me looking like this in a different situation?”

He ran his finger down her nose.

“Rule number four might start to have broader application if you keep asking me questions. Just take the make-up off.”

Olive picked up the cloth, dampened it in the water then turned to the dresser. The face looking back at her in the mirror was sultry, dark kohl lined her eyes and her lips were a deep red.

He did like the way she looked. He just liked how she normally looked better.

Some of the hurt at his reaction slipped away and her confidence stepped up one more level.

The cloth was cool as she placed it over her cheeks, her mouth, and her eyes. When she lifted it away, it was covered with red and black smudges. She leaned over and rinsed the flannel clean and continued until the face she saw in the mirror was all her own.

Jamie stood next to her watching until she was finished.

“Let me see.” His hand came under her chin and turned her for his inspection.

Soft creases appeared at the sides of his eyes.

“Much better. Come on.”

Jamie led her to the center of the room where there was a large square of oriental padded matting.

“What’s this?”

“It’s Japanese flooring called tatami. It’s what the Japanese have in their houses. You don’t walk on it with shoes.”

“Evie said you had an oriental guardian, who taught you all this.” Her hand circled at everything around them.

“Japanese, he was Japanese and yes I did. This was his house.”

Olive watched as he went around the room and turned all but one of the gaslights off.

Despite her excited and her fear, there was a growing core of wellbeing settling deep inside her. You knew when you were exactly where you needed to be. Or when you were doing exactly what you should be doing no matter what people said around you.

Doing her embroidery was like that.

She could remember the very first time she had run thread through her fingers, when her mum and sisters showed her how to darn and repair to help with the household chores. She had taken to the task with such natural talent that despite her age, in no time she was doing all the household sewing. As the years passed and her skills and speed grew, they took in extra work. Later as she earned some money of her own to buy threads she worked privately in her room doing embroidery, animals, nature scenes, things that you dreamed were right outside the door rather than streets that smelled of rot. She knew then she was doing what she wanted to do.

Standing here in Jamie’s world, all lights off now except for the single one above her. She felt exactly the same way. That a door was opening, that if she walked through, if she grabbed hold of what was following, her life would somehow change, that she would somehow become more of who she was.

Olive stood in the wash of orange light watching as Jamie, prepared. Light pushed back the dim surroundings, still visible but fading. The light had created a space of sorts within the room that was theirs.

He placed a tray with some items at the edge of the tatami mats.

A bottle of something was on the tray along with a small black, wooden box intricately carved, and a sharp looking knife like a paring knife.

“What do you want me to do?” nerves flutter through her chest.

He shook his head. “Stay still.”

That was easier said than done as her body felt restless, pulled taught and tight on the inside.

Jamie placed a large red cushion next to the tray, just in the circle of light then moving back to the sidewall.

She could see him opening a chest, drawing out a large rope, and leaving it just outside the circle of light. Then over at the wall he selected a bundle of rope, tested it by bending it and running it through his hands, and then replaced it and selected something else. Testing it the same way, and then walked it over to the edge of light.

Her body hummed with expectation.

Jamie stepped into the light. It spilled over his face making the angles sharper and the softness in his features fade.

As he stood there, he seemed to grow larger as the tightness between them, as the raw need to move to the next step, pounded in the air between them. Her skin burned as he looked at her.

The intensity of his focus wrapping around her as surely as the ropes he would soon use.

“Last chance.”

Her heart beat even faster and she shook her head, no. This was exactly where she wanted to be.

He gave a single nod.

“Turn around.”

She did.

He started to unlace her corset.

Olive grabbed the front to stop it from hanging open. His fingers were warm as they threaded through the laces and tugged them loose. Every touch sent sparks over her skin.

“Have you been bound before?” His breath ran warm over her shoulder.

She shook her head no; there was no trusting her voice. It was taking all her effort to make sure her legs didn’t buckle.

When he stepped around in front of her there was anticipation in his face, dark and tight. The air between them stretched; a taut feeling that pulled them inexorably together. It made him appear honed, as if he could feel what she felt, feel everything that twisted under the surface, the fear, the excitement.

Her confidence grew with his focus with his regard.

He wants me, she ran through her mind. The doubts loosened and started to slide away.

Olive stood up taller, lifted her head and pressed her chest out. She had nice body. Her breasts had pleased him before but still her fingers clung to the fabric.

Her actions made the corner of his mouth lift up. He was so many steps ahead of her.

The corset was loose; she clutched it uselessly against her breasts. Every part of her rushing to what he promised; and yet, instinct still had her covering herself.

“Olive?” His head tilted to the side but her hands wouldn’t let go. “Here, let me help you.”

He reached out, gave the garment a gentle tug from under her tense fingers, and drew it away. His eyes burned brighter. Yet there was a softness in his face, just a little as he picked up the rope.

“Ready?”

Her eyes regarded the door then back at him and the rope. If she left, they would never see each other again. If she stayed, she knew he would ruin her for any other man. Once they did what they were about to do, she would hunger for something that only he could fill, a man who didn’t do love, didn’t do stay-overs, or regular sex. A man who would eventually move on.

The seconds stretched tight. She could see the tension in his shoulders as he waited.

She forced her shoulders to relax. Let the breath she was holding out.

“Yes, yes I’m ready.”

“Good.”

He regarded her hands as they covered her breasts, the corner of his mouth lifted; he must think she was a fool, given what they were about to do, but his eyes darkened.

A good sign.

Jamie bent down and ran his hand up her leg making her breath hitch. His fingers moved up and undid the garter. The soft touches brushing her thigh, a flash of heat as he rolled the stocking down, slipped off her shoe, and took the stocking off.

“Have you ever imagined I was your lover?”

Now, it was her turn to scoff.

He looked up at her and smiled. It made her insides shimmer. He rarely smiled. Then his head dipped down and she was left wondering how to get that smile back again.

Jamie moved to the next leg. His hand touched her brace, immediately, every part of her stiffened.

She could do this. She had done it for him once before, but then she was in her own clothes and it all felt so simple. Now? Could she do what he wanted without her brace on?

It wasn’t like she needed it on, and alone in her room when she prepared for bed she could take it off with no reaction. But once she was outside or with people, unbuckling it started her heart beating hard and taking it off made her head spin and her breathing hard.

But she wanted him so much she’d tried in the workshop.

His hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a ribbon.

“Are you all right?”

His head tilted to the side. A question. Was there a problem?

“Yes, yes I think so.” Still she couldn’t move.

He tucked the end of the ribbon in his waistcoat pocket, and started to unbuckle the brace. Her legs began to shake. Shake as if they were made of aspic.

“Put your hand on my shoulder.”

He worked the buckles. Quickly, some compassion for her anxiety and in moments had the ribbon sliding around her calf and her nerves settling.

A wave of emotion washed through her and her eyes teared up.

“Thank you.”

He rose, his gaze taking in her eyes.

“That panic worried you?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

And it had. She liked to wear the brace; it was like taking Billie with her, letting Billie be a part of the world. She wore the brace against all protests after he died and now well over a decade later, she couldn’t easily take it off without panicking.

That was until Jamie put the ribbon on her in the workshop, and again now. The only two times that the panic had stopped without the brace being put back on.