Makros' jaw tightened as he watched her. His cock stiffened in his pants, reacting instantly to the sight of her. No matter how many times he had seen her naked, those full, firm breasts never failed to set him on fire.
Leila's fingers curled around the edges of her panties, hesitating for a brief moment as a flicker of innocence tried to surface, but she silenced it. She slid them down slowly, deliberately, then stepped out of them without breaking eye contact.
She didn't cover herself or shy away. She stood there, bare, letting him feast his eyes as they roamed over every inch of her body.
Makros took his time, keeping her waiting, keeping her on edge. He moved in slow circles around her, his gaze devouring every inch.
"Stop following me with your gaze," he said, and her head went still, as if his words had cast a spell over her.
Makros moved behind her and delivered a sharp smack to her ass. His palm struck in an upward motion, making her tense. Stepping in front of her, he seized her jaw in a rough grip.
"You still looking at me," he growled.
"N—no," she whispered.
He spat on her face, the act both shocking and thrilling her. "Dirty liar," he muttered.
He let go of her jaw and strode toward the equipment table. Leila almost followed him with her eyes but caught herself just in time. Instead, her mind raced with guesses about what he would choose.
"He's going for the flogger... the gag, maybe... or the spreader bar!?"
She couldn't have been more wrong. When Makros stepped back into view, he held a coil of red cotton rope.
She shifted on her feet, a strange sensation curling in her chest. It was closer to anxiety than fear, but whatever it was sent a brief, tingling rush through her body.
"Back against the cross," Makros ordered.
Her feet carried her forward, and she turned, pressing her back against the St. Andrew's Cross. The wood was solid beneath her, its edges slightly rough. It didn't hurt, but it heightened her awareness, making her skin tingle.
He began by looping the rope around each breast, pulling it snug until it pressed between them, tightening with each pass.
"Arms up, come on, come on!"
He took her wrist and lifted it, wrapping the rope around her with practiced ease. With a sharp pull, he tightened it, thepressure biting into her skin. The restraint forced her pulse to slow, to steady. He gave another tug, harder this time, securing the loop. A dull ache settled in, deep but manageable.
"Other hand."
Leila lifted her arm, and he secured it just as tightly. The pull of the restraints forced her shoulders back, making her chest rise. There was no going back now.
Once he had firmly secured her arms overhead, he retrieved a gag—the one with a red ball and black straps.
"Open your mouth," he ordered, slapping both of her cheeks with the front and back of his palm.
Stepping behind her, he positioned the gag over her mouth, the straps pressing against her cheekbones as he pulled them around to the back of her head. He tied it securely, catching even a few strands of her hair in the knot.
Leila tested the ropes binding her arms to the cross, her wrists tugging instinctively. Her head turned from left to right, breath growing heavy, sending tremors through her body.
"Spread your legs," his voice commanded again. She obeyed, but not nearly enough.
His boot nudged her ankle, forcing her legs wider. "Stand on your toes. Hold still. Yeah, keep it steady."
Her breath caught as the rope coiled around her feet, binding her on her toes. Now, she was restrained from all sides. Exposed. Utterly at his mercy.
"Comfortable?"
She nodded.
His fingers threaded through her hair, tugging her head back just enough for his breath to ghost against her ear. "No more smart mouth now, Leila?"
