Three some

Tied and silent

Zoe's eyes held his. She raised her hands, still in his grip, and pressed her palms together in front of her. Not fighting. Not hiding. Offering them back.

Lucas's mouth curved — the closest thing to a smile she'd seen on him. He shook his head. "No. You like the marks." He released her wrists and stood. "That's fine."

Ryan came around from behind her. He held two lengths of new rope, their loops still tight from the package. He tossed one to Lucas, who caught it without looking.

"She's cleaned," Ryan said. "Ready."

Lucas ran the rope through his hands, testing the give. He looked at Zoe on her knees, her wet hair dark against her back, her wrists already red. "On the bed," he said. "Facedown."

She rose and climbed onto the bed, the dampness of her skin sticking to the sheets. She lay facedown, her cheek against the pillow, her body stretched out. The towel had fallen away somewhere behind her. She was bare, exposed, the curve of her spine visible beneath her skin, the soft swell of her ass, the backs of her thighs.

Lucas's hand landed on the back of her thigh, warm and heavy. "Legs apart."

She shifted, her knees sliding outward, opening herself to him. The air was cool against her wet skin, against the sensitive places still tender from earlier.

He knelt onto the bed behind her. The rope touched her ankle — soft, rough, circling once, twice. She felt him work it around her leg, up past her calf, the loops tight and exact. He was tying her. Not to anything. Just binding her legs together, calf to thigh, the rope crossing her skin with each pass.

"I'm going to tie your legs," he said, as if explaining it to a slow student. "Then your arms behind your back. Then you're going to lie here and wait while we decide what to do with you next."

Zoe's fingers curled into the pillow. Her breathing didn't change. She lay still as the rope tightened around her thighs, the pressure building into a dull, contained ache.

Ryan appeared at her head. He gathered her wet hair in one hand, twisting it into a thick rope, and pulled it away from her face. "Look at me."

She turned her head, her cheek lifting off the pillow. Her brown eyes found his blue ones, inches away.

"You're not making a sound," he said. "You haven't made a sound the whole time. Not a whimper. Not a moan. Nothing." He tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle. "Do you feel it?"