Chapter 7: Aftercare and a Dirty Assignment
Ty worked the knots loose with the patience of a man defusing something fragile. The black cotton slid away from her wrists first, leaving faint pink lines that he pressed his thumbs into, one after the other, feeling the warmth of her skin. Then he reached down and undid her ankles, and Kara's legs fell open against the rumpled sheets like they belonged to someone else.
She was shaking.
Not badly. Not the violent, teeth-chattering kind. Just a fine tremor running through her limbs, the aftershock of everything he'd done to her body and everything she'd let herself feel while he did it.
Ty gathered her up before she could think about being embarrassed. He pulled her against his chest, one arm wrapped around her back, the other cradling her head, and he held her there in the middle of the wrecked bed while the morning light crawled across the comforter.
"You were so good," he murmured into her hair. "So fucking perfect."
Kara pressed her face into the side of his neck. Her cheeks were burning. Her whole body was burning.
"Breathe," he said. Not a command. Just a quiet reminder.
She breathed.
It took a minute. Maybe two. The trembling eased, and the world came back into focus—the smell of sweat and sex, the distant whine of a jet somewhere overhead, the faint tick of her wall clock that she never noticed unless the room was dead quiet.
"Hey," Ty said, his voice soft. "You with me?"
"Yeah." Her voice came out rough. "I'm here."
"You okay?"
She thought about it. Really thought about it, instead of just nodding the way she usually did when men asked that question after sex. Was she okay? Her wrists were sore. Her ass was going to bruise, she could already tell. And she'd just cried—actually cried—during an orgasm while tied to her own bed.
She was better than okay.
"I'm good," she said. "I'm—that was—" She huffed a laugh against his skin. "Fuck."
Ty's chest rumbled with a low laugh of his own. "Yeah. Fuck."
She pulled back enough to look at him. His face was open, relaxed, the hard edges of the man who'd just spanked her and called her his dirty girl smoothed into something gentler. It was a strange contrast, and it did something complicated to her chest.
"I don't usually do that," she said.
"Which part?"
"Any of it. The ropes. The—" She gestured vaguely, her face heating again. "The whole Daddy thing. I've thought about it. But I've never actually done it with anyone."
Ty's eyebrows lifted. "Never?"
"Never." She sat up, tugging a corner of the sheet over her lap like that would hide anything. "I've had hookups. Plenty of them. But I never trusted anyone enough to let them see that side of me."
"I'm the first."
"You're the first."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he reached out and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. "I'm honored."
Kara snorted. "You're a lot of things, Brooks. Honored sounds like a stretch."
"I mean it." His eyes were steady on hers. "I know what it takes to let someone see that. Especially for someone like you."
"Someone like me?"
"Someone who's used to being in control. Someone who's spent her whole career being the toughest person in the room." He shrugged. "Letting go isn't easy for you. I get that."
Kara looked down at her hands. They were still trembling, slightly, and she pressed them flat against her thighs to steady them.
"It's not," she admitted. "But I want to. With you." She lifted her eyes to his. "I want to do more. If you're—if you're interested."
Ty's grin was slow and warm. "Darlin', I've been interested since I saw you in that bar."
Kara rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "You know what I mean."
"I do." He leaned over and kissed her, soft and unhurried. "And yes. I'm interested. Whatever you want to explore, whatever you want to try—we'll do it. But we do it right."
"Right how?"
"Safe words. Boundaries. Check-ins." He ticked them off on his fingers. "No surprises. No pushing past limits without talking about it first. That's the deal."
Kara nodded. "Okay."
"And we talk about what happened after. Every time. The good, the bad, the weird. No holding back."
"Okay."
"And you tell me if I ever do something you don't like. Even if it's small. Even if you think it's stupid."
"I will."
He searched her face like he was looking for the lie. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded and kissed her again. "Good girl."
The words sent a shiver down her spine.
They lay there for a while longer, tangled up in each other and the ruined sheets, and Kara felt something unfamiliar settling in her chest. It wasn't quite peace. It was too new for that. But it was close. It was the feeling of being seen, all the way down, and not being turned away.
Then Ty's phone buzzed from somewhere on the floor.
