The sound of his voice did something strange to my pulse.
I looked away. “You’re not getting out of those ropes.”
“Your lack of faith is disappointing.”
“Your arrogance is exhausting.”
He smiled again, barely, but it was there. “We make a good pair.”
“Don’t start,” I said.
He didn’t reply to me this time. The only sound was the rasp of rope fibers straining under slow, constant pressure. His shoulders twisted once, then again. I watched, even though I told myself not to. Every small motion was purposeful, testing, pulling, then adjusting a bit. The ropes creaked as he moved.
“Dmitri…” I whispered, a warning.
“Almost,” he murmured.
The knot gave with a faint pop. His hands came free.
For a heartbeat, I just stared. “How the hell?—?”
“They used maritime line,” he said, flexing his fingers. “It swells in saltwater. Easier to loosen if you keep your wrists moving.”
“Show-off.”
“Efficient,” he corrected, crouching to untie his ankles from the chair legs.
He was free in seconds.
He stood, rolling his shoulders, his silhouette a looming, dark shape against the window. The dim light caught the hard lines of his face, the firm set of his jaw. He didn’t look at me. He just scanned the room, from the door to the walls, and then to the window high above.
Then he turned.
He crossed the small space in two strides and knelt in front of me. My breath hitched as his hands went to my sides, to the thin fabric of my swimsuit still clinging to my skin. I flinched, an instinctive, useless recoil that I was powerless to prevent.
“Don’t,” I said, the word a pitiful, broken sound.
“Shh,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the line of my shoulder, a touch so light it was almost a question. “This isn’t about what you want; it’s about what you need right now. You’re stressed out and you’re scared. Let me take care of you.”
His hands moved up, cupping my breasts through the fabric of my ravaged swimsuit. My nipples, already tight from the cool air and the fear, peaked instantly, hard, aching points against his palms. He brushed his thumbs over them, a slow circle that sent a jolt of pure, fiery heat straight to my core.
I arched my back, a helpless, involuntary movement, a silent plea for more.
“And what do I need right now?” I ventured.
He leaned in, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my neck. He didn’t bite, not exactly. Just aslightpressure, a scrape of his teeth that made my entire body tense with a pleasure so intense it was almost painful. His tongue traced the line of my pulse, a languid, leisurely stroke that made my head fall back against the chair.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive against my skin. “Don’t be scared, baby girl. I’ll protect you.”
“It’s cold,” I lied in a choked whisper.
He chuckled darkly, which only made me shiver harder.
“No, it’s not,” he countered.
His hands moved back to my chest. Hepushed the fabric of my swimsuit top aside, revealing my breasts to his view. I trembled at the sudden exposure. He didn’t give me a moment to feel the shame. He didn’t give me a moment to think.
Immediately, he dipped his head, his mouth closing over one of my aching nipples. I gasped, aharsh, ragged sound that was swallowed by the silence of the room. He suckled, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak.
