“Not close enough. The guard shoulda’ had a knife in Petrov’s guts the instant he laid a hand on you. That motherfucker is sacked. After I beat the shite out of him.” Putting my hand on the rip in her dress, I’m irrationally furious. She could have suffered far worse, tangling with that Russian prick on her own. Her arrogance in wandering off as if she answered to no one.
I’m her husband. Aria will learn she answers to me.
My thumb slides through the tear in her dress and I stroke the soft skin of her waist. “Then let’s keep going, baby. I’ll show you everything.” Gripping her arm, I pull her along with me, heading for the stairway to the next floor down.
“Every single fecking filthy thing.”
***
Aria…
“Wait- Lachlan, I’ve seen enough for tonight, let’s go back to your place-”
We’re halfway down the stairs to the sixth level, which would be Heresy.
“No, little wife. You wanted to satisfy your curiosity, aye?” Lachlan’s full lips are stretched flat in a tight line. He’s furious. I’ve haven’t seen this before; he’s always responded with cynical good humor to any provocation. But now, he’s pulling me along, his long strides making me scramble to keep up. Finally, he snakes an arm around my waist and lifts me, feet dangling as we ascend into the next level of Hell.
The massive area is much darker, with pools of light highlighting various stations. Whipping posts. A long table with a fire blazing next to it. Cages whose shapes make no sense and look like they shouldn’t fit a human being inside them. Hooks dangling fromthe ceiling with rope or chains attached and my breath is being squeezed from my chest.
“This… I don’t like this.” I try to sound firm, but the words come out high, and reedy.
“My sweet, bonnie bride,” he purrs, setting me down and wrapping his arms around me, “you were so curious that you left the safety of the rooftop to wander about and put yourself in danger. I’m happy to give you the grand tour.” He’s radiating heat against me like a blast furnace and I can feel the stiff press of his cock against my lower back.
Aside from us, the cavernous space is empty. I don’t know if Lachlan ordered this level cleared too after the mess with Petrov, but we’re the only signs of life.
“Do ya’ know why we call this floor Heresy?” His mouth is so close to my ear that I can feel his lips brush against the sensitive skin. I stifle a gasp when he bites my earlobe. “All the darkest acts my guests enjoy are here. Blood play, fire play, the occasional branding...”
My breath catches in my throat as my gaze returns to the glowing brazier in front of the table.
“Guests dress as priests and harlots, angels and demons… so many games and toys,” he whispers. “Would you like to play?”
I feel his broad chest rumble with laughter when I vehemently shake my head.
“I’ll not draw blood or brand you,” he says, “though I’ll be leaving my marks.” Pulling me over to one of the hooks, he takes my chin in his hand, lifting it. “Do not move.”
Dark, angry Lachlan is something new, vibrating with an insane, smoky energy. But when he tells me to lift my hands over my head, I do it.
Swiftly looping a silk rope over the hook, he starts by binding my wrists to the hook and moves to wrap my torso, twisting and turning me like a doll.
Fingering the rips in my dress from the whip, Lachlan growls deep in his chest. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I say hoarsely, “he just tore my dress.”
This doesn’t seem to make him any less angry. He rips the dress away where it’s impeding his movements and each time, a startled little yelp escapes my lips. My hands are above me, one ankle tied to my ass and the other leg stretched out straight to my side.
Looking down, I watch as he rapidly wraps my breasts in a complicated shibari rope corset that makes them swell, hard nipples pointing up as he ratchets me a bit higher.
He gives me a brief, cruel smile as he braids my hair and merges it with another series of knots that take most of the weight of my dangling body and keeps my head immobile.
I’m terrified. I’m turned on. And it all took less than a minute or two.
Stepping away, the Duke of this level of Hell gives me a light push, watching me sway back and forth.
“So beautiful,” he says, “the arch of your back and your exposed throat. Helpless.”
My breasts are heaving with my effort to draw a full breath. The ropes are not too tight, it’s me, trying to drift through a cocktail of emotions and shocked to realize that the one rising to thesurface is arousal. I’m wet. So wet, and when his fingers slide between my thighs, his deep growl of pleasure makes me flush, prickles of need and unease stinging my skin like tiny wasps.
Lachlan’s long fingers push into my undies, impatiently ripping them off and running his thumb along the wet seam of my center until he reaches my clitoris, lightly brushing against it and making me jump.
