Page 66 of Saddle Storm

I don’t take my eyes off her. “Give me your hands. Your consent.”

Her eyes flash at the bondages. “And then what?”

I cock my head with a smirk at my best friend. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

She releases a breath and moves to the barn door, closing it. I’m not entirely convinced she didn’t just do that to screw with me and intends on doing some damage herself, but I give her the benefit of the doubt.

She’s still when she turns back to me—and I’m not even offended that her eyes are on my chest. I imagine I’d have a hard time too if it were the other way around and she were topless. I cock my head toward the set-up.

She glances around herself. Then steps close, stopping a foot from me.

I smile. It’s not a victory smile. It’s not even to ease any discomfort. It’s pride.

And my unyielding fascination with her.

22

I step closer before I can overthink it. Before I come to my senses, consider all the ways this could go very wrong. Someone walking in being one of them . . .

Even with the door closed, there’s enough light in here to see—and anticipate—everything.

I step around him, feeling the bands. They’re cool and smooth beneath my fingers, solid but flexible, giving just enough when I test them.

I turn back to him, pulse skidding as I hold out one wrist.

He steps close, his blue eyes holding mine as he takes my left hand. The touch careful as he guides me closer to the post, the band sliding around my hand with ease. Not tight. Just enough resistance to make me aware of it. He does the same to the other—glancing at me between each step.

“You good?”

I nod, sucking in a breath.

He tests my balance, my movement. It’s all so slow. So deliberate. The sensation of being held here—mixed with his silence—sends a shiver straight through me, heat blooming low and insistent.

I exhale and his hands cover my jaw. “Still good?”

“Yes,” I breathe, the word coming out fast and urgent.

He gives the bands one last check, then steps back just enough to let me feel it fully. The restriction. The anticipation. I wait for the feeling of being exposed. Vulnerable. But it doesn’t come. It’s all heat, and heavens . . . eagerness.

And the way he’s watching me now—like he knows exactly what this is doing to me—might be the most dangerous part of all. “If you don’t do something soon, hotshot, you might just prove my point,” I breathe, hating how desperate I sound.

With a smirk, he moves around the back, leaving me facing an empty space, the barn door with broad daylight shining through the slats. Reminding me anyone can walk in and find me like this.

Silas places his hands on my hips from behind. His breath on my neck. “You like watching me sweat, Bee?”

My breathing picks up and I tug on the bands. “It would seem to be the other way around right now, hotshot.”

He tugs on my suede skirt, slow. “I don’t want to watch you sweat, Storm.” He sweeps his lips over my ear. “I want to watch you come—hard. Then I want to taste it, feel you rock against me like we both know you can.”

I shiver.

He lifts my skirt from the hem, but doesn’t bring it over my ass. His fingers graze the bare skin behind my thighs.

“Silas,” I beg.

“You know what I need, Storm.” It takes me a moment before I realize what he’s waiting for.

“Yes. Please.”