23. Kaino

23

Kaino

I lead Bjorn back into the living room, and Pita jumps up from his dog bed by the fireplace, eager to be part of whatever we’re doing. “So, Erik calls Jules elskling . What does it mean?”

“It’s kind of like sweetheart or darling. My grandfather called my grandmother elskling .” Bjorn studies my face. “Do you like it? I can call you that if you want.”

The idea has my cheeks warming. I’ve never been given a pet name before. Not even from Bjorn the first time we tried dating. “Wouldn’t that be confusing since Erik calls Jules that?” Is it foolish to want my own term of endearment? It is. And yet, I’m pushing for it.

We stop in front of the couch, and Pita looks hopefully at Bjorn. “No. Go lie down in your bed.” He points to a comfortable-looking circle bed by the fireplace. “Jules has spoiled you enough tonight.” Pita dutifully trots off and flops down with a huff. We sit, and although I can tell Bjorn wants to hold my hand or snuggle, he doesn’t, and I’m grateful. “Okay, so no elskling for you. How about mitt hjerte , which means my heart? Or solstr?le ? That means sunshine. Kj?re and vennen mean dear or darling and are the closest equivalents to our babe or hon. Do you like any of those?”

I like them all. But picking one for myself feels very similar to someone giving themselves a sign name or a nickname and telling everyone to use it. It’s awkward and cringe. Shrugging as if I don’t care, I put the decision back on him. “Whatever. You can just use my name.”

Thankfully, he ignores that. “Calling you my heart would be appropriate, except that’s both you and Xander, so that won’t work.” My own heart hammers in my chest. I’m his heart? Xander and I are? I stare into his eyes, suddenly at a loss for words. “And no offense, but sunshine isn’t really you.” He’s not wrong, but his grin is teasing, and I manage a smile through my shock. “So, I think vennen is the best. You are very dear to me, and my darling, my sweetheart. My babe. And that’s what I call Xander in English. What do you think? Vennen ? Or should I say, what do you think, vennen ? Do you like it?”

He’s obviously very proud of his play on words, so I roll my eyes at him. But I can’t hide my grin. “It’s fine.” The twinkle in Bjorn’s eyes tells me he knows it’s more than fine with me.

“So, vennen ”—he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles—“did you want to sit here on the couch, or should we go upstairs early?”

“How about we talk, just the two of us?”

Bjorn pulls back, watching me closely. “That sounds ominous. Everything okay?” He’s trying to keep his voice light, but I can hear the worry.

“Between you and me? And you, me, and Xander? Yes. As far as I’m concerned, we’re wonderful.”

He relaxes, sighing with relief. “You had me a little worried. And confused. We were just talking about terms of endearment, and then suddenly you wanted to talk .” He grins and shakes his head. “Don’t stress me out like that.”

“Sorry. And what I’d like to talk about is exactly that. Specifically, the way you handle stress.”

He sighs and drops his head on the back of the sofa. “Yeah, I know. I could have handled telling everyone about us better.”

“True. But it’s not just that. Your way of dealing with stress is dad jokes and organizing everyone and everything within an inch of their lives. In moderation, organization is a great coping mechanism.”

Bjorn is already nodding. “But I go overboard.”

“Yes. It’s understandable, given your family’s history and how young you were when you were forced to take on parenting your siblings.”

Bjorn frowns. “I wasn’t forced. I wanted to do it. I wanted to keep us together.”

“You’re right. I apologize for my poor word choice. But you need new coping methods, or you’ll never fully repair your relationship with Gunnar. You might end up damaging it or your other relationships.” His eyes dart to mine, worry plainly visible. He understands that I’m referring to what he, Xander and I are building. “Everyone in your life is a grown adult and fully capable of organizing their own things. If we need help, we’ll ask.”

“But the dad jokes can stay?”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Really?”

He groans and rubs his eyes. “Fine. But I can’t seem to help myself on either count. And in my defense, thinking about Jocelin moving had me remembering when Gunnar and Astrid moved out and Erik left for Arizona. All of that was pure chaos. There are a lot of steps involved in changing residences, and things can go wrong at any stage.”

“Were you stressed because of the steps involved or because you were remembering feeling left behind? Or not being needed anymore?”

