Professional Restraint

15 Wound Tight

Liam

"You're sure you don't want to go out for a bite or something?" I ask Ella once more. As enthusiastic as she was rock climbing, her body wasn't quite up for the challenge, leaving her tired and sore. Now she's walking around the penthouse looking like she's an arthritic senior.

The entire ride back to the hotel, my mind kept replaying our short trip, the excitement in her eyes at trying her hand at rock climbing, the way she looked strapped up like that... our kiss.

Christ! I thought my mind was running wild before, and that was before I kissed her and rode back to the shuttle with her on my lap, pressed up against me!

"I'm good, seriously, go," she replies, trying to look stern and failing miserably. After today, there was little to no chance of me being able to sit around and do nothing, which is apparently what Ella needs now. "A long hot bath is screaming my name. Apparently, my mind thinks I'm a better climber than my body does."

"Text me if you need anything. I left some ibuprofen on the counter," I say, frowning.

"Liam, I'm fine, I just used muscles I didn't even know I had," she giggles. "Could have been worse if it wasn't for the rain. You might have had to carry me around." She waves me off once more and stiffly walks off towards the bathroom. Fortunately, the penthouse has a jacuzzi tub.

I'm sure she's gonna need it.

***

Deep bass cuts through the air as I walk through the double doors of The Dungeon BDSM club. The stark brick walls and dim lighting indeed give the interior a sinfully dangerous feel.

Men and women of all shapes and sizes are busy enjoying the shows and atmosphere. Eyes shine in the shadows, checking me out as I make my way up to the VIP lounge. Their stares barely register as I mull over my problem for the umpteenth time while I make my way through the club on autopilot.

A barrel-chested linebacker of a bouncer is parked at the bottom of the stairs, keeping order. He nods, steps aside, and gestures for me to go in, clearly having been told I was coming.

The VIP lounge is a new addition since the last time I was here. The polished black marble floors, black leather furniture, and silver accents scream sinful elegance. Being friends with the club owner has perks, like VIP treatment, which apparently reserves the whole floor for us. There are only two women, Terrance, and a bartender in the stylish lounge.

In the center is a small lighted stage with a stunning, completely nude brunette strung up. Red rope is expertly woven around her body, tying her arms behind her back for a suspended reverse hogtie. Her wrists are trussed behind her back, practically touching her ankles as an intricate weave of ropes supports her weight across her hips, chest, and shoulders, arching her back gracefully.

"Liam, my man! It's been too long," Terrance calls from the opposite side of the woman as he checks on his handy work.

A knee injury cut Terrance's pro football career short, but he still looks the part. Over six feet tall and a wall of athletic muscle; his midnight complexion practically glows in the stage lighting.

"The place looks incredible!" I say, sweeping my gaze around us. My quick tour through the lower level showed a classy club, but up here is luxury embodied.

Black and burgundy leather furniture is set strategically everywhere, private bar, and plenty of entertainment. The main play platform where he's currently rigging is ringed by sofas for intimate viewing, but there's a St. Andrews cross against the wall to the left and an adjustable spanking bench to the side if needed.