The first loop of rope around his wrist made his breath hitch.
Taiga stared at the ceiling, watching candlelight dance across the plaster as the hemp fibers bit gently into his skin. The scent of sandalwood wrapped around him like a second embrace, warm and woody. He should feel embarrassed - a grown man lying here while you worked, while you tied him. But all he felt was a dizzying relief.
For twenty-seven years, he'd played his part perfectly. The attentive son of two teachers. The quiet young professional. The "nice guy" who never made demands. Everyone saw what they expected to see: a pleasant, uncomplicated man.
No one guessed how often he'd fantasized about this.
About hands that would take instead of ask.
About being told instead of consulted.
About the delicious, terrifying moment when choice was taken away.
The rope tightened around his bicep, and he exhaled shakily. Your fingers brushed his shoulder - not teasing, not hesitant, just certain. That certainty undid him more than any knot ever could.
"You're doing so well," you murmured, and something fragile in his chest splintered.
This was the secret he'd been afraid to name: Taiga didn't want to be good.
He wanted to be yours.
The final knot settled between his collarbones. Your palm pressed flat against his racing heart.
"Look at me."
And for the first time in his life, he obeyed without thinking.