I burp, scared that it’ll be chunkier than expected, but it’s just gas and a tiny splash of bile. Another and the worst of the sickness fades. A lucky escape but I can feel it lurking back there in the wings, waiting for another opportunity to take centre stage.
The immediate fear fades away, replaced by low level concern. I fiddle with the cuffs, trying to find some internal latch that will set me free. Don’t sex toys come with safety features?
If they do, I can’t find them, but the focused hunt uses up another twenty minutes.
Cars pass by outside, the normal sounds of a normal suburb going about their day, unaware of my predicament.
I’d enjoy the cuffs a lot better if they were part of some intricate sexual game. My mind plays with the idea of Caylon trussing me only to break into the house later, pretending to be a burglar and stealing glimpses at me instead.
Closing my eyes, I sink farther into the fantasy. I think of all the things he’s done to and with my body, stirring my latent urges until they spring into life.
His tongue is magical, and his hands, and his pretty, pretty cock. If he were an entrepreneurial soul, he could sell rides on it. I imagine if he tried, the line would stretch halfway across the city.
I think back to Dee’s revelation; that if I didn’t want him, I should pass him onto her. Think of the girl in the common room who stared at him like he was the lead singer in the first boy band she ever listened to.
A surge of possessiveness locks my midriff in a powerful cramp. The imaginary girls in my head should count themselves lucky I’m handcuffed.
I drag my mind away, hearing a car pull into the driveway. Turning, maybe? But no. The engine stops. A car door slams shut.
Caylon? But we’re meant to be in hiding. Why wouldn’t he drive into the garage like he had before?
I wait, growing anxious as I actively listen for the sound of a sliding van door—the unmistakable sign of a courier driver.
Instead, I hear footsteps. They walk to the front door, then there’s silence.
Maybe the clicker for the door is broken. But then, why would he have stopped on the front step?
No knocking. No ringing of a doorbell if the place has one. No calling out a “Coo-ee” to see if anyone’s at home.
A key goes into the lock and my heart resumes its normal beating.
It’s Caylon’s place. Only he or his friends would have a key.
A new wealth of embarrassment gathers its skirts, ready to make an entrance. If it’s Trent, fine. I can deal with that. There’s even some part of me that would appreciate it. He could take these stupid fluffy cuffs off and gather me in one of his welcoming bear hugs.
Zach, though? Just shoot me now.
Lily? Kill me, bury me, dig me up, kill me again.
The heavy tread sounds like Trent. A big man who moves lightly on his feet. I curl my knees up to my chest, trying to disguise my bound wrists. I lower my head to disguise my taped mouth.
Nothing that will hide them longer than a few seconds, but it’s the best I can do.
A man walks inside, at least half a foot taller than Caylon and twice his age, double his breadth. The guy’s chest looks like it takes in half a room’s worth of oxygen with every inhalation. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark aura. He’s wearing a charcoal suit that fits his muscular mass so tightly, moving so smoothly, that it must be bespoke.
I’ve never seen him before.
My brain fizzes as his eyes meet mine, as they travel around my body, then the room. Drawing conclusions.
“Who the fuck are you?”
It’s a good question and one I think I should be asking. Instead, I curl more tightly into a ball, a hedgehog without bristles.
For a second, I’m glad my mouth is covered. It gives me the perfect excuse not to answer because otherwise, confronted by this strange man and his bulk, I would babble anything he wanted. Scared of the consequences even though he hasn’t threatened a thing.
He strides closer, coming to a halt at the foot of the bed, staring around the room before his penetrating gaze fixes back on me. His head tilts to the side, then his forehead creases in a frown as he leans forward. Another two steps and he’s level with me, reaching out to tilt back my head. Once he sees the tape, his gaze moves farther afield, quickly noting the bondage cuffs.
The corner of his mouth flirts with a smile, then he presses his lips into a thin line. “Nod for yes. Shake for no. You’re a friend of Caylon?”
