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“There’s only one way to find out,” he mutters, his breath warm against my ear, making my skin tingle.
Cold panic explodes through my chest, turning my veins into ice. With a strangled scream, I force my fingers to flip the knife, turning its blade toward the ropes.
My backyard lights system streams in through the window,glinting on Xero’s gun. Ignoring the impending threat, I slice into the stubborn rope.
“Ten,” he says, his artificially darkened eyes tracking my every move, his touch lingering on my arm, infusing me with a rush of heat.
My heart skips a beat. I make a sawing motion between my ankles, feeling the ropes give. I would stick that knife into his hand, but that would ruin the game. It would also incite his anger. I don’t want Angry Xero, even if he makes me wet.
“Nine.”
“I’m trying,” I scream and quicken my pace, his fingers trailing down my back, making my skin burn with desire.
The bastard rocks forward, his thick erection pressing into the fabric of his pants. For a moment, I’m mesmerized by the outline of his Jacob’s Ladder piercings until I realize they’re just a distraction.
“Eight.”
The rope between my ankles gives way, and my legs flop to the mattress. Circulation returns to my feet with a burst of pins and needles, accompanied by a sharp pain. There’s no time to check if I’ve cut through my skin. My arms are tied behind my back, and the bindings around my wrists will be a bitch.
“Seven.”
“Fuck!”
I roll to the edge of the mattress, swing my legs to the floor, and sit up. The knife remains between my fingers, but the angle of the ropes is impossible. I waste precious seconds fumbling about until the blade finally digs into the rope.
“Six,” Xero says, his hand resting on my thigh, shocking me with a jolt of arousal.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit!
Bending over double, I saw at the ropes, ignoring the burn of my forearm. It’s like every muscle attached to those bones has colluded to give me tennis elbow, tendonitis, and carpal tunnel.
But I keep going to preserve the sanctity of my asshole.
“Five.”
Adrenaline surges through every blood vessel, making my skin tingle. My focus is so amplified that the entire world disappears. It’s just me, the knife, the rope, and the overarching threat of Xero Greaves.
Blood roars between my ears, muffling his accursed countdown. Sweat drenches my brow, trickling down on my thighs, and my entire upper body screams for mercy. I remain bent over, forcing my hands to continue cutting.
He says something, his hand stroking my hair, sending a rush of conflicting sensations through my tingling scalp, but I’m too far gone to decipher even the simplest of words. Each agonizing motion inches me closer to freedom. The rope frays, giving way under the blade.
So.
Fucking.
Close.
The bindings around my wrists releases, letting my arms flop down from their forced position.
“One,” he says.
“Fuck,” I scream.
“Good effort,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear, making my exhausted body shiver with arousal.