He ignored it. It buzzed again. Then a third time, and Kara felt him tense.
"You should get that," she said.
"Yeah." He didn't move.
"Ty."
"I know." He pressed a kiss to her temple and rolled off the bed, hunting for his phone in the pile of clothes scattered across her floor. He found it, glanced at the screen, and grimaced.
"Coach?"
"Coach, and my agent, and the team PR guy." He scrolled through the messages. "They're politely losing their minds."
Kara sat up, clutching the sheet. "You're going to be late."
"I've got a private jet, remember? I'll make it." He looked at her, and something in his expression shifted. "I want you to come with me."
Kara's stomach dropped.
"What?"
"To the game. Come with me." He was already moving around the room, grabbing his jeans, his shirt, his shoes. "I've got a suite. You can watch from there. It'll be a madhouse—photographers, fans, whatever—but I'll keep you out of all that. Just—" He stopped, turned to look at her. "I want you there."
Kara's throat closed up.
She could picture it. The stadium. The crowds. The cameras. Being Ty Brooks's mystery woman, splashed across every gossip site and sports forum by tomorrow morning. Her squadron would never let her live it down. Her father would—
She forced herself to breathe. That wasn't the real reason her heart was hammering.
The real reason was simpler. She knew how this went. She'd been down this road before—the morning-after invitation, the careful not-rejection that was really a way of letting things fade. She'd heard the excuses. 'I'll call you.' 'Let's see how it goes.' 'Maybe next time.'
She braced for it. For the coldness. For the way men's eyes glazed over when a woman said the word "work" instead of "yes."
"Ty, I can't." She kept her voice steady. "I have to report to base. I'm on the schedule this afternoon. Pre-flight checks. Briefing. I can't just—"
"That's not a no."
She blinked. "What?"
"You said you can't. You didn't say you didn't want to." He was watching her, his shirt half-buttoned, his expression unreadable. "Is that it? You can't because of work?"
Kara nodded slowly. "Yes. I have to be there. I'm a pilot, Ty. It's not a job I can blow off."
He pulled his shirt the rest of the way on. Zipped his jeans. Then he crossed the room and stood in front of her, and for a second Kara couldn't breathe.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay?"
"Okay. I get it. You have work." He shrugged, like it was nothing. "I understand."
Kara stared at him. Twelve hours ago, she'd watched him charm his way through a bar full of women. She'd half-convinced herself he was all surface—a smirk and a poster and a carefully constructed fantasy. But he was looking at her now like he meant it. Like her work mattered.
She didn't know what to do with that.
"You're not mad?"
"Mad?" He looked genuinely confused. "Why would I be mad?"
"Because—" She gestured vaguely. "Because I'm saying no."
"You're saying you have a job. That's not saying no to me. That's saying you have a life." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I want a woman with a life. I've spent a lot of time with women who didn't have one—they just had me. It gets old."
Kara's chest ached. Something about the way he said it—the weariness underneath the words—made her want to pull him back into bed and hold him there until he forgot every woman who'd ever treated him like a trophy.
"So we're okay?" she asked.
"We're more than okay." He grinned. "But I'm still giving you a task."
"What?"
Ty was already moving again, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. "I ordered some things. They should be delivered to your apartment today."
"What kind of things?"
"The toys I mentioned. The plug. The gag. A few other things." He glanced at her, eyes glinting. "And a vibrator. One of those strap-on ones. You know the kind, right? It's got a bullet for your clit and a shaft for your—well, you'll figure it out."
Kara's face was on fire. "Ty—"
"My game is at seven. I want you to watch it."
"I don't even like football."
"You don't have to like it. You just have to watch." He finished with his phone and looked at her, his expression shifting into something darker. Hungrier. "Here's what you're going to do."
Kara's heart started hammering.
"You're going to plug your ass with the plug I bought you. The medium one. Not the big one yet—we work up to that."
"Yes, Daddy."
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Ty's grin widened.
"Then you're going to gag yourself with the ball gag. And strap on the vibrator."
"Yes, Daddy."
"Then you're going to tie yourself up." He paused, letting that sink in. "Any position you want. Kneeling. Spread-eagle. Bent over the couch. Doesn't matter. But you have to be able to see the TV."
