The panic climbs in my throat until the front door clicks open, cutting straight through the spiral, followed by the clatter of keys and a very familiar voice. “Sleeping beauuuttyyyy, wake the fuck up! You’re late for practice.”
My whole body sags in relief and fury all at once.
“Mads!” I shout, panic clawing its way straight out of my throat. “In here!Help!”
There’s a beat of silence. Then the sound of feet pounding across the floor, a loud thud as he collides with something, and then the bedroom door swings open.
He skids to a stop and takes in the state of the room. “Holy sh—Blake?”
I’m flat on the bed, zip-tied, red-faced, and vibrating with a mix of rage and sheer humiliation. “Get. Me. Out. Of. This.”
His eyes go wide. “Okay. Yup. Yep. Definitely not how I thought this morning was gonna start.”
He’s already crossing the room, looking wildly around for something sharp. “Scissors,” I snap. “Top drawer.”
“You mean the vibrator VIP lounge?”
“Mads.”
“On it.” He grabs the handle of the nightstand drawer and yanks it so hard the whole thing nearly comes completely out. He fumbles past the mess I dumped inside yesterday evening and comes up with a pair of tiny eyebrow scissors.
“Are you serious?” I snap, writhing on the bed. “Those aren’t gonna work. They’re for trimming stray hairs, not for hacking through FBI-grade plastic.”
“Well, it’s what we’ve got unless you want me to bite through them,” he mutters, crouching beside me, one knee on the mattress. “And I’m not ruling that out yet, by the way.”
Of course, he manages to make eventhatsound filthy.
My brain scrambles at the image before I can stop it, and I hate that I’m not horrified. Not really.
The problem is, some traitorous part of me finds it… charming. Him, hovering too close, every line out of his mouth managing to wedge under my skin.
I should be worrying about the fact that I’m tied up and possibly screwed in about five different ways, but instead, I’m over here wondering what his mouth would feel like literally anywhere near my body.
I need to get a fucking grip.
He presses one hand to my arm, steadying it, and starts sawing at the plastic where it’s looped tight against my wrist. His brow furrows, jaw clenched, a muscle twitching just below his cheekbone. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this serious, except maybe while we were stuck on the elevator.
The plastic holds firm for a few terrifying seconds. Then—snap. The first tie gives, and I suck in a harsh breath.
He immediately shifts to the second one, not saying anything. Not looking at me.
My whole body is trembling now, not from fear exactly, but from the adrenaline crash. From the delayed realization that I was stuck. Really stuck. That if he hadn’t walked in when he did…
The second tie breaks.
And suddenly I’m free.
I sit up too fast, blood rushing to my head, wrists stinging, shoulders burning from being held in place for so long. I cradle one wrist, then the other, rubbing at the angry red grooves carved deep into my skin.
Mads doesn’t move. He’s still on the bed, staring at the mangled ties in his hand.
“You okay?” he asks finally.
“Yeah,” I say automatically. Then again, less convincingly: “Yeah, I think so.”
His gaze drops to my wrists. He reaches out and gently takes one of my arms. His fingers move over the mark there, barely touching it, but I flinch anyway. “Jesus, Blue,” he mutters. “These are bad.”
“They’re fine,” I say. “It looks worse than it is.”
