Romans & histoires Bowsettes

Every breath makes the rope shift, rubbing, teasing without mercy. Marlowe watches, transfixed, lips parted. When it’s her turn I repeat the pattern—but I add a twist. I bind her arms first: wrists crossed in the small of her back, rope winding in a box-tie (classic takate kote). Elbows drawn close together until her shoulders strain and her chest thrusts forward involuntarily. The harness follows—diamonds marching down her sternum, framing her heavier breasts until they’re presented like offerings, rope biting just enough to leave faint red welts that will darken to purple by morning.

"This is Catherine Bosworth. Reid Whitmore gave me your information. I'm a buyer for Wentfield's." My heart jumped into my throat. "Oh! Yes, hello. Thank you for calling." "I understand you're opening a boutique? Specializing in contemporary women's fashion?" "Yes, that's right." "I'd like to place an order. Provided your pieces meet our quality standards, of course." She rattled off a list of items, dresses, separates, accessories, in quantities that made my head spin. "Can you handle an order of this size?" "Absolutely," I said, maybe too quickly. "When would you need delivery?"

We have the same mother but different fathers. The boy I want to kiss is my brother. The bond in my chest screams louder, hot, angry, and wrong. Cael's voice is rough like rocks. "Mother," he says. The word sounds strange coming from a king who never says soft things. She nods fast, wiping her face. "The Goddess curses blood matings. The bond will burn you both out from the inside." "How long?" I ask. My voice cracks in the middle. "Three nights," she says. "Not weeks. Three. The full moon rises on the third night."

With a frustrated huff, she lowered her hand. The gavel slammed down. "Sold! To the lady in midnight blue for four million dollars!" Ashton smirked beside me, but his curiosity was evident as he mind linked me. "Why are you buying your own weapons? " he asked through our mind link. "Why not just take them back?" "Patience, love. I want everyone here to know exactly who’s in control tonight. Let them see the price of betrayal and greed." The next weapon was revealed—a crossbow made from darkened iron, designed to fire bolts that dissolved protective wards on impact.

She laid it before us and when Weston tossed the fabric to the side, our mouth almost gaped when we saw a crossbow. “This is the weapon I know that could help you.” He then rummaged inside the drawer behind him and pulled some items before he placed it on top of the stone table. There were some wooden stakes etched with the symbol I had seen on the other weapons. “And these can be useful too.” “What is that symbol?” I asked Weston as his eyes flitted to it, tracing his finger across the mark.

She took a deep breath and opened it gently. Inside the box laid an ornate weapon, no longer than five feet. From a quick look, Cassana could tell the handle was made of obsidian. A fine carving of wreathe with the shape of willow leaves twisted around the handle up to its arms. The upper and lower limbs, made of either holly or cedar, extended out from the handle to form an exquisite symmetrical arc that curved on its ends. A string made of sinew fiber stretched from one groove to the other, pulling the wood into shape, while seemingly emanating an ineffable hum.

Robert directed Caine’s attention to them so that he could observe what they were doing. Wilson and his men were tinkering around with a strange contraption that Caine had never seen before. From what he observed, it looked just like an oversized bow, its body about ten feet long. It took two people to hold it sideways, and a third person was pulling back on a rope connecting each end of its narrow body. Caine could see that it definitely had the distinct qualities of a standard bow, but much larger.

As requested. The problem with most tension devices is that usually the bindings hurt more than the joints, because people in a hurry do a lousy job of securing the victim. Using cable ties is the worst. But this device was designed by bondage experts, the bindings were great, the gloves, lower arm bands, stockings and leg bandages all spread the love over a much wider area than just the wrist and ankle. If I pulled her arms from her shoulders and the bindings would show almost no wrist damage.

Sage has never been this assaulted and humiliated before, and he can do nothing to break free as some of the maids hold him down to the tub while the others make sure he is clean. After the bath, he is towel-dried, then dressed in something he can’t even call clothes. Sheer, white fabric that barely clings to his skin. “This is the ceremonial cloth of the omega who is to bear the alpha’s child; it’s blessed by the moon goddess, you are lucky to wear it.” Elizabeth crosses her hands over her chest, watching with the hardness in her eyes never changing.

Afternoon sunlight spills over the floorboards as I close the door behind us, closesting us in silence. Aviva has already seen what I brought her here for, though. Her shoulders go rigid, and she takes an excited breath before snatching the bow off the kitchen table and wrapping her fingers around it. She examines it closely, studying the craftsmanship on the limb and back, running her fingertips over the wood and metal details. The bowstring is reinforced, thanks to Andrew. He also made several arrows, some totally metal, and Seth carved wooden ones with metal tips. The grip was my design. It’s small enough for her hand and made from a piece of leather that came from the mountain goat we br