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Because, as tempting as it was, he didn’t dare leave Callie ungagged. While she seemed to have accepted her lot, adding other people into the mix was a very risky proposition. Why give her the temptation to speak out of turn? No. It was much safer to keep her mouth forcibly shut in the presence of others.
“Klebeband,” Greta said incomprehensibly, frowning with evident disapproval.
“What’s that?” Damon asked. Why couldn’t the damn woman speak English? Or, better yet, keep her fucking mouth shut?
“Duct tape,” Wolf supplied, also staring at Callie’s face. “Greta doesn’t like gags. Especially duct tape.”
Who gives a fuck what she likes? If she were mine, I’d keep her gagged all the time, on principle.
He placed his hand on Callie’s shoulder. “Callie loves them. Especially duct tape. Don’t you, baby?”
Callie lifted her head, her eyes flickering toward the couple. For one heart-stopping second, he thought she was going to do something stupid. He dug his fingers warningly into her shoulder, willing her to behave. Had this been a mistake?
Slowly, she nodded, her gaze now on the floor where it belonged.
Damon blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He patted her head and flashed his brightest smile. “Would you care for a drink? I have an excellent single malt, if you like Scotch.”
“I’m sorry?” Wolf asked, looking confused. “We’re going to scene, yes?”
“Well, yeah,” Damon replied, not understanding.
“Alcohol and BDSM don’t mix,” Wolf said censoriously.
“Oh, right,” Damon pretended to agree. One fucking drink? But okay, whatever. He forced another smile. “Not a problem. How about some sparkling water?”
Wolf glanced at Greta. “Bist du durstig, meine Liebe?”
“Nein, danke.”
“We’re good,” Wolf said. He glanced around the room. “You have a play room here? A dungeon?”
“Naturally,” Damon said smoothly. “I can see you’re ready to play, so how about we get this party started?”
“Excellent,” Wolf agreed.
Damon rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t wait to put Callie through her paces. Bending down, he tapped her shoulder. “Up you go. Our guests are ready to play.”Chapter 19Callie’s mind raced a mile a minute. This was it. This was her chance! Hope roared through her like a freight train. At the same time, she had no idea how she was going to communicate, with her mouth taped shut and her wrists cuffed behind her back. Not to mention, Damon was right there, watching her like a hawk.
Still, even cuffed and gagged as she was, there had to be something she could do. Damon had been hinting recently that he was going to get rid of her soon. Whatever that entailed, it couldn’t be good. This might be her last chance to escape.
If even the slightest opportunity presented itself, she had to seize it, no matter the risk.
The four of them moved up the spiral staircase. Damon had the couple go first. He trailed behind, his hand firmly on the back of Callie’s neck as he marched her up the stairs.
“Very nice,” the man called Wolf said when he got to the top.
Damon stepped beside him, his hand still firmly on the back of Callie’s neck. He shrugged. “It’s just a makeshift setup, but it will do. I thought we could start with a nice caning. Callie adores being caned.” He turned to smile at her. “Don’t you, darling?”
Darling?
Callie bristled internally at the false endearment. She almost preferred his usual nasty slurs. At least they were sincere.
He squeezed her neck warningly until she nodded her pretend agreement.
“Greta, too, loves the cane,” Wolf said, setting his gear bag down. He unzipped it and pulled out a long, thin cane. It was held together at the center with what looked like masking tape.
“Whoa,” Damon said. “Looks like you need a new cane. Did you break that on her ass?”
Both Greta and Wolf grinned. “I did,” he agreed. “We have several other canes, but this is her favorite, so I taped it up for her. She says this one has the perfect combination of thud and sting. Sends her right to the clouds.”
“Cool,” Damon replied.
Callie had read about the concept of flying—that altered state a sub could achieve when the erotic torture was just right. But with Damon, the closest she could get was her mental escape. There was nothing erotic about it.
“This custom-made portable cross has straps on both sides,” Damon said, moving closer to stroke its polished wood. “We can put them on either side facing each other.”
“Sounds good,” Wolf agreed. He turned to his partner. “Take off the dress, Liebling.”
“Ja, mein Herr.” Greta reached for the zippers on either side of her skimpy dress and tugged them down. Lifting the dress over her head, she dropped it to the carpet without a trace of self-consciousness. Her breasts were large compared to her small, compact frame. Her mons was shaved, a tattoo of a bright red heart directly above the cleft.
