Page 15 of Caged By the Stranger
“‘Thrillof the chase?’ Are you out of your fucking mind? I’ve been wearing this thing all fucking week at work, making sure no one is in the bathroom each time I have to take a piss, wondering if it’s going to be stuck on me the rest of my life. What thrill is there in that?”
His eyes seem to soften, and his lower lip pouts sympathetically as he leans on the bar. “I doubt that’s what your man intended,” he soothes, startling me when his hand rests gently over the top of my wrist. “Giving someone a cage is a huge compliment. It means they’re so taken with you they can’t bear the thought of sharing you with yourself or anyone else, and that the idea of you being hard and craving only them for relief is…well, if you ask me, there’s nothing more erotically intimate than that type of connection. Can you imagine?Needing someoneon that level? The passion would be endless.”
My throat is completely parched, making me think I wouldn’t be able to respond even if I could find words as I stare at the peculiar daze that seems to have come over Rory’s eyes. The fantasy he described pulled not only himself onto a higher plane, but me as well. My chest is heavy. My lungs are burning undermy rampant heartbeat at the thought of what he described. Someone being so taken with me they can’t stand the thought of me getting pleasure from anyone but them. It’s nothing I ever imagined turning me on.
It’s not.
It isn’t. It’s ridiculous.
It’s this fucking cage, fucking with my blood supply and my brain. What he described is a fairytale and the asshole behind the panel was just a sick bastard playing a cruel joke because that’s the way life works. Tugging my hand away nonchalantly, I pick up my drink and wet my lips.
“Well, I don’t needhim. I just need my dick back so I can get on with my life. Now, can you help me or not? Do you know anyone at the club you could maybe talk to…discreetly?”
Blowing out a breath, he retreats from my personal bubble and tucks his hands in his back pockets. “Rules are rules, I’m afraid. I’m sorry. Have you tried picking the lock?”
“Of fucking course I have.”
“Are you hard right now?”
I choke on my scotch and come up sputtering. “What?”
That gets me a peculiar look. He motions with his head toward the stairwell to the deck below us. “I’ve got some lube in my room. You can get them off sometimes, carefully, without the key, but it won’t be easy if you’re hard.”
Oh. That’s why he wanted to know. Prize idiot award to Charlie North.Am Iuptight?
“No. I’m not fucking hard,” I say dryly, trying to sound frustrated and less like an embarrassed virgin. “Why would I be?”
For some reason, he snorts. What the heck is that smirk for? Slapping me on the shoulder, he nods toward the stairwell. “Easy, tough guy. Come on, then. We’ve got an hour before dinner. Let’s see if we can set you free.”
He starts strolling toward the stairs, drink in hand. He can’t be serious.
“What?Right now?Withyou?”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like you’ve had much luck on your own.” Glancing back, he bats his eyelashes. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”
I sit like dead weight, contemplating how good or bad an idea it is to enlist the help of a guy who gave me a card to a sex club in removing a cage. I can honestly see both the pros and the cons. The thought of showing my debacle to anyone, however, is as enticing as going at the cable again with wire snippers.
“Unless,” he adds thoughtfully, “you’d prefer to wait for your master?”
My feet hit the deck a second later. This cocky ass prick.
“Where’s your fucking room?”
CHAPTER 7
After following Rory’s tediously lazy stroll to his cabin, it hits me I’ve never been exposed to anyone in the daylight before, when he closes the door. The sheer number of windows in his room seems excessive. Granted, they’re not floor-to-ceiling, but there’s enough sun pooling in that it doesn’t leave many shadows, even with the lights off.
It probably doesn’t help that the focal point of the room is the massive bed in the center. It makes it feel like we’re about to do something intimate, even though there’s nothing sexual about this. I’m not even attracted to him. There’s no denying he’s handsome, but he’s not my type—if I were to even have one. He’s far too smug with his calm, confident persona. Something about it…irks me for some reason. I don’t care that he didn’t bat an eye at my predicament or that he’s been discreet about it thus far. He’s basically the last person I would choose to help me out, but my stupid pride and misery triumphed over my common sense.
“You certainly scored a nice cabin,” I say to break the awkward silence as he makes his way to the dresser and desk below a big screen at the end of the bed and sets his drink down.
“Did you get a double and not like your roommate?”
“No.” I shrug, like I even knew getting saddled with a roommate was a possibility. “Your cabin is just clearly bigger.”
How in the hell he scored a larger room than me, I’d like to know. Was it by chance, or does it have something to do withbeing in the running for the promotion? I will be pissed if he gets the job over me.
“Count yourself lucky. The cabins on this deck are kings. The lower deck cabins are all doubles,” he says, patting me on the shoulder as he walks by. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go get what we need.”
