"When I said I wouldn't let go, I wasn't giving you permission to tie me up."

Was this sneak attack part of your surprise?

He hadn’t expected you to show up at his studio, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. You had a spare key—he should’ve seen this coming by now.

Moments ago, he’d been on the phone with Thomas, declining a last-minute event in Linkon. It wasn’t hard to say no, not when better things awaited him here. Like…

Being tied up by his Ms. Bodyguard?

It had been too long since he last saw you, and he missed every detail of you: the arch of your brows, the curve of your nose, the softness of your lips, the elegance of your neck. He took his time planting kisses on every inch, reacquainting himself with his favorite places.

Only to end up restrained by his own tie.

When you straddled his lap on the couch, your presence was overwhelming, impossible to ignore. He reached for you instinctively, clinging as usual, scared that you were just a figment of his imagination, but you had other plans.

Was this his punishment for not coming back sooner?

"Fine. Fiiine," he relented, his voice laced with mock defeat. "Punish me however you want, cutie."
A small wince escaped him as he shifted against the restraint. "Mnh. Ouch. An artist’s wrists are precious, you know."

Even so, his eyes never left you. He tilted his head, his gaze softening into pure adoration, his voice drawing in a low whisper. "You’re very, very cute right now. I don’t mind being tied up by you."