The way he winces tells me I’ve hit the nail on the head. “All of the above? I really am trying to make it easier on them. But yeah, I guess between not having a job to occupy me and coming to terms with not being needed anymore, I’m struggling. And I can’t seem to help myself.”

He deflates, slumping back into the cushions, and it hurts my heart. “Maybe I can offer you an alternative to how you’ve been handling, or not handling, the stress. It might give you some relief, at least for a little while.”

He sits up, his expression interested and hopeful. “Yeah? What?”

“Have you tried meditation?”

Bjorn groans. “Yes. But I get restless and end up wandering off and organizing something, or cleaning the bathroom.”

I’m not at all shocked by this. “Some people find being restrained helps quiet their minds and allows them to focus, finding a calmness that eludes them otherwise.” I watch his face, trying to determine if he’s opposed to the idea, turned on, or indifferent.

His expression is thoughtful. “You mean shibari.”

I force myself to stay relaxed. If he rejects the idea, he’s not rejecting me or judging my interests. “Yes. Shibari. In conjunction with meditation, it can be a powerful tool. And it might help you. If you have questions, I’m happy to answer them. Or if you aren’t interested, we can never mention it again.”

“Okay. Fair. I have questions.” I nod encouragingly but stay quiet, letting him gather his thoughts. “So, how restrained are we talking? What if you tie me up and I hate it? What if something happens, like a fire, and we need to get out of the house, but I’m tied up? Is there any physical risk to me from being restrained? You know, other than the fire.”

I hold up my hand, and he stops. “You’ve asked some really key questions, and I don’t want to forget to address each of them. So how about I answer what you’ve already asked, and we can go from there?” He nods. “Restraints. I will only tie as much of you as you’re comfortable with. I usually start slowly with new models. Since this would be your first time as a rope bottom—” I look at him for confirmation, and he snorts at the term but nods. I raise one eyebrow.

Bjorn holds up his hands. “Sorry. Continue.”

“As I said, I start slowly. Maybe we only tie your wrists at first. Or just your ankles. If you’re feeling alright after that, maybe we tie your forearms together, or your calves, and stop there until you build up a level of trust.”

Bjorn shakes his head. “I’ve used handcuffs during sex before. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I’m just new to anything more advanced than that and not sure what to expect.”

I smile. “You being unsure is natural, but you hit the nail on the head. It also comes from a lack of trust. That’s normal too. You may trust me outside of the scene, but we’ve never played like this before. Hesitancy is perfectly normal. So we start with whatever you’re comfortable with. And if you don’t like it, we stop. No questions, no shame. You’ll have a safeword, and if you want to stop at any time, you use it. Or you can tell me in plain English.” I put my hand on his forearm. “You can tell me anything. Communication is vital, and nothing is too trivial to mention. Do you understand?”

Bjorn nods. “Yeah.”

“Good.” I watch him intently for any signs that this isn’t something he wants to pursue. “Depending on how restrained you want to be, I can make slipknots, or some other tie that you can undo yourself should something like a fire happen. I also have a rope cutting tool that I keep close for emergencies. To use your example, if a fire breaks out or you want out of the scene immediately, I can cut you out of the ropes quicker than I can untie you. Rope is replaceable. You aren’t.” That seems to ease a lot of the tension in his shoulders. I file that away, so if he agrees to try this, I remember to keep the cutter in his line of sight.

His expression turns thoughtful, his body relaxed. “So, once I’m tied, then what? We just untie me? That seems a bit pointless.”

“That depends on the reason for the scene. If I’m performing with a model for an audience, yes, that might be what happens. Privately, you and I, or you, Xander, and I might play a bit after you’re tied.” Heat flares in his eyes, so obviously that excites him. I file that away, too. “This time though, what I have in mind is a bit more tame. I’d bind you, then have you sit quietly, letting your mind and body calm so you can focus on the meditation. The rope will help you keep still, and I’ll be there to help you stay in the moment.”

“You mean you’ll tie me up in pretty rope and conduct a guided meditation?” His wry grin tempers the seriousness in his eyes. I can tell he’s intrigued by the idea but also wary.

“Basically.”

He smirks. “What would I be wearing?”

