by Pam Godwin
“Do you think Boones will ever go home to be with his brothers?”
“No. I’ve tried to make him leave. He’s stubborn.”
She nodded, her expression contemplative. “What now?”
“Bath, food, sleep. In that order.” Forcing his heavy feet across the room, he pulled her along.
When he reached the massive tub, steam rose from the water, infused with the calming scent of Boones’ herbs. She hung back, as far as the handcuffs allowed, and shifted her weight from foot to foot.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“I need to pee.”
He pivoted, somewhat clumsily, and led her to the toilet. “Sit.”
“How about you use that paper clip you’re hiding in your fist and unlock the handcuffs?”
Christ, she was perceptive. And sexy as fuck.
If he weren’t seconds from face-planting on the marble floor, he would plant his face between her gorgeous legs.
Instead, he hardened his expression in silent command.
Her glare sparked with objections as she kicked off her shoes, shoved off the shorts, and plopped down on the toilet with an urgent release of her bladder.
While she peed, he stripped his clothes from the waist down. He was already shirtless, but every movement ignited an inferno in his shoulder. He gripped the edge of the counter and breathed through the pain until it passed.
“If you removed the handcuffs, I could help you into the bath.” She hit the flusher and stood.
“You’re getting in with me.”
A tsunami of resistance came at him, emanating from her rigid posture.
He nudged her to the side, braced a straight arm on the wall above the toilet, and used his shackled hand to angle his dick while he peed.
She watched for a second before pressing her lips together and looking away.
“I want to piss all over your tight little pussy,” he said, just to further ruffle her feathers.
She ground her teeth.
“I’m going to cut you again.” His tone was flippant, but there was nothing casual about his intentions. He meant every word.
She tensed. “Can we just…not have this conversation right now? I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for it and could really use a couple of days without any blood or violence.”
The cynical side of him wanted to push her even more, but there was a stronger impulse to do something completely foreign. She needed rest as much as he did, and he felt an overwhelming need to simply take care of her.
He flushed the toilet and led her to the edge of the bath.
Adjusting the paper clip in his hand, he bit the end of it and made a dent. A quick twist inside the keyhole on her bracelet released the ratchets of teeth.
When the cuff swung open, she yanked her arm free and rubbed her wrist.
“Remove the shirt.” He picked the lock on his and set the handcuffs aside.
She obeyed without argument and stood before him wearing only the bandages on her thigh.
Crouching to one knee, he peeled away the medical tape and unwound the gauze. A fresh sheen of ointment coated the clean incisions. Boones must’ve treated her on the way here.
Tiago took his time examining her, admiring his work, and memorizing the stunning contrast of deep red lines against her pale skin. Then his gaze drifted to the flawless shape of her body, traveling along the sexy curves of her hips and smooth undersides of her pert tits.
He leaned in and skimmed his nose along her flat stomach. Her fingers feathered through his hair, and the soothing contact made him lightheaded.
Too soon, her touch retreated. She stepped into the water and held out a hand, offering to help him in.
The gesture surprised him, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do with it. She was too nude to conceal a weapon. Maybe she intended to drown him. But even in his weakened state, she would never be able to overpower him.
Perhaps she was just tired and wanted to get this over with.
He rose to his feet, gripped her offered hand, and lowered into the water.
Shifting to face him, she fit her legs on the outside of his and straddled his thighs. Then she went to work, lathering a washcloth with soap and cleaning his arms and the exposed skin around the bandages.
Assuaging fingers washed every inch of him, her mouth a kiss away as she finished her task with concentrated focus.
“Careful, Kate.” He sank deeper into the water, his body giving into the tranquilizing comfort. “I might get the impression you care.”
“Well, don’t. I have Stockholm syndrome.”
“You sure about that?”
“When I stepped into that parking lot with no guards, no shackles, and no confinement, freedom was right there.” A tumult of emotions scrunched her features before settling into the vertical grooves between her eyes. “All I had to do was run. I wasn’t even thinking about your threat against my friends. I want to escape that badly. But I didn’t.” She stared at her hands. “I looked back.”
His pulse thumped in memory. He’d sensed her escape from across the garage and started to go after her. The distraction had earned him a knife in the shoulder and a crippling drop to the floor. If she hadn’t come back for him, he would still be lying there. Dead.
She lifted her head and wrecked him with her crystal blue gaze. “This isn’t real. It’s just my mind’s way of coping.”