"Okay."
"And you're going to record yourself. The whole thing. From the moment you start until the final whistle." He leaned down, his mouth brushing her ear. "And when the game is over, you're going to send me the video."
Kara's whole body went hot.
"You want me to—" She swallowed. "You want me to film myself tied up and—and plugged while I watch you play?"
"I want to see you desperate. I want to see you squirming and whimpering and grinding against that vibrator, and I want to know that you're thinking about me while you do it." His voice was low and rough. "I want to watch it in the locker room after we win."
"You might not win."
"I'll win." He pulled back, grinning again. "And when I do, I'm going to watch that video and jerk off in the team showers."
Kara's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"You're insane."
"Maybe." He kissed her, hard and fast, then pulled away. "But you're going to do it, aren't you?"
She thought about it. Really thought about it.
The embarrassment was there, hot and squirming in her chest. The idea of filming herself like that—bound and desperate and visibly horny—made her want to hide under the covers. But underneath the embarrassment was something else. Something that made her thighs press together and her pulse quicken.
She wanted to do it. She wanted to be the kind of woman who did that for him. She wanted to be good for him.
"Yes," she whispered. "I'll do it."
Ty's smile could have powered a city.
"That's my girl," he said. "My good, dirty girl."
Kara's blush deepened, but she held his gaze. "I'll be good for you, Daddy."
He kissed her again—deeper this time, his tongue sliding against hers, his hands cupping her face like she was something precious. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark.
"I have to go."
"I know."
"Don't forget to hydrate."
Kara laughed. Actually laughed, surprised out of her embarrassment. "What?"
"You're going to be tied up for three hours. Maybe longer. You need water." He was already at the door, grabbing his wallet, his keys. "Put a glass on a tray within reach. And use the bathroom before you start."
"Ty."
"And set up the camera so I can see your whole body. I don't want any of that artsy bullshit. Just wide frame, full view."
"Ty!"
He turned in the doorway, grinning like a man who'd just won the lottery. "What?"
"You're giving me aftercare advice for being your sex toy."
"Damn right I am." He walked back to the bed and kissed her forehead. "You're mine now. That means I take care of you. Even when I'm not there."
Kara's throat tightened. She wanted to say something—something clever, something that would hide how much those words meant to her. But all she could do was nod.
"I'll see you," she said.
"You'll see me on TV." He winked. "Send me that video when the game's over."
"I will."
"Good girl."
Then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall, the front door opening and closing with a soft click.
Kara sat there in the middle of the bed for a long moment, wrapped in her sheet and her thoughts. Then she laughed—an incredulous, breathless sound that filled the empty room.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She grabbed it. A text from Ty: Check the bottom drawer of your nightstand. I left something for you.
She pulled the drawer open. Inside was a small velvet box she'd never seen before, and when she opened it, a thin silver necklace caught the light. A simple chain. A tiny pendant shaped like a paper airplane.
It's not a collar, his next text read. Not yet. But it's yours. If you want it.
Kara put the necklace on. The metal was cool against her skin.
Then she got up, wrapped herself in her bathrobe, and started cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. The shattered mug. The cold coffee. The sticky countertop that needed a good scrub.
By the time the sun was fully up, the loft was spotless and her phone was buzzing again—a delivery notification.
Her package had arrived.
She got dressed slowly, deliberately—old jeans, a faded t-shirt, her hair still a mess. She walked down to the lobby to pick up the box, and she didn't let herself think about what was inside until she was back in her apartment with the package on the kitchen island.
The box was bigger than she expected. Heavy. She sliced through the tape with her keys and opened it.
Everything was there, wrapped in black tissue paper. The plug—smooth black silicone, medium-sized, with a flared base. The ball gag, also black. The vibrator, the kind he'd described, with a curved shaft and a bullet that would press against her clit. And underneath it all, a coil of soft cotton rope that looked fresh and new.
Kara stared at everything for a long time.
Then she checked the clock.
She had three hours until her shift.
And four hours after that until his game.
She had time.
She took a shower. Washed her hair. Put on her uniform—khaki pressed crisp, her insignia straightened, her boots polished. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw Lieutenant Mitchell staring back. Professional. Capable. In control.
