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I’d been naive and foolish, and later, I’d been selfish. My people had paid the price.
This was about more than my love for Lark. I had to stop Razak from ruining lives. He could not be permitted to steal the crowns. My love for Lark, brilliant as it was, and my need to save him, would have to wait.
As dusk swept in off the ocean, I collected my horse and walked it back toward the town. A single swinging lamp illuminated the Overlook Inn’s door, like a beacon in the night.
If Draven wasn’t already inside, he’d be along soon.
Hopefully, he carried with him better news than I. We needed it.
CHAPTER22
Lark
Two daysI’d hung there, like meat.
Bendrik had decided to savor the time we had together. Or he hadn’t yet decided how best to fuck me. Either way, I’d begun to wish he’d get it over with before boredom did me in. Fuck me, cut me, do something. But he’d mostly stared, then stroked his metal tools, and sometimes his cock through his trousers, as though ashamed I might see how all of this aroused him.
I was allowed out of the cuffs two times a day, to clean up and relieve myself, but each time, he’d watched, like an overzealous nurse.
Today, the third day, Bendrik’s return stirred me from a half-sleep, suspended by aching wrists and tingling fingers.
He smirked and made his way over, so pleased with his toy.
He tugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, as was a habit with him, then tossed his flat cap onto the table of tools and ruffled his hair. He returned in good spirits, but his mood would quieten. Then he’d dally over his instruments, gaze at me, get hard, and leave.
The pool steamed behind him, making the air thick with humidity.
“Water?” I croaked.
“Ah, yes. Of course. We can’t have you dehydrated.”
He kept the dungeon stifling. I sweated out any hydration within hours. I wasn’t sure if it was part of his game. Perhaps his blood ran cold. Gods, when would this end?
“You know, I thought you’d be more interested.” He lifted the glass of water to my lips. I guzzled all of it, without stopping to breathe. He might disappear all day again, leaving me gasping like yesterday.
“Interested how?” I asked, after he took the empty glass away.
He set the glass down, then turned and skipped his gaze up my bare chest. The desire in his eyes betrayed all the ways he wanted to indulge, but some kind of barrier was stopping him. It wasn’t fear. He’d tortured people before, of that there was no doubt.
“Oh, you mean my cock?” I smiled. “Perhaps you haven’t provided ample stimulation?”
He smiled back, but there was intrigue in his gaze too. “Razak said you usually respond favorably, eventually.”
Eventually. After he’d had his hand on my cock long enough for me to imagine I was somewhere else, with someone—anyone—else. I responded to Razak because if I didn’t, he wouldn’t stop. Besides, this situation was very different. Bendrik wasn’t Razak. He thought he was, pretended he was, probably got himself off to the thought of fucking my brother, but Razak would never stoop so low as to have this one pleasure him. I knew my brother. He had standards. Bendrik was too desperate, too needy, too far below Razak, intellectually, to be of any interest to him. But he’d have told Bendrik stories of all the ways he’d fucked me, because he’d have known how Bendrik desired me.
Hm, there was an idea.
“Don’t you think these cuffs are unnecessary?” I asked, giving them a rattle.
“I like them.” He studied his table of weapons, deciding which one would cut me the best, only to later change his mind.
“The small one, the paring knife,” I suggested. “Start with that one.”
Startled at my suggestion, he glanced over.
“Easier to wield for delicate work.”
The man was so hard in his pants that a patch of darker black gave away his cock’s need. He picked up the smallest knife and again looked at me. Was he waiting for permission? If delayed gratification was something Bendrik struggled with, I could help him with that, if he let me go.
