Reunited in Ropes: Her Long-Distance Dom's Return

Simone had scrubbed her apartment twice, rearranged the throw pillows three times, and still couldn’t stop pacing the living room like a caged animal who’d mainlined espresso. Twenty-eight, software engineer by day, secretly filthy masochist by every other hour, and for two solid years her entire sex life had lived inside a glowing rectangle. Callum—tall, sarcastic, thirty-two, and the absolute dictator of her offline fantasies—was finally on the right side of an ocean. His overseas contract had ended. The duffel bag of rope was real. Her knees already felt unreliable.

The knock came exactly when he’d promised. She yanked the door open too fast and there he stood, filling the frame like he’d been custom-built to mock her ceiling height. Dark hair a little longer than the last video call, that same crooked smirk that always made her want to both slap him and drop to the floor. The olive duffel hung off one broad shoulder, soft and ominous.

“Christ, you’re shorter in person,” Callum said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “All those cam angles lied. I thought I was topping a statuesque goddess. Turns out I’ve been edging a very eager hobbit with excellent posture.”

Simone shut the door, pulse hammering everywhere. “You’re an asshole.”