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Something about this moment has me feeling more alive than ever before. My skin is tingling, my nipples pricked, my pulse is pounding between my legs. Seeing the raw desire in his heated gaze, hearing his brazen words of want and need has sparked something to life inside me.
I may have traveled the country for the last four years, unprotected except for Tater, but I’ve never considered myself courageous before. I feel brave now, though.
Sylas’s lust is barely leashed. He himself admitted he’s never been this far gone before. He can’t offer me reassurances because he has none to give.
“I don’t want to tie you up.” To punctuate my remark, I thrust my chin at him as though it’s a punch to the gut. “I want you to rip my clothes off and pound and bugle and yes… take.”
I stab him with my stare, a challenge.
He rears his head back, his eyes rounding so wide that white shows all the way around his irises.
“You’re crazy, Cally. Impulsive. You don’t know what you’re asking for. If you lived inside my skin, felt half of what I’m feeling right now, you wouldn’t say that, wouldn’t even be standing there. You would be running out the door and heading west to beg for help from the soldiers guarding the reject barracks.”
He’s haplessly trying to bind his wrists together.
“That won’t work, you know.”
“Fuck! Help me.” He gives me a pleading look, desperate as he shoves his wrists toward me, the rope in one of his fists. “Please. Goading me to do what every primal urge in my body is screaming for isn’t helping my self-control.”
If he didn’t look so frantic, I would keep advancing, keep encouraging him to do what his biology is demanding. But he’s terrified. I change tactics.
Reaching out for the rope, so he knows my intent, I approach him, unbind the botched job he’s made of it, and make a tight knot around his left wrist using the technique he taught me last night. I fasten it to the metal leg on his side of the bed. Using another piece of rope, I do the same with his left leg. Instead of being four-pointed, he’s in two-point restraints.
“We can work with this.” My voice is reassuring, as I nod slowly to convince not only him, but myself.
“We’re going to do things, Sylas. If I don’t like it, I can back away and leave you. This will work.” Although I sound confident, I picture him using his powerful free hand to grip me hard enough to keep me from scooting away. I trust in his humanity enough to have faith that he’ll never cause me harm. I just have to convince him of that.
“Besides, don’t underestimate Tater. He may have switched his allegiance from me to you as his pack leader, but he’d never let you hurt me.
This, more than anything else I’ve said or done, seems to placate him. His muscles stand down, although he remains wary.
“Okay. You’ve got me half tied up. Now what?”
Never before in my life have I felt so much like a Disney villain. I don’t even hide the evil smile curling my lips.
“You tell me, Sylas.” My voice has never been this low before, this… seductive.
He exhales a long, steady stream as his umber eyes light with excitement. He may have fought this attraction with all his might, but now that we’ve turned a corner, now that he believes he’s no longer a threat to me, he’s holding nothing back.
“Strip.” His pleading tone, his desperation, has disappeared. This is the voice of a male who knows exactly what he wants, which is to be completely in charge—ropes or not.
When I grip the hem of my t-shirt and start to rip it over my head, he makes a sound from the back of his throat—half grunt, half warning growl. “Strip for me, Cally. Strip for a male who’s half insane with lust for you. Strip for a male who’s never been within a thousand feet of a female until I met you. Make my wait worth it.”
That noise he made a moment ago? The one I thought he was only capable of because he had animal DNA racing through his veins? Somehow the same sound escapes from my mouth, which is dry from wanting him. From sheer lust.
I turn my back on him, partly to start the show, partly to tease him, because I hunger to hear that desperate noise from him again. Then I swing my hips and slowly, teasingly, pull the red material up and off my body, knowing I’ve given him nothing to look at but the stripe of my bra strap.
“Turn around.” His order only makes me want to disobey. Being oppositional is why all my report cards said I could do better, yet I never did.
“No.” I dance and thrust my hips, and when I turn toward him, I keep myself covered with the t-shirt I still hold in my hands. What’s wrong with me that I want to drive him crazy when he’s so close to the edge already? I know. It’s the huge erection tenting his khakis, the way his eyes are so dilated they look otherworldly.
Finally, taking pity on him, I let the t-shirt drop and dance almost close enough for him to lick me if only I hadn’t tied him so well.
“Tell me, Sylas, what do you want now?”
“Naked.” The single word comes out so low and gravelly that if I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d been screaming for a week.
I reach behind my back, making certain to flaunt my breasts, and unclasp my bra, letting it flutter to the floor. We both watch, mesmerized as my nipples harden before our eyes.
