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“What? Unlike you, I’ve got no shame, bro. My woman is kinky as shit, and I am not above waxing poetic about the wonders of the prostate.”
“You’re bent.” Gibson said it with conviction but then smiled. Leave it to his friends to make this seem like a perfectly normal Friday night. Plus, they’d successfully distracted him from his physical state.
“I am. Now let’s get on with this kidnapping. I’m developing Stockholm syndrome with my captive.”
“That’s for the captive to develop, dumbass,” Gibson said.
“Shut up, oh captive my captive.”
The guys guided him to the garage and helped him into the backseat of his SUV. Sitting with the plug made him doubly aware of its presence, but he tried not to squirm and make it obvious. One of the guys pulled a seat belt into place over his chest.
“All set.” Foster said as he snapped the buckle in place. “We’re going to follow y’all there.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked us for help, and Sam may need us to subdue you if you panic and try to fight. In fact, I think Pike’s kind of hoping he gets to take you down.”
“Word,” Pike said from somewhere in the garage. “Let’s do this!”
Gibson imagined Pike hopping from foot to foot and punching the air like a boxer about to go in the ring.
“Y’all don’t have to follow. I’m not fighting this.”
“Yet,” Foster said, that dominant edge coming into his tone. The guy never hid that for long. It seemed to be part of his DNA. “We’re joking around right now, but this is serious shit, Gib. You don’t know how you’re going to react when she pushes you past a boundary you’ve never crossed. Sam’s not messing around. I know what she has planned, and it’s . . . going to be hard for you.”
Just that quick, anxiety banged around in his gut again, a thousand thrashing wings. When he swallowed, it was like glass caught in this throat. “I . . . trust Sam. I want this. Her.”
“I know.” He could feel Foster considering him. “But we need to follow you.”
Frustration flared. “I told you I’m good.”
“Your fists are clenched, your shoulders are stiff, and your pulse is beating so hard at your throat that you look like you swallowed a hummingbird. You’re not fine, Gib. And that’s okay.”
“Don’t you dare pull out that sub-whisperer shit on me, man.”
Foster gave his shoulder another pat. “We made you a promise. We won’t back out of that. You’ll thank us later.”
With that, he was gone, and the door slammed shut. Murmured voices sounded outside as Sam came back and conferred with the guys. Gibson fumed in the backseat. He loved his friends, but sometimes he wanted to throttle them. And being left out of the rest of the conversation just pissed him off.
He was working himself up into a good righteous anger when the plug in his ass jolted to a powerful setting. He groaned, and his head fell back against the seat. “Fuck.”
Sam has a remote.
A door opened. “Being a good boy in there?”
Her voice was candy laced with razor blades.
“Just peachy, mistress.”
“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, sugar,” she said, dialing up that wicked Southern. “Keep it in check or I’ll make sure you make a big ol’ mess in your nice clean car, mmkay?”
He grunted and clamped his teeth together. The vibration eased up.
This was going to be a long damn drive.
* * *
Sam didn’t know whether she was going to throw up from nerves or lose her mind from the rush. Gibson was in the backseat, eyes closed, face deceivingly stoic, mouth shut. She’d taken off the blindfold and cuffs and had given him a T-shirt to wear. As much as having the man bound and half-naked in the backseat would’ve been a turn-on, she didn’t want to put him at any risk of being seen by a passerby. And God forbid they got in an accident. She wouldn’t want him cuffed and unable to help himself. But he was bound just the same by her words, and somehow, that was even hotter.
