To fuck me silly.
“Impressive,” Georgiy murmurs, bringing something wrapped in plastic to the bedside table. “That only took twenty minutes. I expected this to go on for at least an hour.”
I smile around the confines of my gag as he unwraps the tools. He’s never met someone like me, and I love that he doesn’t know what to expect. I keep him on his toes.
Something cool hits my skin as he sanitizes a spot on my shoulder. An alcohol swab.
Oh.Oh.
A moment later, he pulls out a thick-needled syringe.
My heart rate picks up, and my hole clenches once more.
Oh. Oh yes, please.
“Now. Hold still, Bane of my life,” he says lowly.
And then he proceeds to implant me with a tracking device.
And if I come once more while he does it, I can’t be blamed.
Georgiy tries to sleep across the hallway from me that evening. He even locks the door to try to keep me out. It only makes me more determined. After he untied me and cleaned me up, he ignored me for the rest of the day. He spent a lot of time with Anthony, discussing things and pretending I didn’t exist.
He likes to do this—make me chase him.
Which is fine. I’m very good at hide-and-seek.
I manage to sneak in using a few lock-picking tricks—ones I learned on the streets after I’d escaped my childhood prison—and then I tiptoe to his bed. It’s hard to be really stealthy because I’m still a little dizzy, but I manage to wiggle my way into his bed without him waking up.
But as soon as my body settles next to him, he’s on me, his body trapping mine beneath him. His hand is at my throat, the other holding a syringe near my jugular.
My dick twitches excitedly.
“Blyat, Bane. Do not sneak up on me while I sleep.”
“But you look hot when your eyes are closed.”
“You’ll rip your stitches.”
“There aren’t that many of them,” I say, touching the bandage on my shoulder where he implanted the tracking device. It makes my heart pitter-patter wildly in my chest. I can’t believe him.
He’s so romantic.
“I don’t want to have to suture you up again,” he says.
“You enjoy it. Admit it,” I reply with a wide grin.
He slips off me, tucking the syringe under his pillow and pulling the blankets up to his chin. He’s always wearing something. Right now, he’s wearing these silk pajamas that expose nothing to me.
It’s very infuriating.
I want to see more of him.
I want to see him naked.
“I would enjoy it more if you were quiet.”
“I can be the quietest,” I whisper as I shift on the bed. I never did bother to put clothes on. We really are quite the opposite.
