in Rory’s gut. It was the kind of response a Dom wanted to see, to know he was on the right track.
“May I?” Des asked.
Rory nodded. Des dropped to one knee behind Daralyn, moving her skirt out of the way so he didn’t plant his thick-tread black shoe on it. He reached beneath her arms and took the ends of the rope Rory was holding. There was a good amount of it; Rory estimated about twenty-five feet. Des threaded the ends under either of her arms, did something against her back to hold their position and then came back, pulling the two ropes over her upper arms, so her bound wrists were pulled in against her breasts. He did it slow, so Rory could watch what he was doing.
From the fluid way he did it, Rory expected Des to keep going. Instead, the rope artist immediately stopped. He left the rope tied loosely in front of her bound wrists, the trailing ends in Rory’s grasp before he rose to his feet and backed off two clear strides, putting distance between him and Daralyn.
“Rory.” Des’s sharp tone and pointed gaze held a clear warning.
Rory had been watching what Des was doing. When Des said “watch her,” he should have stuck with that for the duration.
The transfer of the rope to Des and back to Rory again had taken less than a few seconds. Des’s touch upon her had been firm and functional, gentle, nothing inappropriate. When he’d leaned forward to pass the rope back around her upper arms, his chest had brushed Daralyn’s shoulder blades.
Perhaps that was how Des had noticed she’d gone rigid as a corpse. Her face had lost all color.
Rory dropped the ends of the rope over his knee and clasped her bound wrists in his hand. “Daralyn.”
Christ, she had become like ice. No wonder she looked whiter than snow. Even resting on her knees, she was starting to wobble. Afraid her eyes were going to roll up into her head, he pulled the rope loose from around her torso. Des moved back in to help, unwrapping them in a blink, trying to touch her as little possible.
That left just her bound wrists resting in Rory’s lap and a pool of rope on the ground by her knee. However, when Rory started to take the rope off her wrists, one-handed because he was keeping one arm wrapped around her, she made a noise of protest, curling her fingers up against her chest and hunching into herself, her head tucked over them.
He paused, undecided, his gaze shooting to Des. The rope artist, resting on his heels a couple feet away, was watching her as closely as Rory was now.
“The wrists should be okay,” Des said in a calm voice. “The ropes aren’t tight enough to restrict blood flow.” He paused, gave Rory a significant look. “You tied that part.”
Rory digested that. Nodded. “Can you give us a second, but not go too far?”
“You got it. I’ll be over here with Julie. I’ll deal with that.”
Rory hadn’t noticed the approach of one of the Dungeon Masters. Though it got his back up, he discarded the feeling in the next breath, glad there were experienced, sharp eyes detecting something was amiss when the Dom didn’t. Being new to this shit didn’t change his desire to kick his own ass. But him being pissed at himself, embarrassed that others were witnessing his missteps, didn’t do anyone any good, especially Daralyn.
He’d rely on Des’s experience to handle the conversation with the Dungeon Master while Rory focused on her. She was still so cold. Since it was a warmish autumn night, typical for Florida, neither one of them had extra layers. A coat wasn’t what she needed, though.
Rory opened the front of his shirt and brought her to a standing position on her knees. When he pulled her up against him, her hip pressed to his legs, she was against the heat of his body. Her bound arms were between them, her forearms pressed to his chest and abdomen, but the heat would transfer through her limbs and into the rest of her.
She dropped her forehead against his chest and shuddered, but it was a gesture of relief, telling him she was drawing strength from him, steadying herself.
“Talk to me,” he ordered. “What’s going on?”
She shook her head. “I—I’m fine. I just…I’m so sorry…”
He could deal with this a couple ways. Coddle her, not make her talk. Take her home. That didn’t feel right.