Still, her whiny moan as I pulled the vibrator free was damning.
Teeth gritted, I collared the back of her neck and steered her away from Kane, my bond’s darkness leaking into our coven connection, his desperation to do somethingmoremaking my diseased blood pound harder. She had no idea the restraint in this room. No doubt Holly thought we were throwing everything we had at her, the bite and the candle wax, Kane’s enormous cock shoved down her throat, the edging with a vibrator she had no control over.
This was nothing.
If we could just let go, accept the bond—we’d have to carry her out of here.
Maybe we still will.
When I had her seated on the rug again, kneeling with her shoulders rounded and head hanging, I crouched in front of her and held up the vibrator.
“This needs to be clean before it goes back in the box.”
Eyes darker than the deepest forests soared to mine, and without hesitation, without asking for clarity, Holly leaned forward and licked the silicone clean. Just like that. Her perfume misted around us as she worked, that teasing tongue brushing my fingers occasionally, the knot in my trousers almost painfully hard—and she and I had barely begun.
Vibrator sufficiently licked free of her arousal, I tossed it back to Kane, who caught it one-handed, his copper gaze stuck on her.
“We’re going to take a little break,” I remarked softly. Behind her, Ambrose was up and on the prowl again, our coven elder headed for my abandoned chair like he had just gone twelve rounds with a titan. Holly’s gaze followed him, her one hand sinking between her thighs—no doubt to graze the mark he’d left there. Desire swelled like a creeping fog, and I cleared my throat as I drifted into her eyeline, bringing her attention back where it belonged. “I’m going to tie you up and hang you from that hook.”
She stiffened, color draining from her cheeks, and I nudged her chin up so she could see the iron hook mounted in the ceiling. We always requested a room with one, or something like it—or paid extra to have one installed. I just couldn’t help myself: ropework was a lost art form.
“The way I bind my partners makes them feel like they’re floating,” I told her, “maybe even flying.” Just as she started to retreat, folding in on herself, I cupped her face with both hands and brought her back to the light. How easy it would be to just sit like this, my thumbs stroking her damp cheeks, lost in the depths of her eyes.
But a part of me knew we needed to pretend, for now, that this was just another night, another club, another omega. If we wanted to survive this first wave of scenting—tasting—our blood bond, structure and routine were key.
Or…
Or the monster could take over each of us…
And we could… hurt her.
Unintentionally, yes, but that wouldn’t matter. This life, this curse, had taught me one thing: a corpse was a corpse was a corpse.
And necromancers were thieving bastards who chargedfartoo much to bring the dead back from the underworld.
“Would you like to fly, Holly?”
She frowned at me with question marks in her eyes, but when I brought my forehead to hers, the whole world tunneling to just me and my blood bond, she gave two slow, heavy blinks and nodded once more.
“Say it, sweetheart,” I rasped.
“Please,” she whispered. “I want to fly.”
Godsabove—did she know how fucking hard consent made me?
From the slight quirk of her lips… maybe.
Difficult as it was, I left Holly alone for a few moments to gather my ropes. Dark blue and sinfully soft, handwoven and stupidly expensive, they went everywhere our treasure chest did.
Settled into the leather, Ambrose and Kane busied themselves with opening another vintage blood bottle from my collection, two of which sat untouched on the little table between the armchairs. Pain panged through our shared bond, no doubt at the thought of changing the taste in Ambrose’s mouth from Holly to someone else, all the someones in the world tainted once he’d tried her.
“Now, this is important,” I said as I showed her my coiled collection. “Youmustspeak up if something is uncomfortable, falling asleep, tingly—anything.” I brushed some raven locks from her face with a grin. “Don’t want you losing any of those pretty limbs now, do we?”
Holly shook her head, still eyeing the ropes, and I got to work, explaining as I went along. It was vitally important to work as a team during rope play, for the submissive in restraints to utilize her voice. Not the safe word, per se, but to let me know if her body felt off. Binding, hanging—it was all about surrender. Swaddled, dangling, floating in a void where nothing else mattered.
No worries. No problems. No memories of a painful past.
That was what I sought to give all my partners.