Worse, there was something about Jack himself. His commanding presence, alternating with his teasing smiles. He reassured her in the oddest way. She felt protected, which made sense. He’d helped her escape a shooter. The fact that he often seemed able to read her mind, as if he understood her, didn’t fit. He was trying to cast her as a submissive. And she wasn’t.
Jack’s hands curled into fists, then relaxed. “Morgan…”
He took a menacing step toward her, shadows of a reprimand burning in his eyes.
In the end, her desire ripped the choice from her. She would submit. Just for tonight. Just as an experiment. Once couldn’t hurt, right?
She scrambled onto the bed and knelt, facing him.
“Turn around. Face the headboard.”
In other words, turn her back to him. Knowing she only had seconds to decide, Morgan scrambled through her thoughts. What would he do? He wouldn’t hurt her. Jack had protected her when her sicko had started shooting. He’d managed to sneak her out of Lafayette in one piece, but—
“My patience is wearing thin,” he barked. “Turn around.”
The demanding growl startled her. He meant it. Now.
With a last lingering glance at him, one she knew held all her uncertainty and anxiety, Morgan complied.
“Sit back on your heels.” His voice drifted closer, punctuated by the military precision of his footsteps on the hardwood floor.
The stern note in Jack’s voice was something Morgan couldn’t overlook. She didn’t dare ignore him or hesitate.
Once she’d sat back on her heels, Jack trailed a gentle fingertip over the slope of one shoulder, as if petting her in reward. She gasped. The feathery touch startled—and enflamed. A line of fire blazed behind that simple caress.
Then he flattened his palm between her shoulder blades. “Lean down until you’re lying with your br**sts over your knees. Arms above your head, palms flat on the bed.”
Morgan processed his request, racing to picture it. Child’s pose, if she’d been doing yoga. It was one she assumed nearly every time she attended a class. But doing it now meant leaving her ass and the line of her spine completely vulnerable to Jack.
His fingers between her shoulder blades began asserting pressure, gently but inexorably pushing her forward.
Finally, she went with it. She could always get out of it if Jack pushed her too far. She had a safe word.
With her cheek resting on the soft sheet, her arms stretched over her head, while her legs remained tucked beneath her, Jack removed his hand from her back. She watched as he walked in measured footsteps to the head of the bed.
Her abdomen cramped with the unknown and her total fear of it. What was he doing? Planning?
“Sir…?”
“Morgan, we’ve covered this. You don’t speak unless you’re given permission.”
“I just want to know what you’re going to do.”
The air in the room seemed to stop. She sensed his stillness, the whiplash of displeasure that burst through him. Knowing she’d disappointed him incited a tart, unwelcome sensation. Morgan’s abdomen churned again. Talking without permission was a no-no, as was asking questions. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew without a doubt that she’d gone beyond a faux pas.
Suddenly, he spurred into action, grabbing her left wrist with one hand. Within moments, a velvet rope wrapped around her. A pull, another tug, and a yank later, he stepped away. Discreetly, Morgan tried to pull at her wrist.
It was securely bound.
Before she could do more than begin to reel with the implications of that, Jack made his way to the other side of the bed, captured her right wrist, and repeated the process.
Both of her arms were immobilized, tightly but not uncomfortably tethered to the posts of the headboard. She gave a gentle tug, then a not-so-gentle one. Nothing. The bonds didn’t give so much as an inch. He must have been one hell of a Boy Scout, since those knots were perfect.
Panic rushed her like a wave from a tsunami. Oh, no. She was in over her head. Way over. Jack was…more. More man, more disciplined resolve, more iron control than she was ready for.
She struggled, pulling at her bonds with a frightened whimper. God, what had she been thinking? It was one thing to fantasize about giving a man utter control of her body. It was another completely to actually do it, even if she did trust him with her physical safety. How well did she actually know him?
But her bonds weren’t budging.