Declan has the remote out again, and the ropes pull me up. I wince as my shoulders protest, struggling to get a foot beneath myself, rising against my will. He keeps going until I’m stretched taut, and then another inch still, forcing me up on my toes. My weight’s pulling on my shoulders, my wrists, and it fuckinghurts.
He’s such a sadist.
“You look stunningly beautiful like that,” hemurmurs, half to himself. Then he walks behind me.
I don’t trust him out of my sight, but I don’t have the purchase to turn. At least, not quickly enough to keep him in front of me.
His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back against him, and it’s actually an improvement. It takes some of my weight off my sore shoulders.
His lips press to my ear. “What’s the package?”
God, I’m so done with that question.
“You already know, you bastard.”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.” His other hand finds my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple. “Last chance, before things get…” His tongue flicks over my earlobe. “…interesting.”
I try and wriggle in his hold, for what good it does. But I can barely move. “What difference does it make? You’re going to do whatever you want anyway.”
He chuckles with genuine amusement. “You know, at this point, I have to admit you’re probably right. Seeing you like this? I just can’t resist.” His thumb and finger close on my nipple, pinching hard enough that it pulls a gasp from me. “But if you tell me, maybe I’ll be alittle bitnicer.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s my Hellcat,” he murmurs.
“I’m not yours.”Sonot his. Never will be.
“Really?” he asks, releasing me and letting my arms take the weight again. He walks past me, heading for his damn box of evil tricks. I use the time to desperately try and ease the ache in my shoulders,but there’s nothing I can do that helps. My toes barely touch the mat.
He’s back seconds later. One hand closed around something, keeping it from me, the other with the sports bottle again. He doesn’t hold it before me, but walks behind to where he just was, arm sliding around my waist. Only then does he offer me the straw.
“Drink, Hellcat. You’ll need fluids for this.”
I’m so thirsty I don’t fight it, taking the straw between my lips and sucking. There’s no point resisting anyway, not when my body will need its strength. I’m going to escape at some point, and to that end, I’ll take anything he gives me that’s useful.
Even a mouthful of his cum.
The thought lands unbidden, and I both hate the dark irony of it, and the truth of it.
As I drink, the taste of him diminishes. His arm holds me the whole time, supporting me, fist still clenched around whatever he’s holding. But I’m grateful to him anyway; it eases the strain of the ropes.
I suddenly wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. Stretched this taut, he has me completely helpless, and he must know how uncomfortable it is. Yet he’s taking some of my weight, making it bearable, if not even comfortable.
I don’t get it. His goal is to torture me. Why bother being nice?
Why bother with the drink, come to that?
He has me entirely at his mercy, yethe’s showing care.
It makes it seem like it’s not even real torture. Like it’s just… a scene. Looking after me between one part of it and the next.
Fuck. Is that what this is? Is heplayingwith me? In the literal sense?
I don’t understand him. His very actions are a contradiction.
I suck at the straw again, and it gives a rattling slurp, the bottle empty. Declan eases it away, then drops it to bounce on the mat, roll off onto the bare concrete, and keep going until it hits the wall.
“Better?” he asks.