It’s a fair question, especially if he’s been researching online like he said. Most online information about shibari is designed to titillate. The rest is presented so matter-of-factly that it’s too easy for untrained individuals to attempt ties at home. They can end up injuring themselves or a partner because they’re unfamiliar with anatomy. Some end up damaging nerves in rope bottoms because they don’t know better.

But if Bjorn’s been looking on porn sites, his conception of what shibari is might be even more skewed in a lascivious direction. “Ideally, you’ll wear just your boxer briefs. But if you’d prefer to wear a T-shirt too, or some other form-fitting clothing, I can work with that.”

“When would we do this? I’m assuming you’d need to get things ready. You don’t just carry rope around with you.” He smirks, confident enough to tease.

“Not in the quantities you’re thinking.” The surprise on his face almost makes me laugh. “But I did grab some when I ran home yesterday. Tying knots is soothing. It settles my mind. Kind of like when a child rubs their thumb over the silky edge of a favorite blanket. It’s what drew me to shibari in the first place. When I saw my first live performance, I was drawn to the lines of the weave and the intricacies of the knots when everyone else was focused on the model.” She was beautiful, but rather than the rope accentuating her beauty, I looked at it the other way around. “I’m sure I have enough rope with me to do a small tie, depending on how bound you want to be.”

His eyes widen, and his lips part in anticipation. “Can we try it tonight? Now?”

My heart rate spikes. I’d assumed he’d want to think about it. But then again, this is Bjorn. Former SWAT member who threw himself in the path of a knife to save a stranger. Of course he’d want to jump right in. “There are a few things we’d need to cover first.”

Excitement pours from him, and I’m not sure if it’s the idea of trying something new or participating in something perceived as slightly dangerous or sexual. Maybe it’s simply a desire to find something that will actually decrease his stress. “Okay. That’s fine. Tell me.”

Carefully, I walk him through the questions I ask all new models, making sure he understands each one and I understand his answers. We might not be doing a full scene, but the information is still valid and sets the tone for the encounter. “I need you to take this seriously, Bjorn. I mean it. If you feel any pins and needles or numbness, anything that aggravates your side or causes you more than a three on the one through ten discomfort scale, you need to say something. I might be able to adjust things to alleviate the pressure. Today isn’t about pain or seeing how much you can take. This is supposed to be a meditation session. A little discomfort might help keep you in the moment, but it shouldn’t consume your full attention.” He nods. “Use your words. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” There’s only the slightest hint of impatience in the word, and I let it go because he’s very clearly eager to begin.

“Fine. How bound do you want to be for this first time?”

He looks at me, expression blank. “I don’t know. What are my options?”

I consider how much rope I have. “We’ll stick to the basics since you’re new to this, and we don’t really know how you’re going to react to being bound. Based on that, and the amount of rope I have, I’ll tie one area. That means I can bind your legs or your arms. Or I can make a harness on your upper body.”

“Harness? Like, for a dog?” He’s wide eyed and looks unsure, so I quickly reassure him.

“No. Not at all. Harnesses in shibari are usually done for suspension, but we’re not doing any of that today. We don’t know how you’ll react to being bound, and I want to be able to untie you quickly if you have a negative response. If you’re suspended, that adds time to getting you free from the ropes. And you’ve said you don’t think that’s something you want to do, anyway. But, if you find today’s practice helps you, and you decide you’d like to try suspension at some point, we’ll get your doctor’s okay first. We’ll also need to make sure we have a rig that will support your body weight. But a body harness, when not used for suspension, is more of a woven shirt. It covers some to all of your torso, depending on the pattern, and can be purely decorative. I’ll take care not to go too low with it. We don’t want to put pressure on your scar.”

There’s clear relief in his eyes, and I wonder what he’s been looking at to make him that concerned. “For the record, I’m not completely green on the restraint front. I am a cop. Was. I was a cop. Damn. That’s gonna take some getting used to. But anyway, I’ve done the handcuffs thing before. In and out of bed.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, and I snort. “It was fun as a now-and-then kind of thing. And I’ve had my wrists and ankles tied to a bed with neckties once, but I could have gotten free if I’d really tried.” He considers for a moment. “I think I want to try the halter thing. With my arms against my chest.”