But underneath the uniform, her skin still smelled like him. Her body still ached from everything he'd done to her.
And the necklace was tucked under her collar, the paper airplane pendant resting against her chest.
She reported to base at noon. Went through pre-flight checks. Sat through the briefing with her squadron mates, who ragged her about the flyover and asked where she'd disappeared to after the bar.
"Had better things to do," she said.
"Better than drinking with us?" Her wingman, a gangly kid from Texas named Ramirez, clutched his chest in mock offense. "I'm wounded."
"You'll survive."
"Who was he? The guy from the bar?"
"None of your business."
"Was he hot?"
"None of your business."
"Was he good in bed?"
"Ramirez." Kara's voice was flat. "If you ask one more question about my personal life, I'm going to make you do laps until you puke."
He shut up.
But he was smiling. They all were. The only woman in the squadron, and she could still put them in their place.
The day passed in a blur. A training flight. A debrief. A mountain of paperwork that she hated but finished anyway. By the time she got home, the sun was already starting to set, and her phone was buzzing with alerts about the game.
Ty had sent her one text: Kickoff in an hour. Don't forget to hydrate.
She checked the delivery box again. Everything was still there. Waiting for her.
She took a long breath.
Then she started setting up.
First, the tray. A water bottle, an empty glass, some crackers she probably wouldn't eat. She set it on the coffee table where she could reach it. Then she opened her phone and set up the camera, positioning it on the shelf across from the couch so it would get a full view of the living room.
Then she stripped off her clothes.
Her hands were shaking again. But this time it wasn't from the aftercare of being bound and spanked. It was anticipation. It was the knowledge of what was about to happen—the knowledge that in a few hours, Ty would be watching her.
She started with the plug.
It was bigger than she'd expected. She'd never done this before, never even considered it, but she'd run a bath and found the lube and by the time she was bent over the couch with slick fingers, she was already achingly wet.
She pushed the plug in slowly, gasping at the stretch, at the feeling of being filled in a way she'd never experienced. It took a minute—two—before it slid into place, nestled against her like it belonged there.
She stood up. It shifted inside her, and she had to grip the table to keep from falling.
"Fuck," she whispered.
Then the gag.
She'd never worn one before. The ball was firm against her tongue, and the straps dug into her cheeks. She tightened it until it was snug but not painful. Then she reached for the vibrator.
It was a complicated piece of equipment. The shaft went inside her—she had to lube it up, had to work it in slowly—and then the bullet settled against her clit. The harness strapped around her hips, holding everything in place.
She was so full. So full. The plug in her ass, the vibrator in her pussy, the bullet tight against her clit. Her legs were already shaking.
But she wasn't done.
The rope was next. She chose kneeling, and she made sure she could see the TV. She used a length of rope to tie her wrists together behind her back, then tied her ankles to the legs of the couch. It was awkward. She had to do it slowly, testing the knots, making sure she wouldn't be able to slip free.
By the time she was done, she was completely immobilized. Kneeling on the floor, shoulders pulled back, face flushed and mouth gagged and every hole filled.
The TV flickered on. The pre-game show was already running.
She hit record on her phone.
Then the vibrator buzzed to life.
It was remote-controlled. She had the remote in her hand—a small thing, easy to press with a thumb even with her wrists tied—and she turned it to the lowest setting.
The effect was immediate. A low, steady hum pressed against her clit, and Kara moaned against the gag.
Three hours.
She could do this.
The game started.
She watched.
Ty was magnificent.
She'd never really watched football before—hated it, actually, thought it was boring and violent and pointless. But now, watching him move across the screen, she understood why people were obsessed. He was a force of nature. Tall and fast and brutal, catching passes that seemed impossible, spinning out of tackles, making plays that made the announcers lose their minds.
And he was hers.
Well. Sort of.
The vibrator was buzzing between her legs, and she was grinding against it, her whole body moving in small circles that made the plug shift inside her. The gag kept her quiet, muffled her moans, and she could feel drool starting to gather at the corner of her mouth.
She was a mess. A complete mess. And she loved every second of it.
The first quarter ended. The second quarter began.
