He pulled back the whip and brought it down on my stomach causing my body to lurch, a groan sliding through my teeth. “Don’t swallow it, little writer,” he told me, bringing the whip down on my nipple. “Feel it.”
The ache between my legs was excruciating. Every time my thighs rubbed together I could feel the slickness between them. “Fuck you,” I panted, meeting his eyes.
“You don’t get that privilege.” He slapped the whip against my thigh again and then held it up, gazing at it carefully. He finally clicked his tongue. “This just won’t do.”
He walked over to the bag, set the whip down and pulled something else out. Straps, it looked like, with a bar in the middle.
I rubbed my thighs together, trying to get any sort of friction while his back was turned. Fuck, it was painful. If he would just touch me. Just relieve a little pressure—
He turned back around, and I straightened, glaring at him, my hair falling in strands around my face and shoulders. At least, I hoped I was glaring. I wasn’t in complete control of myself anymore and sweat coated my skin. My entire body was shaking in need. Just a little pressure down there. A graze.
He got down on his knees and my breath caught, my hips moving towards him instinctively only for him to shove me back. “Ah, ah, ah,” he said, although his voice was thick now, far huskier than normal.
He grabbed my left leg and wrapped the leather around it, buckling it and cinching it down tightly.
I whimpered, reveling in the feeling of his hands on my skin, in the way the leather bit into me.
He shifted to my other leg, wrapping the leather around it, buckling it, and cinching it tightly, a short bar now taut between my thighs, keeping them apart.
His breathing shifted as he gently ran his hands up my thighs, never touching my skin, but close enough to feel the warmth of his calloused fingers.
I groaned, trying to squeeze my thighs together, my muscles straining against the bar. God, that was so unfair.
His hair hung in his face now as he studied his masterpiece, flicking the bar, sliding his hand up the inside of my thigh. He looked like he was in a world of chaos, barely holding onto his own control.
Closer.
Closer.
He leaned in and suddenly, I could feel his hot breath graze my cunt. He inhaled deeply, his fingers digging into me, a low growl falling from his lips on the exhale.
I whimpered, pushing my hips out and he shoved them back against the wall painfully before shoving himself to a stand, his eyes flicking to mine for half a second before he turned back for the bag.
He was sweating now too, his jaw working, his muscles tense. If this shit was affecting him like it was affecting me, I couldn’t imagine why—how he still had his clothes on.
My eyes drifted down, my heart racing. I could clearly see the outline of the bulge in his pants. Rock hard, throbbing.
My mouth watered and I fought against the restraints. “So fucking pathetic,” I panted, egging him on.
He eyed the duffle bag angrily, but made no move to pull anything else out. “You?”
“You,” I seethed. “You’re pathetic. Tying up a girl so she can’t touch you? Afraid to be touched, baby?” I cooed bitterly. “Don’t worry, I’ll only bite to draw blood.”
His muscles were tense, his hands shaking. “There’s only one brother in my family that hates being touched, little writer, and it certainly isn’t me.”
“Then why the restraints?” I tugged against them.
He tossed the duffle bag aside and turned back to me, his eyes black. “Because sometimes the girls we fuck like to run, and we don’t like that.” He walked over to the candle, the hot wax now filling the bowl. “We can’t control ourselves, or three of us couldn’t. When our prey runs, we fucking hunt. And after that? Well, they just shouldn’t have run.
“Azrael’s killed many girls that way, I’ve killed four. So, we adopted our interrogation tactics in the bedroom and while sometimes it still ends in death where Azrael’s concerned, at least they don’t try to escape.”
Sweat poured from my skin, causing the ribbon to chafe against my wrists. “You’re lying.”
He walked up to me, that bowl filled to the brim. “I’ve only lied twice in my life. Once about my name, and that kind of stuck. The second time today.”
“Why?” I snarled.
He held the bowl up above my chest, his eyes locked on mine. “Because you asked me too.” He dipped it forward.
