Dust & Desire – The Summer Housekeeper

Selene stood at the foot of Theo’s bed, the rope coiled in his hands like a question.

“You don’t have to,” he said, eyes searching hers. “We can stop the moment it feels wrong.”

“I want to,” she whispered. “I trust you.”

Theo’s chest tightened.

He guided her gently, laying her down across the soft sheets. The windows were open, letting the sea breeze in. Outside, the world was quiet.

Inside, everything trembled.

Theo tied her wrists above her head, looped around the headboard. His fingers moved slow, reverent, like he wasn’t binding her but honoring her. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away.

Then his mouth was on her. Her neck. Her collarbone. Her breasts.

She moaned, arching up against the ropes. Every touch was heightened. Every sound, louder. Her thighs trembled when he moved lower, lips trailing fire down her stomach.

When he finally slipped inside her, she gasped, trapped and wide open.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured.

“Harder.”

“Say it again.”

“Harder, Theo. Fuck me like I’m yours.”

He obeyed.

But halfway through, as he gripped her hips and drove into her with the kind of raw dominance they’d only danced around before her breath changed.

It wasn’t a moan.

It was a choke.

He froze instantly. “Selene?”

She turned her face. “Untie me. Now.”

Theo scrambled to undo the knots. As soon as her hands were free, she pulled the sheet over her chest and sat up, trembling.

“Selene…”

She didn’t look at him. “It’s not you. It’s just there was someone. Years ago. He didn’t ask. Didn’t stop.”

Theo’s gut twisted. “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t know it would come back like that.”

Silence.

Theo moved slowly toward her. Sat beside her.

“You were safe. The moment you said stop, I listened. That’s never going to change.”

She looked up, eyes glassy.

“I want to keep going,” she whispered. “I want more of this. Of you. But I need you to understand… sometimes I break.”

“Then I’ll hold the pieces,” Theo said.

Selene leaned into him, burying her face in his chest.

There were no more ropes that night. No restraints. No commands.

Just skin on skin. Hands on cheeks. Lips on tears.

And the slow, sacred kind of sex that heals not hurts.