Her thighs were burning by the halfway point. Her knees ached. The vibrator had been on low for an hour now, and the pressure was building into something that made her whole body shake.
She wanted to come. Needed to come. But she couldn't. Not without permission.
She couldn't ask for permission. Not with the gag in her mouth. Not with the ropes holding her tight.
The third quarter passed. Ty caught a touchdown—a beautiful, impossible catch that made her laugh against the gag. She was so proud of him it hurt.
But she was also hurting. The need was a physical presence, pressing down on her, making her shift and writhe against her bonds. She was sweating. Her whole body was slick with it.
She was so close. So close.
And then, with the game nearly over and the score tied and Ty making a final, desperate drive down the field, the vibrator sputtered.
Battery. It was dying.
Kara sobbed against the gag.
She was so close. The orgasm was right there, right at the edge, and now it was fading, slipping away like water through her fingers. She tried to grind against it, tried to chase it, but the battery was too low. The vibrations were barely a whisper.
She was shaking. Crying. Desperate.
The final whistle blew.
Ty's team had won.
Kara collapsed against the couch, her whole body heaving with exhaustion. She was still tied up. Still gagged. Still aching and unsatisfied and so wet she could feel it running down her thighs.
She couldn't move.
She lay there, trembling, watching the post-game coverage. Ty's face filled the screen—grinning, sweaty, victorious. He was holding a microphone and saying something about how they'd pulled it off, how it was a team effort, how—
And then he looked at the camera. Right at the camera.
And he winked.
"Hope you got that video," he said. "I'm ready."
Kara laughed against the gag.
She had to get untied. She had to send him the video. But her hands were bound behind her back, and she couldn't reach the knot, and—
It took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of twisting and squirming and panting, and by the time she finally worked the ropes loose from her wrists, she was so tired she could have cried.
She untied her ankles. Pulled out the vibrator. The plug. The gag.
She was naked and shaking and covered in sweat and she smelled like sex and need and something else she couldn't name.
She picked up her phone. Stopped the recording.
She watched it. The whole thing. Three hours of her, bound and gagged, watching football. Every moan. Every desperate grind. Every moment of her coming apart on the couch while he was across the country catching touchdowns.
Her face was burning. Her pussy was still aching.
She sent it to him.
Then she curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and waited.
His reply came two minutes later.
That's my good girl. My perfect, desperate, beautiful girl. I watched every second. Now I'm going to watch it again in the shower. I'll call you tonight.
Kara smiled. A small, tired, satisfied smile.
Then she went to take a bath.
She was asleep by the time his call came. But she woke up to the sound of her phone buzzing and saw his name on the screen, and she answered with a voice that was still raw from the gag.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself." His voice was warm, was tired, was happy. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got run over by a truck."
"You did. Well—sort of." She could hear the grin in his voice. "You did amazing. You know that, right?"
"I just watched football. It's not that hard."
"Bullshit. You did it for three hours. Tied up. Gagged. With a plug up your ass. That's not nothing."
Kara laughed. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm right." He paused. "We won."
"I saw."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"The game or—"
"Both."
"Yes. On both counts."
"Good." She heard him shifting, heard what sounded like sheets. He was in a hotel room somewhere. "I've watched the video three times."
"Three times?"
"What? You're hot." He was grinning. "I told you I would."
"You're insane."
"You like it."
She did. She really did.
They talked for a while. About nothing. About the game and the flyover and the way her squadron mates were going to lose their minds when they found out she was dating a football player.
"Dating?" Ty asked. "Is that what we're doing?"
Kara's cheeks flushed. "I don't know. Maybe. What do you think?"
"I think I want to see you again. As soon as possible. When are you free?"
She thought about it. "I've got a few days off next week."
"I'll book a flight."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
They said goodnight. After they hung up, Kara lay in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling.
She was dating Ty Brooks. The NFL star. The playboy. The man who'd just fucked her brains out and then given her the most intense sexual experience of her life.
And she was smiling.
She didn't know where this was going. She didn't know if it would last. But for the first time in years, she didn't care about the future. She just cared about now.
She reached up and touched the little paper airplane around her neck.
Then she closed her eyes and slept.
And dreamed of flying.