He pulls me into his lap, cradling me, and I lean my head against his chest. If I had the strength, I’d touch him, but I don’t. Belatedly, I realize he’s still wearing his jeans.
“Well done, baby,” he murmurs. “Did that hurt?”
“No,” I breathe. I can barely keep my eyes open. Why am I so tired?
“Did you expect it to?” he whispers as he holds me close, his fingers pushing some escaped tendrils of hair off my face.
“Yes.”
“You see, most of your fear is in your head, Anastasia,” he pauses. “Would you do it again?”
I think for a moment as fatigue clouds my brain… Again?
“Yes.” My voice is so soft.
He hugs me tightly.
“Good. So would I,” he murmurs, then leans down and softly kisses the top of my head.
“And I haven’t finished with you yet.”
Not finished with me yet. Holy Moses. There’s no way I can do any more. I am utterly spent and fighting an overwhelming desire to sleep. I’m leaning against his chest, my eyes are closed, and he’s wrapped around me – arms and legs – and I feel… safe, and oh so comfortable. Will he let me sleep, perchance to dream? My mouth quirks up at the silly thought, and turning my face into Christian’s chest, I inhale his unique scent and nuzzle him, but immediately he tenses… oh crap. I open my eyes and glance up at him. He’s staring down at me.
“Don’t,” he breathes in warning.
I flush and look back at his chest in longing. I want to run my tongue through the hair, kiss him, and for the first time, I notice he has a few random and faint small, round scars dotted around his chest. Chicken pox? Measles? I think absently.
“Kneel by the door,” he orders as he sits back, putting his hands on his knees, effectively releasing me. No longer warm, the temperature of his voice has dropped several degrees.
I stumble clumsily up into a standing position and scoot over to the door and kneel as instructed. I’m shaky and very, very tired, monumentally confused. Who would have thought I could have found such gratification in this room. Who could have thought it would be so exhausting? My limbs are deliciously heavy, sated. My inner goddess has a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the outside of her room.
Christian is moving about in the periphery of my vision. My eyes start to droop.
“Boring you, am I, Miss Steele?”
I jump awake, and Christian is standing in front of me, his arms crossed, glaring down at me. Oh shit, caught napping – this is not going to be good. His eyes soften as I gaze up at him.
“Stand up,” he orders.
I climb warily to my feet. He stares at me and his mouth quirks up.
“You’re shattered, aren’t you?”
I nod shyly, flushing.
“Stamina, Miss Steele.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I haven’t had my fill of you yet. Hold out your hands in front as if you’re praying.”
I blink at him. Praying! Praying for you to go easy on me. I do as I’m told. He takes a cable tie and fastens it around my wrists, tightening the plastic. Holy hell. My eyes fly to his.
“Look familiar?” he asks, unable to conceal his smile.
Jeez… the plastic cable ties. Restocking at Clayton’s! It all becomes clear. I gape up at him as adrenaline spikes though my body anew. Okay – that’s got my attention – I’m awake now.
“I have scissors here.” He holds them up for me to see. “I can cut you out of this in a moment.”
I try to pull my wrists apart, testing my bonds, and as I do, the plastic bites into my flesh. It’s sore, but if I relax my wrists they’re fine – the tie is not cutting into my skin.
“Come.” He takes my hands and leads me over to the four-poster bed. I notice now that it has dark red sheets on it and a shackle at each corner.
“I want more – much, much more,” he leans down and whispers in my ear.
And my heartbeat starts pounding again. Oh boy.
“But I’ll make this quick. You’re tired. Hold on to the post,” he says.
I frown. Not on the bed then? I find I can part my hands as I grasp the ornately carved wooden post.
“Lower,” he orders. “Good. Don’t let go. If you do, I’ll spank you. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.”
He stands behind me and grasps my hips, and then quickly lifts me backward so I’m bending forward, holding the post.
“Don’t let