“Usually, I tied her up to the bedhead,” he said with a jerk of his head to the heavy wooden one behind him. “I like having her vulnerable and open to me. Then I’d tease her, work her up, edge her over and over, until she told me it was enough.”
“And did you stop?”
“The instant the woman said,” he replied, nodding.
“But you didn’t really want to.”
His jaw flexed before he answered.
“Flick, I was raised to respect women. I don’t want to hurt them or make them do things they don’t want to do.”
“But you’d like to make them do things they would.”
He just watched me, his grey eyes bleeding to red, something I’d never seen before.
“Yes. With every fucking breath, yes.”
I did not know
Sen at all. He’d always had this dark sexiness, but right now, he really was that demon lover of literature. Those eyes of his promised a dizzying array of scenarios as I fought to visualise what his words might mean in practise. My eyes darted to the bedhead, and his followed mine, lingering way too long on the furniture. Whatever part of him gave him insight into others was ticking away right now, cogs turning, calculations made. He crawled towards me but stopped well short, sitting back on his heels and waiting.
What’s the deal with the red eyes? I asked my Tirian.
The Great Black Wolf touches him.
And what’s he when he’s at home? Some kind of devil? I shivered as I saw the grey in his eyes shift.
Sometimes. He has been in recent years. He is the divine masculine. Oppressive, controlling, and violent when unchecked.
I saw Rick and that fucking sneer on his face for a second.
And when checked?
When balanced by the feminine, he is the strong, the protector, the provider. He wants to play games with you, channel that energy that calls to him without actually constraining you. He makes you flush with heat. Let him feed your skin hunger as he wishes it. We can free ourselves from any kind of trap he creates.
I nodded, to her and to him.
I realised then he didn’t expect me to say yes, as his eyes went wide, completely grey now. As my answer sunk in, he got to his feet and walked around the bed to where I sat, reaching over and tipping up my lips for his to taste. His kiss was all Sen—forceful and thorough, yet considered. The only clue I got of what I was doing to him was in the hiss of his breath.
“I’ve just gotta go grab some stuff as well as some water for you.”
“I’m not—”
“You’ll stay hydrated,” was his reply. Short, sharp, decisive. “They call it a heat for good reason. Your body…” His fingers brushed my collarbone, sending a shiver through me. “It’s got a one-track mind right now, but that doesn’t stop it from needing fluids…” His lips parted, his smile dark. “Other than ours.”
And with that, he turned and went outside the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
They rushed in as soon as the door closed, a chaotic tangle, rising and rising, threatening to overwhelm me. What would he…? How would this…? Would we…?
“Here.”
Right now, he wasn’t Sen. He’d arrived back, a disembodied slice of muscular abs and hard cock confined by his skin tight boxers, with a bottle of water in one hand and a loop of rope in the other. He pushed the cold bottle into my hands, cracking the lid first and closing my fingers around it.
“Drink.”
My mind grabbed the simple word, and I lifted it to my lips and sucked the liquid down. As if awakened by the sensation of water in my mouth, I felt the dryness of my mouth, roughened from so many kisses, my body accepting the fluid gratefully.
“Good girl,” he said, running his hand down the side of my face, and I found my eyes closing. The weight of it was comforting, grounding. When I focussed on the feel of it against my skin, the calluses on his palms, the stink of nicotine, everything else fell away. It was like the breathing exercises Ophelia had prescribed, bringing my awareness back to the here and now.