With his knees about a foot and a half apart, Jess kneeled, cocked his head to the side and set about his task. He wordlessly drew a loop of nylon rope through the underside of the bundle that he'd just wrapped, snug enough to not come undone, though not too tight. He tied a double-knot in the smooth rope with a solid tug and a glance.
He watched Rory as he lifted the rope up and away from himself, drawing its contents over her head. And she watched him back. She watched his every move, the overall gestures of his body, the details of his musculature. He knew her favourite parts of his body. He saw the way her eyes trailed over them—but always returned to his eyes. She bit her lip, as though shy and wondering and frightened, part of the game, and he liked that very much.
Jess leaned forward and slowly ran the rope several times over a knob atop a brass spoke. Then he fastened it securely, as though tethering a boat to a dock. As he'd leaned forward, lifting his buttocks off his heels, he'd been very much aware of her gaze trailing downward. As he'd drawn nearer to her, he'd felt her hot breath upon him.
Then he leaned back, surveyed his handiwork and smirked.
Rory's arm was draped gracefully alongside her temple with a delicate bend at her elbow. Its light, un-tanned skin contrasted strikingly against the brunette tumbles and swirls of hair that she'd curled for him. Jess gathered a lock and guided its curl into a perfect loose spiral to lay it across the cream-coloured pillowcase, also a very nice contrast. Then he selected another lock, which ran close by her light pink cheek and he wound it into its own spiral. He laid the tips of that strand so that they curled into the divot of her neck, just above her collarbone. Beautiful.
Her other arm was cast across her temple, slightly across her forehead, and its wrist met its mate just off to the left side of her head. Her face was turned demurely in cautious trepidation, a perfect act. Her eyes were wide, stunning, and they looked up at him through a fringe of black eyelashes.
Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they told stories that spurred themselves on, whether they be verbal temptations of what could soon come to pass, graphic play-by-plays already in progress, or lurid depictions of what sounded so right in the moment but which would never do in the sobering of real life. Sometimes they assumed characters, an activity which Rory liked the best, since they were quite honestly experts at adapting character studies to suit their needs. Sometimes Jess submitted fully, since he loved it when Rory, normally so sweet and seemingly innocent, drew upon all her many talents to conquer him. But this was good too.
Today, Rory was simply his.
The truth was, whatever Rory she was, he liked it. And he really couldn't get enough.
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