I gulp as he raises his hands to grab my hips. His head comes right where my pussy is, barely protected by his t-shirt that hits mid-thigh and my panties.
"We're going to play, Nyx," he murmurs against the material protecting my mound.
"We've already played today. You scared me. It inspired you. No more."
My words fall on deaf ears as he wraps an arm around me and lifts me off the chair. I shriek, feeling myself losing balance as he easily moves me from my high position to the wooden kitchen table.
He lays me down on it, his face right above mine, eyes shining with sadism.
"Be a good little muse, and I'll share some of my secrets."
My heart stutters. How many people around Achilles have dreamed of hearing those words? The man with a thousand secrets. The man who looks at the world like he knows everything we don't. The man who appears so unbothered, like he's figured it all out while we run around trying to understand life.
"Which secr?—"
He places his thumb on my lips. "Close your eyes."
I hesitate, searching for safety on his face. There's nothing. He never offers that, knowing it would be a reassurance that'd take some of my fear away.
As I breathe through my mouth, my body already feels like it wants to twist to his desires.
And my eyes flutter closed.
"Atta girl," he murmurs above me.
He drops a soft kiss on my lips and disappears.
"I'm going to put something over your eyes,mon trésor."
My stomach sinks with anticipation.
"Achilles," I plead weakly. "Why?"
I startle when I feel the cloth I was holding a second ago against my eyelids. When did he even get it out of my hand?
"Because," he explains gently as he ties the cloth behind my head, careful not to pull my hair, "we're going to rewrite the past."
"What do you mean?"
He disappears for a few seconds, and I hear drawers opening and closing. My senses are heightened, every movement from him making me twitch.
He delicately grabs one of my wrists, wrapping something around it.
"I'm using butcher's twine, so don't pull too hard. I don't want it to cut into your skin and hurt you." His words areaccompanied by the thread being wrapped around my wrist over and over again before he pulls it over my head.
I feel him tie it to something, and I can only assume it's the leg of the table. He repeats the process with my other arm, and it's not long before I can't move any of them.
"You're a bastard," I panic, my head shaking from side to side as I try to dislodge the blindfold. "I need to move."
I pull at my binds, and just like he warns, it digs painfully into my skin.
"Don't hurt yourself, Nyx," he orders calmly. "This isn't the point of what we're doing."
"I can't do this." My chest trembles. "I need to be able to move," I repeat. A whimper escapes me when I feel his hand on one of my knees. "I need to see you. Please, let me see you."
"No, baby. But it's me. You know it's me. Playing with you, touching you."
"Please." A sob gets lodged in my chest, my poor lungs a dam about to burst as they try to hold back my swirling emotions.
