The way the ropes were, he couldn’t move his head, so his vision was static, just the white wall with sunlight splashed on it and empty space in his peripherals. The time: mid-morning. The risk: discovery. If he strained his ears, he could hear the shush-shush of her bare feet against the floor behind him. His own feet were tied to two of the legs of his chair.
Her hand was on the top of his head, in his hair. He felt almost overheated. There was a bead of sweat running down his back. The ropes were real hemp rope, like what you might use on a ship or a hammock, and scratched warmly a little if he moved. She traced her hand down over his ear and was using her nails by the time she reached the side of his throat. “I fantasize about everything I’ll do to you. You or someone like you.”