A fist of hurt slammed through his chest, one he’d earned through a lifetime of destructive choices. “What do you feel when you’re with me?”
“Fear.”
“What else?”
“Physical attraction. Desire. But you already know that.”
“You don’t think those feelings are real?”
“I don’t know. It’s not just that. I…” She closed her eyes, drew in a breath, and looked at him. “I feel protective of you, like I would choose your life over all else. I mean, I already did. I chose you over my freedom, and it doesn’t make sense. If that’s not Stockholm syndrome, I don’t know what is.”
He hated it, fucking despised her assessment of the intrinsic tether between them. But he knew what he was and what he’d done to her. Expecting her to hand over her heart to a warped bastard was inconceivable.
That didn’t, however, change his feelings for her.
“You’re probably right.” He toyed with a lock of wet blond hair that curled around her nipple. “But I don’t have Stockholm syndrome. For me, this doesn’t get any more real.”
Her expression fell. “You only feel that way because I’m the first person you’ve had sex with in twelve years.”
“No, Kate. You’re the one I had sex with because I love you.”
A quivering twitch pulled at her mouth, and her gaze dropped to the carving on her thigh. “You can’t love me. If you did, you would let me go.”
“Bullshit. You’re fucking essential, as necessary as water, air, and blood. I can’t give you up.” He gripped her chin, pulling her face to his. “If you truly love someone, you don’t let them go without a fight.”
“Even if not letting me go makes me miserable?”
“Are you? Miserable?”
“I have no freedom, no independence, no rights.” Resentment leeched her voice, sucking the calmness from her words. “If you loved me, you would at least let me leave the penthouse to take a walk or—”
“Absolutely not. You would be kidnapped within seconds.”
“Kidnapped by people like you? Or taken by my friends?”
“Both. If Matias Restrepo found you, do you know what he would do?” He clamped a hand around her nape, seizing her gaze. “He would confine you to his compound in Colombia, with no way to leave, no access to the outside world, no freedom.”
“He would only do that so you couldn’t take me again!”
“Think through that, Kate. He doesn’t want me to take you from him. I don’t want him to take you from me. Same. Fucking. Thing.”
“He’s nev
er hurt me.”
“No, he hasn’t. He’s safe, because you don’t owe each other anything. Is that what you want? To spend the rest of your life surrounded by risk-free bets? If that’s the case, stay far the fuck away from love. Growing close to someone, becoming attached to them, that shit doesn’t come with a guarantee.” His voice roughened, haunted by the reality of his past. “There’s no guarantee they’ll outlive you or love you back. It’s a fucking risk that could end in a lifetime of hurt.”
Her breath cut off as she searched his face. He didn’t expect her to risk anything for him, but he knew she felt something. He wasn’t alone in this unfathomable connection.
“I hate when you say things that make sense.” Her heavy exhale cumbered the space between them. “It feels manipulative.”
Fatigue fanned in lines from the corners of her eyes and hunched her shoulders. The conversation wasn’t helping.
“Come here.” He guided her to lie against his uninjured shoulder and used the washcloth to clean away the long night.
When he started to shampoo her hair, she took over, lathering and rinsing and teasing him with all that velvety blonde cascading around her arms and back.
She was such a pleasure to watch. The fluidity in her movements, the nuances of her expressions, and the sweeping dips and arches of her nude form—all of it sent a rush through his veins, invigorating him.
“If I knew then what I knew now…” He let his head fall back on the edge of the tub, regarding her beneath the weight of his eyelids. “I would do things differently.”
“Like what?”
Everything.
No, not everything.
He would never regret taking her.
“I’m sorry you didn’t see Tate before we left the desert.” He handed her a towel from the rack beside the tub.
“Me too.” She rose from the water and dried off. “I know you can’t go back now that the house is compromised, but doesn’t that mean he’s in danger there?”
“He’s safely hidden behind a monastery.” He grabbed a towel and followed her out of the tub. “No one will find him unless they’re looking for him.”
Once they had a full sleep, he would show her another video and ease some of her worry.
In the bedroom, a tray of breakfast food steamed from beneath metal domes. They ate quickly. Then he directed her into the massive bed and slid in behind her. She didn’t roll toward him but didn’t pull away, either.
Lying on his uninjured side, he tucked her backside into the bend of his hips and held her close.
Within minutes, her breathing evened into the steady rhythm of sleep. Every bone and muscle in his body thrummed to join her in slumber, but his mind refused to shut down.
