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“Define all the way.” There’s darkness in his voice. I can’t, and he knows it. I try to swallow, but I can’t do that either, not past his hold.
I try to look away from Timothy, if only to deny the pleasure I feel seeing him like this, especially with the texts he’s been sending in my mind. But Declan won’t let that happen. He grips my jaw, forcing me to redirect my eyes to him again. At the same time, he reaches into the pocket of my leather jacket, retrieves my phone, and unlocks it.
I don’t even bother to ask how he’s got my PIN. Declan Santori is a resourceful man to say the least. Of course he’d find ways to do that. Hell, I should have even expected it after all those missed calls and texts. One of them even read, ‘I want to know everything that goes on in that beautiful head of yours. I want to be in all of your thoughts. I don’t want to violate you for it. But I will, if you make me.’
Disturbing, unnerving, but very different from what Timothy wrote. Declan opens one of the bastard’s texts and reads it out loud.
“When you come to the house, make sure your ass is all lubed up. My friends and I are gonna come inside it, one by one. Then we’re gonna watch our cum drip out of your hole while we have you walk around on all fours on a leash like the bitch you are.”
My mouth twists. I never thought I’d wish I were deaf, but I do now. Declan goes on to read more of Timothy’s texts, each one nastier than the last. Duct-taped and restrained, the asshole fights with all he’s got, as if every word that Declan speaks out, slowly and cuttingly, were stabbing him in the gut. As if he wanted to offer an explanation for them. When Declan is done, throwing my cell on the bed between Timothy’s feet, I realize getting stabbed is exactly what he’s expecting. His eyes are wide, red, and he looks like he’s losing his mind. Declan’s calm is pure terror.
“Now, Timothy here should have known better than to send all those texts to you.” He licks the shell of my ear, whispering, “He should have known better than to try and take away what’s mine.”
The possession in his tone sends a thrill down my spine. I should be scared, I should be trying to scream, I should be afraid of him and hate him, and yet here I am, melting to his words. To his scent. To his touch. To the dangerous edge in his voice.
Timothy mumbles wildly behind the duct tape, probably trying to explain himself. Declan hushes him, rounding the bed with me on that leather leash, bringing us to the side of the bed.
“It wasn’t the plan to have you watch this with a leash around your neck, Mia,” he says. “But you didn’t give me a choice, you see. Not when you decided not to answer my calls. Not when you tried to shut me out. How am I supposed to trust you now?”
He’s crazy. He must be.
“They say you should just let a woman go if she makes it clear she doesn’t want you. And, had it been anyone else, I would have done it. Why do you think that is, little spy?” He yanks me back, my spine hitting the bedpost that Timothy’s foot is bound to. He fastens the leather around my neck to it, not too tight, so I can speak if I want to.
But what could I possibly say?
Declan steps in front of me, those eyes measuring me up and down, and a grin lifts a corner of his mouth. I guess he likes what he sees. Me tied to the post, my wet clothes dripping onto the floor. He’s wearing all black, too. A plain long-sleeved sweater clings to his lethal muscles, a pair of sweats hinting at the athletic shape of his legs. He must have been out in the rain too because his hair is wet, and his shoulders as well.
Grinning wider, he produces a Swiss Army Knife from the pocket of his sweats. He flips it open with an expert jerk of his hand, the blade slicing through the air. Lightning cuts through the room and, for a moment, none of us moves. My heart beats wildly in my chest. Who does he intend to use that knife on?
Declan takes his time, his eyes darting a few times between Timothy and me, full of cunning. Timothy screams behind the duct tape, pulling at his restraints. Declan seems to like tormenting him with the uncertainty because he takes his time before his eyes finally rest on me. Just a few steps make it clear who will become the target of his knife, and Timothy stills on the bed.
The side of the cool blade presses to my cheek, but I must be crazy, because I don’t feel any fear. I keep my head high, pressed against the bedpost, staring directly into those lethal, slitted eyes. The longer I stare, the more convinced I am–he’s not gonna hurt me. Not like that. Every time he touches me, Declan Santori aims to cause pleasure more than pain–even if pain might sometimes be a part of the game.
His eyes dance between mine, telling me he knows what I’m thinking. Telling me this is a show for Timothy’s benefit, but hey–things can always go south. After all, this is the most feared man on campus. The hands touching me are the same hands that shattered skulls in the boxing ring. But that same hand is gentle when it cups my cheek, big enough to cover my entire face if he wanted to. He strokes my cheek like I’m the most precious thing.
“You wanted to forget that you and I ever happened, didn’t you, little spy?” he purrs darkly. “You came here only to discuss a way out. Well, guess what? There’s no way out for you. You belong to me, and that will never change.” He runs his hand through my hair, his fingers hooking into my scrunchie and ridding me of it smoothly. Freeing my hair. My eyelids flutter. How can he give me these sensations, how can my body react to him the way it does, even though he’s got me tied to a post, and pressing a blade to my cheek?
I’ve always known something was wrong with me. My desires have always been twisted and perverted, but I hoped time would solve that. I hoped I’d grow out of it and, maybe, I’d slowly go about becoming another person. But, if anything, it just made things worse. The girl I really am surfaced bit by bit, and now she is taking over completely. My thighs squirm against each other. Damn it, this situation shouldn’t make me horny, it should make me scared.
Declan’s black gaze drops down to my lips. It’s as if, for only a moment, he’s forgotten his purpose.
He bends down slowly and his lips claim mine, hot and hard and angry. He groans at the feel of my lips as if it’s not enough, and he pushes his tongue inside my mouth. My hands slide up his chest, my palms molding the deadly planes of his pectorals. But Declan grips my wrists in his hand and holds them down between us, a storm in his eyes as he peels his lips from mine.
He grips my jaw with the knife hand, pushing my head into the bedpost.
“No, you don’t run the show here, little spy, no matter how tempted I am to let you do it. You don’t seem to understand how much torment it was, you trying to get rid of me. I can’t let that go without a punishment, you see, otherwise you might be tempted to try it again. But I’ll be good to you. So you get to choose your punishment–shall we love each other right here, in front of him, or–” a pause for him to grin wickedly, “do I punish him for what he’s done to you? For even wanting you? For saying all those nasty things to you?”
My mind fails to even process the choice at first. I’m supposed to let him strip me and use me in front of a restrained man, or watch whatever twisted scenario he has in mind for Timothy?
“You’re asking me to decide between my own demise or that of someone else?”
His eyes narrow into blade-like slits, his head tilting to the side.
“He would have really done that to you, you know?” he says. “Everything he said in those texts.”
I would answer that I have a pretty good idea, since he’s been bombarding me with texts like that all day, making it hard to live in my own skin, but I can’t. It would seal Timothy’s fate, and it would be all on me.
“What are you gonna do to him?” I manage hoarsely. The leather isn’t all that tight around my neck, but my voice is bruised from when he manhandled me to this spot.
