Knox reads my scent as usual and he pauses.“You’re scared,” he says.“Yes.”“You’re also wet.”I don’t answer because the answer is on his face – the slight widening of his nostrils, the gold pushing through his irises.He promises me he won’t push tonight, and he offers a taste instead – a controlled sample, small enough to survive and large enough to know.“Just enough to understand what it would be,” he says. “Tell me to stop if you get uncomfortable. After this, you decide.”I don’t say no, so the demonstration begins.He buckles his belt around my wrists behind my back, and it hits me that we have used this belt for this purpose enough times that the leather has softened at the buckle point and the holes have stretched. The restraint is snug without cutting and the helplessness settles over me instantly.The blindfold comes next. He folds his t-shirt twice and ties it behind my skull, and the cotton carrying his scent – leather, engine oil, wolf heat – so the darkness I’m plunge
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