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“So could you, for that matter,” he replied, blue eyes somber. “No one is using silver.”
I flinched a little at the memory of the silver bands that had turned my skin black and made me into Marquise and Scourge’s unwilling and helpless toy.
“You know you want to.”
“I don’t know that,” I nearly snapped. Though I was tempted. Very tempted.
“I’ll give you dispensation.”
“What kind of dispensation?”
“You can touch me however you like, do whatever you like to me, without forfeiting any of your rules. Indulge yourself with no fear of pregnancy.”
Did I mention tempting?
“Come tie me up and have your way with me. It’ll be fun.”
“I’m not here to have fun,” I countered, but I did drift over to the bed and fingered one of the ribbons.
“Fun is part of being alive, serious Gwynn. If you’re not having fun, you might as well be dead.”
“Easily said by an immortal.”
He just wiggled his bare foot at me, invitingly. Hmm. So, I looped the long ribbon around his narrow ankle, wrapping it around a few times and tying the ends together in a bow.
“Tighter than that.”
“Really?”
His blue eyes had deepened with arousal, putting a lie to the playfulness of his game. “You don’t want me to get away, do you?”
Now, while I’d had a reasonably eclectic liberal arts education, it had never involved the finer points of rope tying. And they only taught the Boy Scouts things like knots. In Girl Scouts we embroidered pillows or decoupaged magazine pictures onto cuts of wood. You know—life skills.
“Tie me tight. Make me your captive.” His voice became a hypnotic murmur, burning in my blood.
I experimented, rewrapping his ankle, the dark green silk vivid against his golden skin. I didn’t want to restrict the blood flow to his foot—since he had a heart and other bodily fluids, I presumed he had blood—so I needed to strike a balance. At last, satisfied with my knot, I moved to the other foot, stretching his legs wide to give myself enough ribbon to tie with.
With a bit more trepidation, I approached the head of the bed to tie his right wrist. Rogue rolled his head on the pillow, gloss-black hair streaming beneath him, and watched me with fulminous eyes under heavy lids. Desire burned through him so hot and sweet I nearly tasted it in the air. When I finished with the other wrist, pulling his body taut between the four posts, he hummed deep in his throat, transported.
“Now what?” My voice came out in a hoarse whisper.
“Whatever you want, fierce Gwynn.”
“You don’t have any limitations you want to put on me?”
He shook his head, holding my gaze. “I trust you. Whatever you wish. No repercussions. I won’t attempt to free myself. Until dawn,” he added and I laughed.
“There we are.”
“Wouldn’t want you to give me the slip.”
“Like you couldn’t find me anywhere.” I trailed a finger down the bare skin exposed by his open shirt and he didn’t reply. Not that it had been a question. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
They vanished and he was naked. Like a schoolgirl, I gasped. I couldn’t possibly be blushing, but my cheeks felt hot. Thankfully, he didn’t tease me for it. Just lay still, a bounty of male beauty spread before me to do whatever I liked with.
And it wasn’t even my birthday.
Actually—it could have been. I was born in late August and so the season would match. Disorientation washed over me. I might never again know when my birthday was. Why it was that these small things—the ordinary milestones of life, the aching guilt that I’d left Isabel behind, that she’d never understand why I abandoned her—these were the wounds that continued to bleed. Just when I thought they’d scabbed over, something would carelessly rub against them, sending fresh sparks of pain through my system.