Nodding, I stand. “We’ll use the ottoman in your room. That way, you can sit and be comfortable, and I can freely walk around you.” It would also be close to the bathroom, so if Bjorn wanted to, he could take a shower or soak in the tub after. “You haven’t been working out lately because of your injury, but typically, what do you do for workout recovery?” Knowing what his body is used to after a strenuous workout will help me know what he might find soothing after being bound.

Bjorn points at Pita and uses his command voice. “Pita. Stay.” Pita emits another disgusted huff but doesn’t move as Bjorn leads me out of the living room and up the stairs. “Normally I do stretches and drink a ton of water. I’ll have a banana or an orange and wash it down with a post-workout protein shake. I take a hot shower, then eat.”

He waves me into his bedroom and closes the door behind us. I raise an eyebrow. “Are you expecting someone to possibly walk in on us?”

“We don’t need Pita coming upstairs to investigate.”

Good point. “What’s your safeword?”

“Spawn.” That makes him chuckle, but as long as he can remember it, I don’t care that he finds it hilarious.

“If you ever get too fuzzy to remember it, you can always say red or stop. I’ll be checking in with you frequently to make sure you’re alright. Be honest with me.”

Bjorn sighs dramatically. “Yeah, I got it. Tell you if there’s any discomfort, and don’t keep things to myself.”

“Good. I’ll be using hemp rope. It will definitely leave marks on your skin. The indentations will fade after a little while, but you might have rope burns, too, or a rash. If that happens and it’s bothering you—”

Bjorn cuts me off. “Yes, tell you.”

“Tell me.” I pick up the three foot by two foot leather ottoman and set it in the middle of the room. “Please undress down to your boxer briefs, and sit.” Bjorn pulls off his clothes, and I head for my duffle, pulling out two lengths of hemp and the safety shears. When I return, he’s sitting patiently, a hopeful grin on his face, and I can’t help smiling back. “You’re ridiculously excited about this. I hope it doesn’t disappoint.”

He shrugs. “At the very least, I can say I’ve been tied up with shibari rope. What did you call what my job is?”

His job. Like he’s being responsible or performing an invaluable function. I wonder if he realizes how telling his word choices are. “When it’s for a performance or instructional session, it’s called a model. When it’s for personal play, it’s called a rope bunny or rope bottom. I prefer model or rope bottom, depending on circumstances.” That earns me a filthy chuckle. “Behave. There are a few last things before we start. When I untie you, you might have a kind of floaty feeling.”

“Subspace.” Bjorn watches me like a hawk ready to strike, all keyed up with energy. “I read about that.”

“Good. And yes. It’s a normal thing that happens to some, but not all, people. And it’s not just associated with kink. Some people can experience subspace after yoga or deep meditation. So don’t be alarmed if you’re a bit out of it after. Though that probably won’t be the result of today’s play. This is going to be relatively short and hopefully sweet.” I put two ends of one rope together and pull it through my hand to find the middle. “Besides your injured side, are there any other areas of your body you’d like me to avoid? Anything you know is injured or triggers a negative response?”

Bjorn shakes his head. “Not that I know of. But I promise if something doesn’t feel right, I’ll tell you.”

I nod. “Good. And finally, the purpose of this session is relaxation. Finding peace in being truly still. But if it’s not working for you, or if it’s having the opposite effect, tell me, and we’ll stop. We can try something else another time.” I look him in the eyes. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

I wrap the first loop around his wrists and feel the hyperawareness kick in. Everything is in sharp focus. The pattern I’ll weave is clear in my mind. Fisherman’s harness. A bit higher than usual to account for Bjorn’s injury. “Be aware as you breathe. Focus on inhaling from your diaphragm, filling your lungs, holding the breath for a few beats, then exhaling, releasing all the tension in your body. That’s all I want you to do.”

When I’ve wrapped his wrists together, I secure them with a myrtle hitch and gently guide his hands up against his sternum. I place the rope over his shoulder, trailing my hand along the hemp to maintain contact. Stepping behind him, I pull the rope diagonally across his back. His breathing is slow and steady, and while he’s more tense than I’d like, he’s less so than when we started. “Good. You’re doing well.” I bring the rope over his bicep and around to his front, tighten it over his forearms and across his other bicep until I’ve completed one full revolution around him. With practiced fingers, I secure the rope and tug the excess until it’s snug. “How’s that?”

