I try to speak but my mouth has gone inexplicably dry. I lick my lips as I watch Aamon lower himself into the throne. “What kind of game?” I whisper.
Quinn runs the back of his hand up my bare shoulder, into my hair, and tucks the loose strands behind my ear to give himself access to it. “Remember how our boy likes to watch?”
There he goes again.Our boy.
I nod, painfully aware of every slight movement Quinn is making behind me. And of how Aamon is tracking each and every one with his dark, sinister eyes. My breath hitches as Quinn’s hands wrap around both of my wrists and tugs them behind my back, forcing my chest out.
“Stay here,” he commands with a quiet authority. I obey without even trying and he’s gone a moment later. I breathe deeply, trying to get my bearings. The courage I’d felt withinthe sea of bodies and blaring music is quickly depleting, now that we're alone, surrounded by all the unfamiliar tools and toys.
He returns so quickly that I barely have more than a heartbeat to force breath into my lungs. He grips my wrists once more—firm but tender. Then something rough touches my skin, making me jump. I try to turn around to see what he's doing, but Quinn holds me in place.
“So distrusting, aren’t we?” he tsks. “We’re going to have to work on that, Angel.” He pauses though, removing the rough material—rope, I believe. “Let’s try this again. Do you trust me, Evangeline?”
I nod, closing my eyes to push out the fear slowly suffocating me.
“Do you know that I would never do anything to hurt you?” He leans in, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. “That is, unless you ask me to.”
I let out a slow, shaky breath and nod again.
“Good. You’re safe here. Tonight is for celebrating you. For celebratingthis.Now are you ready to relax and let me wrap you up like a present for our boy here?”
I nod a third time, somehow still failing to find my own voice. “Words,” Aamon calls out from across the room. His elbow is perched precariously on the side of the throne, his chin resting on his thumb as his fingers stroke idly at his jaw line. There’s a flash of his pearly fangs. I lick my lips in response to the sight of him, wanting nothing more thanto trace the path his fingers are drawing with my lips. “Use them or you’ll be punished for disobeying, Evangeline.”
“I thought—” I croak out, my throat scratchy from an unquenchable thirst. “I thought you said this was my gift. Not Aamon’s.”
Both males pause, startled by my sarcastic response. Quinn’s the first to laugh. He releases his grip on my wrist to reach down and smack my ass. “I think you’ll do just fine tonight.”
I allow myself to laugh along with them, even though the nerves in my gut are not easing up. “I trust you,” I say when their laughter fades. “Both of you. And I know you’ll do nothing to hurt me.”
A matter of days ago, I would have sworn Aamon wanted me dead. Would quite possibly even volunteer to do so with his own hands. But I’ve seen the way he looks at me. The tenderness in his touch and the intent in his eyes. And for that, I’m helpless.
I push my shoulders back, making my decision. I offer Quinn my wrists, and without hesitation, he brings the rope to my skin and begins binding my arms behind my back. He starts at the base of my palms, working knots up my forearms till he’s at my elbows, then feeds the rope between them to work his way back down to my wrists.
He takes his time, kneeling behind me to study each knot. He's meticulous with his handiwork, adding to the entanglement, testing and adjusting as he goes. Aamon doesn’ttake his eyes off me the whole time. I force myself to hold his gaze. To show him that, despite my nerves, I’m ready for this.
Aamon has the audacity to chuckle softly, shaking his head. Like I’m nothing more than foolish prey walking into his snare freely. It sends a chill down my spine, a seed of doubt creeping its way into my mind. But I hold strong, taking a deep breath through my nose and refusing to back down.
He pulls his mask from somewhere at his side, lifting it slowly to his face and sliding it into place just as Quinn rises to his feet. I'm no longer looking into the eyes of Aamon, the male that has folded for me, bonded to me, saved me. I am looking into the hollow, sunken eye sockets of something akin to an ancient deity. Of the right hand of the Blood Order commander. Son of the Arcane-touched Alpha, and one of the most powerful vampires in our city.
The weight of that reality goes straight to my clit.
Quinn fastens one last set of knots, making my elbows touch and my shoulders ache with the tension of being pulled behind me, before scooping me up into his arms. He carries me over to the side of the bed, incapable of taking his eyes off of me.
He looks absolutely ravenous, but he doesn’t do anything more than look as he deposits me on the bed and situates me so I'm on my knees in the silky sheets, with Aamon dead ahead of me. He tosses a length ofrope over the top of the bedframe, letting it cascade down the other side of the crossbar so that it dangles in front of my view.
I try to shift, to adjust to the awkwardness of this position, but it’s not till Quinn gathers the rope and holds the slack taut that I realize it’s connected to the restraints at my back. With the lack of give in the rope, I can barely move from the position he’s set me in.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Angel,” he growls. And I can practically hear his desire. Reflexively, my eyes dart down to observe the length of him protesting against the faded denim of his jeans. My mouth waters, wishing more than anything I had the freedom to reach out and feel him right now.
Quinn follows my line of sight, a smirk settling on his lips. “Naughty girl,” he hums. It’s the only warning I get before he pulls on the rope and sends my world off kilter. My shoulders protest at the obscene angle they're being forced into, my forehead bouncing briefly off the silky sheets as my body is forced down into a deeper position.
“You might get to play with me later, if you behave. But right now your attention is due on Aamon. Bow before him and give him the reverence he deserves.”
I crank my neck back to look up at Aamon, shifting my weight from knee to knee as I search for any opportunity to relax into this position. But Quinn holds strong so all I can do is suck down breaths to calm the adrenaline rushing through my system.
Quinn called this a game. He made sure to communicate to me that I was safe here, that he wouldn’t push me too far. And I agreed. So all that’s left for me to do is play. A thought forms in my mind, a flash of the phrase Quinn used when we were dancing in the bar. When Aamon had ordered him to lead us here. I muster up as much courage as I can find, letting the phrase roll over my tongue a few times before I find the ability to say it out loud.
“Yes, sir.” I bow my head to the male sitting on his throne before me, pouring as much reverence into those two words as I can. I can’t see him anymore, but I can hear him readjust in his seat as a grin slips across my lips.
