Page 35 of Wicked Empire


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“Do what?”

“Sneak in and watch me.”

“Maybe you’re just always distracted, completely unaware of your surroundings.”

He has me there. “You’re home early again. It’s not like you.”

His gaze travels over me, lingering and knowing. “I thought of something.”

“What?”

From his coat pocket, he produces four thin ropes, each about a foot long. “Come.”

I track him with my eyes as he moves to the kitchen. My already racing heart drums even faster as I watch him grab one of the barstools and spin it around.

“Come here, Andie.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

I go to him, hesitantly.

“Straddle it.” He motions to the stool. When I don’t immediately move, he adds in a gravelly voice, “I’m not going to hurt you, Andie. But I want you to do this.”

The heat in his eyes and the bulge in his pants tell me how aroused he is by the very thought of me doing obeying. Straddling it so he can tie me up. It’s another one of his sexual fantasies he wants me to fulfill.

It takes me a few moments to comply. I stare at it, imagining what he has in mind for me with this barstool and those ropes. When I do, I’m shaking.

He’s not going to murder you. Too many people now know you’re here.

But I’m not sure how he’s going to fuck me either. I’m fully dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. And in the position I’m getting into, with my chest against the backrest and my core pressed into the seat, it doesn’t seem possible.

“Like this?” I ask him, nervous.

“Just one more thing.” He steps behind me, grabs my hips and tugs me back so that my ass is slightly off the seat. “Like this.”

Now, he moves to the front and takes both my wrists, tying them together with the first rope. When I wince as it digs into my skin, he makes it tighter.

After that, he crouches and affixes my right ankle to the foot rest, then the left, just as tight, so that when I shift even a little, it causes a stinging friction. I suppose that’s the point, to keep me completely still.

He circles me like a predator would it’s captured pray. Or perhaps, a hunter and his trapped catch. That’s when I notice it, the gleaming blade in his hand. Shiny like a mirror, I see myself reflected in it, all tied up and vulnerable.

Where the hell did he even have that?!

Hardly able to breathe and scared shitless now, I say, “You said you weren’t going to hurt me.”

“I’m not.”

But I don’t believe him, and I don’t believe I was stupid enough to do this.

When he walks around to the back, I begin to tug at the ropes in earnest. When I feel the blade slide between my skin and my jeans, I scream, “Don’t do this!”

“Shh. Easy, Andie. Don’t move or you’ll get cut.”

I stop, my heart in my throat. The coolness of the knife leaves my skin a split second before I hear the tearing of fabric. Suddenly, the knife is gone and it’s his hands pulling the back of my jeans apart, tearing them at the seam all the way to my crotch. He’s exposed me fully, my butt cheeks splayed open from the position I’m in, my entrance accessible. With the flat part of the blade, he pats my cunt, and I inhale sharply.

It shouldn’t be a turn-on, having my clit touched like this, but my body responds as if it’s foreplay. Tiny little slaps that get stickier the hotter I get. The wetter.

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