I touch a drop, and they all fall to the ground, not one touching me. My smile grows wide, and his stare is one of absolute awe.
“Where are the handcuffs?” I need to keep this momentum or I’ll chicken out and run away, just like he fears.
He walks into the closet and comes out with a handful of things. He drops them on the floor. There are silver handcuffs, black metal chains, and a whip. Holy crap.
Again, my resolve wobbles.
“Have you used these?” I ask.
“No,” he answers quickly. “They’ve been in there since I first moved in. Never touched.”
I lean down and examine the items, unsure how to even use most of them.
“Command me to chain myself and I’ll do it,” he offers casually. His hands in his pockets.
“Okay,” I answer, still unsure. But part of me is enjoying this way more than I should. We made the deal that we wouldn’t do more than kissing, and I still intend to keep that deal. So, is going along with all of this just being a big tease or something?
“Something wrong?” he asks, noting my expression.
“Maybe we shouldn’t?” I say quietly. “I don’t want to… take it too far.”
“Then, don’t,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re in control, Candice. If you want me in chains, just to see it happen, tell me. You can let me down immediately or leave me up there all night and not touch me. Or you can break your own rules. I won’t stop you. I give you unequivocal permission to do anything you want.”
“Anything,” I mutter, mind roving over all the options. Some things I’d never in a million years actually do, but I’ve read enough naughty novels to picture them way more explicitly than I should, and others sound quite interesting.
“Even if it’s nothing. Begin, and then stop at any moment. This is all you. Torture me however you please. I’ll enjoy every painful moment.”
My cheeks heat but I force my mind to obey.
“Shouldn’t we at least have a safe word or something?” I put a hand on my hip. I’m pretty certain there is nothing I’d be willing to do to him tonight that would cross a line, and I don’t know much about this, but I’m pretty sure that’s a basic rule.
He smirks. “Sure, if you want.”
“What should it be?”
He considers for a moment. “vRta.”
“What’s that?” I frown. “I’m not sure I’ll remember it,” I say honestly.
“Okay, how about... root beer.”
I snort. “Okay, I think I can remember that one. Handcuff yourself to the bed post,” I order.
He nods sharply and then looks again at the chains at his feet. My heart pounds rapidly.
“Okay,” I say slowly and gather the nerve to make that first move. “Chain yourself to the bed.”
“Lying down or standing up?”
“Up,” I say, mostly because the idea of lying on the bed scares me.
Without hesitation, Jarron swings the cuffs around the top railing of his bed and clasps one wrist into the cuff and lines up the other. With a bit of effort, he’s able to clasp the second securely over his wrist.
He’s standing, shirtless, cuffed to the top frame of his bed.
I’m breathless, staring at the now immobilized prince of the Under World and wondering how I got here.
How am I’m supposed to deal with the feelings rushing through my whole body? I’m terrified and thrilled and eager and overwhelmed.