“Good.” His voice is alert but even. His energy level has decreased several notches, and I’m even more hopeful that this will be the help he needs to calm and center himself. With focused attention, I make another revolution around him, one hand feeding out rope, the other keeping in contact with Bjorn’s body, quietly letting him know I’m here. If this was a demonstration or a typical session, I wouldn’t be touching him so much. But I want him to be aware of me, of where I am and what I’m doing, so he stays calm. When I’m once again at his back, I secure the rope in place and complete the process two more times, keeping my pace measured, staying in physical contact, listening to his steady breathing. “How are you doing?”

“Still good.” This time his voice is soft, almost sleepy.

I check his body language and facial expression, looking for any signs of distress, but his features are passive, though his eyes track me. He’s aware and not in any visible discomfort. “The rope isn’t too tight?”

He slowly shakes his head. “No. It feels like a tight hug.” He grins dopily. “Like swaddling. It’s nice.” For someone who says he struggles with meditation, Bjorn appears to be taking to this experience like a duck to water.

With precision, I decorate his torso in a hemp garland. It’s tempting to twine intricate designs all over him, accentuate the lines of his body with complex patterns of rope and knots. But not this time. There’ll be opportunities in the future, if he wants.

I tie off the loose ends and squat in front of him. “Are you doing alright?”

“Mmm. Yes. My nose itches, though.” He scrunches up his features, trying to make the itch stop.

With the tip of my index finger, I gently scratch the bridge of his nose. “Good?”

“Yeah.” But he’s still making faces.

“Bjorn, you need to be honest with me. If I can’t trust you to tell me where your nose is itchy, how can I trust you to tell me when you’re experiencing discomfort elsewhere?”

He drops his head forward like a chastised kid, then looks at me again. “I’m sorry. Yes, it’s still itchy, and it’s right at the tip.” I scratch the tip of his nose, and he sighs with relief. “Aaah. Got it. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Our faces are mere inches apart. I can feel his warm breath on my cheek, and when I look into his eyes, he’s watching me, his expression open and so full of affection and peace that I’m almost at a loss for words. “How’s the rest of you?”

“I’m good, vennen .“ Heat rushes through my body, my heart feeling too big for my chest. “But I’d be better with a kiss.”

Slowly, I lean forward, closing the small gap between us, pressing my lips to his, sinking into this new experience. Up to this point, all of my scenes have been with models. Most of them became friends. None of them have been lovers. I’ve cared about all of them, but never like this. Never the way I care for Bjorn and Xander. I pour the new emotions into the press of our lips, wanting to tell Bjorn how much he means to me. He responds instantly, his mouth soft and warm against mine, and the kiss lights me up from head to toe. No one has ever made me feel so important, so wanted in every sense of the word, so accepted. Like I belong. Like I’ve found my place and we’re meant to be together.

Reluctantly, I pull back, ending the kiss, and stare into Bjorn’s eyes. My Bear. My heart. “Do you want to try some meditation? Or we can untie you and try again some other day.”

He shakes his head. “No. Let’s keep going.” His cheeks turn a soft pink. “As much as I want to wrap my arms around you, I can wait. I like how this feels. I like that you’re responsible. That I don’t have to make decisions. There’s no pressure on me to do anything but be.”

His words are music to my ears. It’s everything I wanted him to take away from this experience, and it’s just the beginning. “Okay. We’ll take about ten minutes and be still.” I keep my voice level and quiet. “Concentrate on your breathing. Sit up tall and imagine letting go of your stress. You have nothing to do but be present.” I continue to walk him through the session, aware of his breaths, watching his eyes for any sign of distress or discomfort. But a calmness has settled over him, and I let him be in the moment, soaking up the peace he seems to have found in this forced stillness. As we both sit quietly, the hyperawareness that accompanies a binding session fades, and my outer focus turns inward as it usually does. And waiting for me are the feelings I’ve both wanted and feared. They settle around me, crystal clear and demanding acknowledgement.

I’m in love with this man.