The last time I saw Will he was a strange, scrawny kid. But we were both kids then, I suppose. We'd gone to high school together and while our social circles overlapped a little bit we had never really had any significant interaction. I remember him being something of an outcast, accepted by the jocks for his athleticism, but ultimately more of a quiet nerd at heart. We were actually pretty similar in that respect.
Ten years can do a lot to change a person, and the time had been kind to both of us. I had matured, developing gentle curves to suit my petite frame. I knew now what kind of look would make a man cross a room to talk to me, I knew that the shape of my lips gave men filthy ideas, and that my diminutive stature made them want to carry me off to bed. I also knew that my darker sexual proclivities could make a grown man balk. Will too, seemed to have come into his own. He'd always been tall but now he was well-built, his musculature suggesting time spent outside doing hard physical work. Will's family owned a ranch on the outskirts of town, and he'd taken over the business now that his parents were older.
He was sipping at the neck of a beer bottle when I recognized him and smiled. Will's attention flitted down to my lips, painted bright scarlet that night, and then back up to my eyes.
"Well, hello," he says, brow slightly furrowed, even as a smile quirked his mouth. "It's good to see you."
It had taken him a moment to recognize me, even though I had dated a close friend of his. But I was used to this kind of look from men who had known me when I was younger; the surprised double-take, the startled attraction. It wasn't that I hadn't been cute enough back then, but the woman they saw now was a far cry from the innocent girl that I had been.
"It's good to see you too, Will," I reply, taking a drink from my own beer. He stares as I give the lip of the bottle a tiny lick to keep a drop of liquid from trailing down the frosty neck. His eyes are dark when I meet them again.
We begin to chat about what we had been up to over the years, work, hobbies, the typical catch up talk. One of the things that had always set him apart from the other jocks was his preoccupation with weaponry. It was a strange interest for a high school kid, but it made more sense if you considered that he grew up on a ranch. These days it seemed he forged and built his own artisan knives, a profitable side business in a southwest town like ours.
It would have been interesting to listen to him talk even if I hadn't been picturing what he looked like with those callused hands wrapped around a knife. As I mentioned, my sexual desires ran a little south of mainstream and it wasn't often that one of my partners agreed to knife play. But as I watched Will run the pad of his thumb across his lips as he described honing the edge of a blade, I wondered if I had met my match.
It takes a moment before I realize he has stopped talking and is staring at me intently. I sit stock-still as he leads forward to speak in my ear.
"You like knives, girl?" he rumbles, his voice suddenly husky. I swallow a moan, and grip his bicep to steady myself.
"God, yes," I breathe in reply. He smirks.
"God has nothing to do with this, believe me," comes his sordid response. His finger traces the skin just above my collarbone, leaving fire in its wake. I imagine steel stroking me instead of skin. "Let me take you home with me," he whispers. I can only nod. His rough fingers grip my chin until I'm looking into his dark brown eyes. "Are you sure you know what you're getting into?" he asks. I nod again and then he's pulling me by the hand out of the bar and into the night.
He drives me in his work truck, heading away from the city lights and into the desert. He tells me everything he's going to do to me. The ropes, the knives, the sex. He laughs darkly when I tell him it's everything I've ever wanted and tells me he's impressed that I'm just as deviant as he is.
We drive until we reach a small secluded cabin on the edge of his property. Out here, the stars are unbelievably bright, and the only sound comes from a coyote far to the north. Inside, Will lights a fire in the fireplace and pours us both glasses of water. "I need a clear head for what I'm about to do to you," he smirks. I can already feel my eyelids going heavy, a sign I'm slipping rapidly into sub-space, and I'm glad we took the time in the car to negotiate this evening's events and safewords. "Take off your clothes and sit on your knees in front of the fire," he instructs, leaving the room.
