With a tug, he stole me from the pentagram and dragged me toward the chair. “You still haven’t said it, Ms. Weaver.”
My panic had become physical, slapping a gag over my mouth. I struggled with the word. One simple little word.
Stepping toward the chair, I whispered, “Yes. Yes, I admit I deserve this.”
Jethro made a strangled noise in his chest.
I closed my eyes.
It was done.
Chapter Seventeen
Jethro
––––––––
TYING HER DOWN was one of the hardest fucking things I’ve done.
Not because my family were watching and I had no way of fucking up the debt.
And not because my heart dripped with icicles and frost.
And not even because I was so fucking close to snapping and showing everything that I was.
But because I’d promised myself the next time I restrained her, I would be granting her pleasure not pain.
I’d wanted her to writhe beneath my tongue while she was bound. I wanted to taste her as she came apart while suspended. And I wanted her delicious moans to fill my ears while she was trapped.
I wanted her to give in to me. Totrustme. To give me every single pleasure she could feel.
When I’d fucked her in her quarters that second time, I’d made a vow to take her completely. To take her my way...all the way.
That meant getting inside her head, her heart, her mind. I wasn’t satisfied with owning her body. It didn’t give me what I craved. Only her complete submission and immeasurable love could do that.
I would’ve taken days. Days to extract everything she had to give me. The word ‘torture’ came from the originsto twist. I would’ve twisted Nila’s emotions so she’d carry me forever in her heart. I would’ve made a home inside her so I could be finally fucking free.
She could give me a cure no one else could grant. She could switch every pain I had into something...more.
I wanted more.
I wanted everything.
And now, I would have nothing.
Now, she would forever associate being tied up as something to be avoided, especially by me.
Her rapid breath fluttered over my face as I bent over her and pressed her forearm against the armrest.
The white shift didn’t hide the ghost of her lingerie, nor the peaking of her nipples. Her skin was cold, her lips growing bluer by the minute.
She hadn’t even been in the lake and already she looked hypothermic.
She’s as cold as me.
The leather slipped a few times from my grip as I fumbled to feed the buckle. Luckily, my back blocked my motions from my father—otherwise he would see my frost was thawing. He would see the haunting in my eyes of being so close to this woman while she hated me.
Nila was the culprit—my undoing.
