Page 42

This room is not only a bedroom. I take it in as if I’m seeing it for the first time. The headboard is wrought iron, heavy, bolted to the wall at points that have nothing to do with aesthetics. There are rings set into the frame at intervals—discreet, blackened so they don't catch light, the kind of detail you don't notice until you're looking for it and then you can’t stop seeing it. The bed itself is low and wide, the frame solid enough that I understand immediately it was chosen for exactly this.

He walks the perimeter of the room without hurrying. I watch him because there is nothing else to do and I’m trying to hide the way I’m trembling in fear.

There’s a cabinet against the far wall, dark wood.

He opens it. Inside are coiled rope, already cut into lengths, a spreader bar, compact and adjustable, and black silk restraints, neatly folded. He considers them the way another man might consider a wine list.

He selects the rope. He likes it. I get the feeling he’s very comfortable with that rope.

When he comes back to the bed, he doesn’t explain himself. He crouches at the footboard, loops the rope around my left ankle, then my right, and threads the end through a ring I hadn't noticed, set low into the bed frame near the floor. He pulls. My legs go wide and are held there, and I feel the stretch in my hips and the cold air.

I can’t close my legs, and he hasn’t even looked at my face yet.

My heart beats so fast I’m nauseated. I thought I was vulnerable in the cell. This is a whole other level of exposure.

He ties off the knots, stands, and finally looks at me.

I am spread open on the bed, my wrists above my head and my ankles fixed to the frame. I am furious and terrified.

“Well,” I say. My voice comes out even. I am unreasonably proud of that. “Now what?”

I remember what he said.

“Strap you down. Wrists to the posts, ankles spread wide at the end of the bed…”

“Christ, woman,” he growls, staring at me. “You're fuckin’ soaked.” His eyes meet mine, and a corner of his mouth quirks up. “You dirty little fucking whore.”

I growl. He grins at me, a slow, lazy grin that makes him look even more menacing, before he reaches for a piece of the ripped clothes.

“Oh, is that right? Gag me, Torin. Make me behave, is it? Right, then.”

I move my head, but it's useless, of course. He ties my ripped clothing around my mouth and knots it at the back.

I stare at him. The salty taste of him is still on my tongue, with the memory of warm metal. Now the scent of my own arousal fills my nostrils. It's so fucking dirty, and I am so fucking turned on.

Then he's kneeling, his huge inked shoulders shadowing half the goddamn bed. He bends his mouth to my pussy, sighs, and inhales deeply. “Fuckin' hell, woman,” he says. “You smell so goddamn good.”

When he kisses my thigh, I jerk my hips, and his mouth touches the most sensitive part of the skin between my legs. His eyes bore into mine as he drags the flat of his tongue up and down my inner thigh. My clit throbs. My pussy aches. I'm already dying for release, but he only licks my thigh, his hands gripping each of my ass cheeks, spreading me wide.

Then I feel warm pressure at my asshole. Oh god. What is he doing?

He holds my ass open and slides his thumb into my pussy. I am so full, and my clit is throbbing. I can’t think beyond every nerve center in my body pulsing beneath his breath. He presses his mouth to me and gives me one long, lazy, perfect lick with his tongue.

One. Just one. I want more, Torin.

My wrists tug at the restraints, and his eyes meet mine. He lifts his head. “Tell me who's the one in charge.”

I shake my head.

The warmth of his dark chuckle vibrates between my thighs. He moves his mouth to my right leg and drags his tongue along the inside of my thigh.

I want pressure. I want release. I want the perfect warmth of his wet heat against my clit. He hovers just where I want him and breathes on me. I gasp. He bends again and gives one long, lazy lick, then suckles my clit between his lips. I cry out, and my hips jerk up off the bed.

I want this so goddamn bad. He licks me and takes his time, his thick thumb pressed deep into my pussy. When he finds my G-spot, I almost come apart right then.

Then he takes his mouth off me and removes his thumb so only the very tip of it remains inside me. “Who's the one in charge here, Valentina? Who's the good girl? Tell me, you filthy little slut. Tell me, or I'll keep this up all fucking night. I don't have a timetable, love.”

I shake my head.