my head whispers, Isn’t that what he’s doing already? He needs this.
Without thinking twice, I don’t attempt any careful steps. I’m not quiet in the least, and I’m not even gentle as I climb on the bed, linking one wrist and attaching it to the post before he’s woken.
His wide eyes strike through me and force a yelp from my tight throat as I secure the other around his wrist successfully, but it’s not attached to the bed. Falling backward I scream out, landing on my ass as Christopher rises, ripping his hand away, the iron and steel clashing.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he practically growls.
Anger and contempt stare back at me, followed by betrayal. My heart races with the fear, but watching him tug against the iron in an attempt to free himself calms me.
My caged beast is just that, caged.
“Cuff it to the headboard,” I say, managing to get out the command in a calm voice, but it’s so soft, he doesn’t hear.
“What did you just say?” A threat laces his question. “What the hell are you doing, little mouse?” Rage seems to simmer around his shoulders. The moonlight shines in, creating shadows across his broad shoulders and sharp cheekbones. If we didn’t have the history we do, I’d be terrified. As it is, I feel nothing but relief.
“Cuff the other end to the headboard.” I give him the command and slowly stand. Only wearing a T-shirt of his, I rise and stand a few feet from him.
“You’re going to run or y—”
“No.” I don’t wait for him to finish. “I’m not running.” A deep crease settles between his brow and I’m thankful to see the anger wane.
“What are you doing, Delilah?” His question is still harsh and lowly spoken, but at least the fear is gone. That’s what it was, not anger. It was fear.
It’s been fear all along, hasn’t it?
“I’m forcing you to stay with me tonight,” I answer him and my fingers play at the hem of his shirt.
“You don’t need cuffs for that,” he counters. Instead of responding, I slip the shirt up my body and drop it to the floor, feeling my hair cascade down my bare back.
“Cuff,” I say, whispering the single word. Vulnerability and a hint of fear that this won’t work make themselves known, but mostly desire takes over. The heat in his eyes intensifies as his gaze travels the length of my body.
A moment passes and all I can hear is my breathing pick up. He seems to question me, glancing between the cuff and then my naked body.
“You better not lie to me,” he warns and I offer him a sad smile.
“No lies.”
When the cuff clinks and locks around the headboard, I tell him to lie down.
“Since when do you give the commands?” he asks, but does as I say. Positioning himself on the bed in a sitting position, he then slowly lowers himself so he’s lying down.
“Lower still, so your arms are—”
“No,” he cuts me off and there’s a hint of defensiveness. It doesn’t escape me that he could cover himself in a way as he is now. Although his hands are cuffed, he could easily kick out or fight in some capacity.
I could fight him on this, but I don’t. I don’t want to fight him at all and he’s already given me what I asked.
I’m silent as I climb onto the bed, and each time I look up at him, he’s staring at me with an intensity that’s indescribable. It’s like the prey daring the hunter. Power and lust are a deadly cocktail and they’re all I can taste as I crawl toward him and tug his pants down his body. He helps me, lifting his hips, but both of us stay silent. The heater kicks on and the cuffs clank against the iron; other than that, it’s only the blood rushing in my ears that I can hear.
His cock is already stiff, standing upright and waiting for me. My heart hammers as I wrap my hand around his length. With my eyes on his, I press my lips to his head and lick the bead of precum. I hadn’t planned this, but I can’t deny that it eases the tension. More than anything, I want him.
With my tongue starting at the bottom of his shaft, I lick up to his head, loving the rough hum of satisfaction he gives me. Holding him steady at his base, I swallow him down as much as