But at the same time, it was the best heat of my life for so many reasons.
I didn’t want to succumb, but as we made it the last few yards to the garage, all I wanted to do was strip out of my clothes, bend over, and pry my asscheeks apart to flaunt my dripping hole at my alpha.
Any hope I had that reaching the garage and focusing on finding flashlights would distract from my heat was disappointed.
“Your family keeps their garage nice and neat,” Saint said as he turned on the lights. Fortunately, they were working in the garage.
“Yeah, Dad is a bit of a neat freak,” I said, fighting not to sound breathy and seductive.
Saint peeked at me out of the corner of his eye, a knowing grin on his lips. “We can go back into the house to take care of things now and get the photos we need later,” he suggested.
I shook my head tightly, picking at my t-shirt and shaking it to get some air flow against my skin. “No, we’ve been given a job. We need to get that done.”
“If you say so,” Saint said, his voice deep and protective, but also predatory. His sandalwood scent was strong in the enclosed space of the garage, stronger than that of motor oil and old grass clippings from the lawn mower in the corner.
It wasn’t hard to find the flashlights. They were at the back of the garage, near Dad’s workbench. The bench was a long table that Dad had built himself years ago when Papa got tired of him puttering in the house on summer vacations. He used it for woodworking and gardening and half a dozen other things. Saint seemed particularly interested in the various clamps and holes where tools were attached.
I knew exactly where his interest was coming from. That, coupled with the increasing heat drive within me, gave me the courage to ask one of the questions that had been on my mind.
“Obviously, you’re part of the Dark Fantasies Club,” I started, my body heating more and more as my question formed. “But what kind of kinky stuff do you like to do, exactly? I mean,” I rushed on, holding up my hands, before Saint could interrupt my train of thought, “we’re bonded now, and I don’t want to ruin something that you like. But I…I am a little curious about how I…um, how I might fit into the things you like?”
I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, proud of myself for asking, or turned on by Saint’s potential answer.
Saint had reached up to get the flashlights from the shelf above the workbench. He set two of them on the tabletop, then turned to me with a sly grin, his trousers tented. “Would you like a little taste of the sort of thing I’m into?” he asked. There was a distinct…Dommy tone to his voice.
I gulped, slick oozing down my thigh, and nodded. “Yes, please.”
The way Saint laughed at my answer had me gushing even more. “Okay,” he said.
I expected him to jump me, for some reason. Instead, he looked around at all my dad’s tools and supplies from his various projects, and the things that were there for the cars. Finally, he nodded, reached for a pair of jumper cables that hung from a hook on the wall, then turned back to me to say, “Strip, omega.”
The command in his voice was enough to make my knees go weak. I rushed to do exactly as he said, mostly because I was desperate to get naked. I kicked my shoes off, shucked my sweatpants, noticing that the seat was wet as I did—I was going to have to do so much laundry when this whole thing was over—then peeled out of my shirt.
When I was done, Saint moved to stand right in front of me, holding the jumper cables. I had a quick vision of him clamping the ends on my nipples or my balls. That thought had my cock jumping, but my brain rejected the idea. Jumper cable clamps were way too strong to be used on skin without breaking it.
Saint smirked. “This bond thing is fun,” he said, pivoting back to attach one end of the jumper cables to the top of one of the clamps that was already on the table. “I can’t read your mind or anything, but I’m going to take a guess and say that the idea of clamps intrigues you.”
“What do they feel like?” I asked in a hoarse whisper.
“They hurt,” Saint said honestly. “A lot. But when you’re in a scene, playing around with pleasure and pain together, they can cause some really trippy feelings.”
“Like what?” I asked as Saint gestured for me to approach the bench.
I stepped right up to the edge, and Saint grabbed the back of my neck, forcing me to lean forward over the dusty tabletop. He stretched the jumper cable across my back and attached the other end to a clamp on the far side of the table. It was reallyweak bondage, but it was enough to make me feel like I was restrained. My hole responded by twitching and leaking slick.
“Our brains can’t process pain and pleasure together,” Saint explained. “Wires get crossed. Both feelings are intensified, and sometimes it makes you feel like you’re high.”
“Really?” I asked breathlessly as Saint kicked my feet as wide apart as they would go.
Having my feet spread apart lowered my upper body into a position that was actually more comfortable. That was one thing. But then Saint found some twine on the shelf under the workbench and used it to loosely tie my ankles to the bench’s front legs. Again, the binds were loose and I was sure I could wriggle out of them at any point, but the sensation of being helpless was still there.
“Yep,” Saint said. “Want to give it a try?”
“Yeah,” I breathed out, my skin blazing with heat.
Saint fished around in a few more boxes. I turned my head this way and that, but I couldn’t see what he was doing.
“People who don’t understand the kink world usually think Doms are these nasty, sadistic predators who just like to abuse omegas when they’re at their most vulnerable,” he said as he set a box of Papa’s clothespins on the workbench in front of my face.
