The shake of his head brushes his jaw against my forehead. “Somebody slit his throat, but it wasn’t me.” His arm tightens around my waist. “It should have been me.”
Finally, I raise my eyes to his. There are no words. Nothing I can say could possibly heal these wounds.
Lifting myself upward, I press a kiss to his jaw. Then another to his bottom lip. Then to his full mouth.
At each touch, his focus returns to me. His hand leaves my waist to draw circles on my back, and the tension leaves his shoulders. Shoulders, I kiss, veering side to side, pressing my mouth to his muscles, tasting the salty sweat glistening on his skin.
I move lower, following the gleaming line of sweat to his stomach, where he tenses again.
His voice is throaty. “What are you doing, Thyra?”
“You said you wouldn’t take pleasure for yourself, but I didn’t say I wouldn’t give it.” I slide back up and whisper in his ear, “May I use my mouth on you?”
He jolts, his body’s response immediately, clearly visible, his cock pushing at the front of his pants.
But his arm clamps around me once more, a warning in his voice. “If you want to do this, you need to chain my other arm.”
I search his eyes, certain that he’d broken through his fears and wouldn’t need the shackles.
As if he reads my thoughts, he says, “Maybe I don’t need the constraints. But maybe I do. Don’t take that chance, Thyra.”
Chaining his other arm won’t be easy. Because I snapped the shackle onto his left wrist while he was facing the wall, the other chain is now on the wrong side of him. Unless…
“Cross your arms behind your back,” I tell him. “That way, the chains will cross over against the wall.” And then, unable to keep the disappointment from my voice, I add, “You won’t be able to bring your arms forward.”
He won’t be able to touch me. Hold me. Stroke me…
Already, he has complied, leaning forward at the waist, his wrists overlapped behind his back, while his dark gaze remains on me. “Chain me.”
Reaching for the other shackle, I place it around his wrist and click it closed, my fingertips lingering on his arm, trailing the length of his muscles, forearm, and up to his shoulder as I move to stand in front of him.
He straightens, his savage eyes flooding with darkness once more as I press kisses to his chest, working my way down toward his stomach and the top of his pants.
I tug at the top of them, exploring the hard curves of his stomach muscles, enjoying the way he twitches when my fingertips brush the tops of his thighs before I pull his pants all the way to his feet.
He lifts his feet so I can push the material out of the way.
As I kneel and trail my fingers up his legs toward his hips, I’m conscious of how quiet he is. So quiet. Too quiet.
Like a predator fixated on prey.
I find his gaze on me, hungry, destructive, brutal.
Even shackled, he’s dangerous.
As I tip back my head and plant my hands at the base of his cock, I cast him a dark smile and whisper, “I won’t hurt you.”
He jolts, bringing his cock to my mouth.
I have no hope of taking all of him into my mouth, so I start with the tip, moaning at the heady taste of him, before sliding further forward, my hands clamping around his hips as my head swims.
With every slide of my mouth, every stroke of my tongue, he thrashes, straining at his restraints, nearly pulling himself out of my mouth.
And with every snarl he makes, my body reacts, but not with fear.
Desire pulses through me, filling my head, pushing at my heart, pooling between my legs.
Until I can’t deny it.
