Page 10 of Boneyard HEA

“Thank you, Tomás,” Loxland murmurs. He stands and approaches me, stops where he can still see everything. “I think you will suit me. Say, thank you.”

I hesitate. Words mean a lot. Surrendering my body is one thing but this?

It’s worth it, isn’t it?

“Thank you, Mr. Loxland? Aaron?”

“Mr. Loxland is good. So were you.”

Am I breathing hard? Am I ridiculously turned on?

I lick across the seam of my lips.

If this arouses me, I’m programmed badly, and yet I am, and if he looks closely, he’ll know.

“You can…” I clear my throat. “Let me go now?”

“Fuck no. We’re not done with you.”

“We?” Tomás says, almost purring.

“I’ll share her a little with you. Maybe. Maybe sometimes.” He’s taunting Tomás. Or me. Both really. “If you want her?”

Fuck. Asshole. How did I not see him as a total dick when he taught us that time? Maybe because his surfer blond hair blinded me to his dickheadedness?

Tomás doesn’t reply, but Loxland beams down at me as if I’m a Christmas present he just unwrapped.

“I have suggestions. Many suggestions.” The belt is still loose, but Tomás returns his hand to my neck. “Her clothes for starters. She’s not naked enough.”

“Mmmm.” He flicks a finger, saying yes.

I hold my breath and try not to move as the back of the knife blade kisses my shoulder. It’s slid along, cutting away my top and my bra. He gathers the sides and does the same. His moves are efficient, ruthless even.

I test the cuffs. Maybe I’m hoping I can wriggle free, that they’re loose or something, but I cannot budge them. Unbreakable metal circles my wrists.

And as I give in to where I am and how helpless I am, a tendril of sensation uncurls from deep within, and whispers of animalistic needs. I squirm on the seat of the chair even as Tomás throws aside my clothes.

They can’t have seen that minute body betrayal.

Only my skirt remains.

Fuck, though. I am getting such a rush from this.

Loxland moves in to stand between my legs. His jeans brush my skin and I’m transfixed, wanting yet dreading what might come next. As a shiver runs through me, I dare to meet his eyes.

“What a pretty little victim. How many ways can we use you?” He goes to one knee then places his hands on my upper thighs, and begins to stroke my skin with his thumbs. They’re mere inches from my pussy, and my clit was already rising and now, with him doing that?

Not fair.

I try not to watch how he’s slowly caressing me, try to keep my breathing steady. It’s as if he’s daring me to say something.

My thigh muscles tense, and I resist the urge to arch and push myself at him. I swallow, annoyed at myself, and one corner of his mouth curves upward.

“Wait.” This comes out as a whisper, so I try again, croaking out, “Wait. Please.”

His hands still, leaving me aching. “Yes?”

“Um. I need to know.” This is a delaying tactic, but I’m scrambling. The unknown is frightening. “How. How are you going to help me find them, the other men? That’s real?”