Page 77 of Breathe Like Hell

Memories of Mason and our video came rushing back, sending an ashamed flush crawling across my chest and up my throat.

“You know you’re breaking my heart, baby girl,” Micah said.

“What?” I breathed, nervousness quickening my pulse.

He ignored me.

I stared up at him, tracing all the daunting lines of his face—his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, his determined eyebrows—while he focused on immobilizing me, forming careful loops and practiced knots. He was so efficient with his rope, so effortlessly skillful. My body was still heavy with sleep, but I was squirming more by the second, a relentless throb beginning between my thighs.

The look in his eye was so brutal, so depraved, it threaded itself into the deepest part of my psyche. The part where I wanted nothing more than to be completely and wholly owned by him, possessed by him, shaped in his strong hands.

Each shaky inhale was laced with pine, the scent traveling deep into my lungs, kindling the low flame I’d always burn for him.

Take me apart.

Break me in a way only you can fix.

Once satisfied with my restraints, Micah sat back on the mattress, taking off his belt and unbuttoning his dress shirt, tugging it free of his waistband then shrugging it off his broad shoulders. The smooth slide of the leather had me sweating, the soft rustling of expensive cotton stirring sinful thoughts in my brain. He hadn’t even touched me, not any more than was needed to remove the comforter and tie my wrists, but I was already trembling.

I weakly tugged at my restraints, feeling the braided rope on my wrists tighten and hold me firmly. My cheeks blushed pink as I watched him undress.

The darkness in the bedroom obscured Micah’s face just enough that I couldn’t immediately tell what his intentions were with me now, and his voice hadn’t given much away either. It was disorienting.

Usually, he studied me. Cataloged my every minute reaction to him.

But that wasn’t the case tonight.

He was beyond inspection.

The corner of his mouth twitched, like his hunger had risen too close to the surface, and he was frustrated with it.

“Micah,” I said again.

Again, he didn’t answer, choosing instead to stand up and take off his pants, then his undershirt, revealing a sculpted chest and a trim waist and powerful thighs. My heartbeat was fluttering violently, my breath stalling in my lungs as my eyes widened with both nervousness and my own hunger—which complemented his.

If he wanted to claim, I wanted to be claimed. If he wanted to cut, I wanted to bleed.

In the absence of his presence directly above me, I could feel the cool air drifting over my naked skin, little shivers skittering through my limbs. I liked knowing I was tied up, completely at his mercy, a sacrifice on his altar, not given a choice to refuse anything he wanted to do to me.

If he’s planning on doing anything at all.

My nipples pulled tight, arousal racing up my spine and blooming under my ribs, pooling behind my hips.

His eyes skimmed the length of my bare body stretched out on his bed, moonlight outlining the side of his figure. The thick ridge of his cock was clearly visible in his boxers.

I bit my lower lip to keep from whimpering.

I’d known he was going to be mad getting home from the moment Mason sent him that picture earlier, and then even more mad about the subsequent video, but I’d expected simple agitation or distance.

Not this.

“Did you like making that little video in my bed?” Micah questioned, finally joining me on the bed again, crawling over me. I shrank back into the pillow as he covered my body with his shadow, trapping me below him. A cage of cruel tenderness.

Yes? No?

“I don’t know,” I whispered. There were no safe answers here.

“I bet you thought that was his idea,” Micah said, his voice low in my ear. His lips skimmed my jaw, then down the side of my throat. My skin was buzzing, humming like a live wire.