Page 83 of Reckless Desires

Killian

She’s been getting better each day. Her father may have taught her how to fight, but I need to teach her to be ruthless if she’s going against men like Nico Vidalia. The issue is concentration. She’s a natural temptress. Once I’m close enough to her, I feel her body yearning for me to touch her. And no matter how desperately I want to, training is important. I gave her my word that I’ll let her kill Nico herself, but if she’s not ready for him, then she will be the one who ends up dead.

Lily lets me exhaust her body with training by day and fucking by night. She holds up pretty well except when she mentally checks out. On those days, I try to be gentle, but she insists on the roughness. When she suggested recreating when I had her hanging from the hook, I thought it would make her mental state worse, but somehow it didn’t. She would call me out every time I held back. The more degrading I get, the more she revels in it.

The morning air is crisp and clean, the sky a brilliant, cloudless blue. As part of our lesson today, there is a dead pig hanging upside down off a tree branch. Lily finds me outside, laying out a few different knives. I can see the nervousness in her eyes.

“Going to start off with basics,” I say, handing her a knife. “Let’s start with the feel of a knife in your hands and getting through skin.”

She takes the knife from me. “Okay.”

I can still sense the severity of her mental state from last night. And although she will need to get comfortable with a knife, I figure she’ll want to get some aggression out. So I let her cut a few places. I show her how deep she needs to go and explain what’s similar or different between cutting through pigskin versus human. After a couple of times, I let her go at it.

“Now pretend it’s Vidalia.” I step aside. “You have free rein to do what you want.”

Lily looks to me then to the pig. Blood is already everywhere. Lily takes the knife and repeatedly starts to stab the pig. First with timed jabs, then they became erratic and manic. I don’t stop her. I expect she’ll fall to her knees, that she will let out a cry. But nothing. When she’s had enough, she drops the knife on the ground. Blood splattered on her, the pig, and the ground. My cock twitches.

“Let’s call it a day,” I say. My voice is stripped of its usual calm, rougher than I intend.

“No. Let’s keep going,” Lily insists.

I stand with my back to her, the damp grass cool beneath my bare feet. The scent of cut grass and woodsmoke hangs heavy in the air. I can hear the soft rustle as she moves behind me, the sound of her pushing herself up from the ground. I don’t turn. My shoulders are tight, a rigid line I can’t seem to relax.

Behind me, there’s only silence for a moment. Then the soft crunch of her boots on the gravel path. I risk a glance over my shoulder. She’s standing now, brushing dirt off her.

“I’m going to show you how to tie someone up,” I say, uncoiling the rope in my hand, letting it fall in a neat loop on the grass.

“Your specialty.” She smirks. Her arms are crossed over her chest, a defensive posture, but her chin is lifted.

“Yesterday… you hesitated. But when you finally moved, you moved well. Your form was solid.” A flicker of surprise crosses her face, quickly replaced by a guarded pleasure. She straightens her shoulders slightly. “Today’s lesson is different,” I continue. “Sometimes, disabling an attacker isn’t enough. Sometimes, you need to restrain them. To control them completely.” I hold up a length of rope. “This is about security. About making sure they can’t get up, can’t fight back, until you’re safe.”

I demonstrate a few basic knots on a thick post of the porch railing, my fingers moving with practiced ease. “The key is tension. Not too loose, or they’ll slip out. Not too tight, or you risk cutting off circulation. It has to be precise.” I show her a quick-release knot, then a more complex binding. “You need to be able to do this quickly, under pressure. And you need to be sure it will hold.” I turn to face her. “Your turn.”

I sit on the ground, leaning back against the same porch post, my legs stretched out in front of me. I offer her the rope. “Tie my wrists.”

She takes the rope, her fingers moving against the rough fibers. She kneels in front of me, her expression serious. Her movements are a little clumsy at first, her fingers fumbling with the rope. I watch her, correcting her grip, the angle of her wrap.

“Tighter,” I instruct. “Pull it taut before you loop it. Yes, like that.”

She concentrates, her brow furrowing in focus. Her movements become more confident, more sure. She wraps the rope around my wrists, the fibers digging into my skin with just the right amount of pressure. She finishes the knot and pulls it tight. I test the bonds. They hold. Secure. Unyielding.

I nod. “Good. Now my ankles.”

She moves down to my feet, her knees brushing against my shins as she kneels. The scent of her shampoo, something clean and floral, reaches me. She works quickly now, her fingers sure as they wrap the rope around my ankles, securing them with another tight knot. I’m immobilized, my hands bound behind my back, my feet tied together. I’m at her mercy.

She sits back on her heels, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. “How’s that?”

“Secure,” I say. My voice is neutral, but my heart is starting to beat a little faster. This was a mistake. I can see it in her eyes.

Her smile widens. She leans forward, her hands bracing on my thighs for balance as she shifts closer. The pressure of her palms is a brand through the denim of my sweatpants. Her gaze sweeps over me, from my bound wrists to my face. There’s a new power in her expression, a confidence that’s intoxicating and dangerous.

“You know,” she says, her voice a low murmur. “For someone who preaches control, you look pretty helpless right now.”

Her fingers trail up my thigh, a slow, deliberate path that sends a jolt straight through me. My muscles tense. I should stop this. I should tell her to untie me. But the words won’t come. Her touch is light, explorative, a stark contrast to the unyielding rope. Her other hand comes to rest on my chest, right over my heart. I know she can feel the frantic rhythm there, the way my body is betraying me. Her thumb brushes back and forth, a slow, maddening stroke.

“Killian,” she whispers, her face inches from mine. Her breath is warm against my skin. “You’re always so tense. So… restrained.” She leans in closer, her lips hovering near my ear. “How does a man like you,” she breathes, “not have ladies lined up out the door?”

“I never said I didn’t,” I reply, letting her take control even though I know exactly how to get out of this. “You have me tied up to interrogate me, mo chuisle.” Maybe this is what she needs—to feel like she’s in control.