Turning my head, I look away. I don’t want to admit to the feelings it conjures, the reaction to the loss of my freedom. How vulnerable it makes me feel. I want to refuse, but I know he won’t give me a choice. What choice has there been so far?
“No answer?” he prods, amusement in his tone.
Now he’s laughing at me. After what he’s just put me through, he has the nerve to find my reticence entertaining.
Well, screw him.
“Hands raised, please,” he reminds, his words perfectly civil, even if the request isn’t.
I don’t move.
His voice takes on a condescending tone. “Are youbeing petulant, Tink?”
That earns him a glare.
In response, he places a knee on the bed, kneeling up over me, then faster than I can react, and pins me with his hand around my throat. He’s not squeezing, but his weight is on me. My air’s cut off, and I try to push his hand away, for what little effect that has.
He ignores my struggles, enunciating each word clearly. “Hands above your head, please.”
“I don’t want to be tied up,” I gasp out.
“And yet, it’s going to happen. If you don’t obey, it won’t be your ass I spank.”
I wince at the implications of that, my pussy far too sensitive, and raise my arms in defeat, scowling at him. His grip eases enough for me to draw a breath, and I use it in the most foolish way possible: “You’re a bully.”
But my words don’t faze him. “No, I’m simply taking necessary precautions.”
He loops the rope around my forearm, beneath my wrist, tucks it swiftly through the wrought iron bars, and runs a coil around my other arm. It takes him hardly any time at all.
Is this Alex’s usual casual competence with everything he touches, or has he done this before?
Wait… did he do that…one-handed?
“You tie people up often, I presume.”
Only now does he release my throat, using both hands to adjust the ropes about my arms and secure them with a series of complicated knots, the ends of the rope whipping past my head as he ties them. “It’sbeen a few years.”
Oh, there’s a history I’m unaware of. Good to know. We’re finding out all sorts about each other.
The rope tugs tight as he finishes, and my breath catches. I can’t help but pull. The rope’s soft, it doesn’t bite into my skin, but there’s no give. As if I expected any less. I have a few inches of movement, but no more than that. My hands are tied so that I can’t even reach the knots. The best I can do is brush them with my fingertips. He doesn’t object while I try, merely watches me with smug amusement.
I’m held, helpless, and at Alex’s mercy. For the second time in as many weeks. I slump back against the bed in defeat.
He was waiting for that. “Comfortable?”
“Perfectly, thank you,” I bite out, acid in my tone.
“Good.” He shows no sign of my sarcasm bothering him.
Then Alex runs his eyes over me, and takes his sweet time about it. His gaze lingers on my breasts, my stomach, on my recently plucked pussy. It drifts slowly down my legs then back up again, while I squirm at his scrutiny.
“I like the way you writhe.”
I immediately freeze, pressing my thighs together and angling my body away from him. For what good that does. It’s not like I can hide from him. He can force me to do whatever he wants, and we’ve already established I have no say in the matter.
“Spread your legs.”
Or he can just order me.