With his entire world in his arms, he lay awake and made plans.
Recovering from a gunshot wound was a bitch.
Tiago should’ve been thankful the through and through injury had missed bones, arteries, and internal organs. It healed fast, and within three weeks, he could move the damaged flesh and muscle without nauseating pain.
But three weeks of recovery meant no exercise and no leaving the penthouse.
Word had gotten out he’d fled the gunfight on a motorcycle. Since that was the last time he was seen, there were all sorts of rumors in the air about his inability to maintain his power in Caracas.
Many assumed he was too weak or too dead to be a threat. His allies dwindled with every meeting, dinner, and party he failed to attend, no matter what excuses he gave.
His rivals launched attacks against his operational locations and smuggling routes, thinking they could overtake his syndicate. His men managed to hold their ground, but the constant fighting was wearing on them.
Still, he wasn’t ready to announce his location. Not until he was one-hundred-percent confident the city and its constituents would stand against Matias Restrepo when the capo attempted to retrieve Kate.
Tiago spent his days on the phone, barking orders, making deals, rallying new supporters, and repairing relationships in the criminal underground. Business as usual.
His evenings, however, belonged to a blonde spitfire.
Blindfolded and naked, she lay face up on the bed, with rope crisscrossing her body from neck to feet.
She hadn’t gone into the restraints easily. After all her thrashing and cursing, he could still feel the burning scratches from her nails on his face.
“Untie me! Right now!” Her hands flexed under the net of knots as she swung her head, trying to knock off the blindfold. “Where are you, motherfucker?”
Across the bedroom, he reclined against the wall and devoured her sublime anger.
The redder her skin flushed, the faster his heart beat. The louder she screamed, the harder his cock grew. He should go to her, calm her, but he couldn’t stop staring at the beauty of her distress.
He might as well have been a psychopath. Most of the time, he could control his urges and find a release valve in his workouts. But without exercise, he didn’t have a way to burn off the need for pain.
Did he think about whipping her, spanking her, applying clamps or constriction bands?
Nah. Not his thing.
Did he want to cut her skin, piss on her tits, and insert needles into her tender female parts?
Fuck, yes.
Blood, come, and urine—any or all of it covering Kate’s body made him painfully hard.
“Tiago!” She tried to arch her back but couldn’t gain a millimeter in the restraints. “I won’t surrender to this, you son of a bitch. Let me go!”
Although she had no idea what he had planned, she still wasn’t receptive.
In his estimation, it took some level of mental scarring for a person to be open to the indulgences of a sadist.
He didn’t buy into the delusion of a power exchange that was prevalent in the BDSM community. People abused those positions of power, and he was no different.
Kate was smart enough to understand this, and maybe that was why she wanted no part of it.
That didn’t mean he would change. Not that he could, even if he wanted to. He was warped beyond hell, with warped problems that had no simple solutions.
But none of that mattered tonight. The sexiest, most desirable woman in the world was trussed up in his bed, and he intended to put a smile on her angelic face. And maybe a few tears.
Pushing off the wall, he prowled toward her on soundless feet. With the blindfold on, she didn’t sense his approach, didn’t know he leaned over her until he fisted her hair and yanked her lips to his.
She gasped at the sudden contact, and he swept his tongue in with hungry lashes, kissing her hard and deep. His need for her raged, and he didn’t hold back.
His hands went everywhere, pulling, bruising, and grabbing at her beneath the rope. He consumed her lips, licked the graceful column of her neck, and sucked the rise of her perfect breasts before returning to her mouth.
She whimpered beneath the harsh strokes of his tongue, fighting and yielding, giving and taking, drowning and resuscitating, and no doubt hating him to the end of hell and back.
People like him should never fall in love. His wife couldn’t reciprocate. Kate was smart enough to guard her heart. But it was too late for him.
He loved her at a deadly, explosive, unstoppable level.
He came up for air, his mouth hovering a fraction away.
“Please, Tiago.” She panted. “I need to see.”
“The blindfold stays.” From the bedside drawer, he removed the jewelry he’d sterilized and the supplies he needed. “I have three gifts for you. The first one will make you angry as hell.”
“I’m already angry.” Her chest heaved, causing the rope to pinch her tits. “Gifts are supposed to make people happy.”
“This might bring you happiness someday.”
“Oh God.” Her face paled. “You’re going to cut—?”
“Shhh.” He pressed a finger against her mouth and sat on the bed beside her hip. “
No cutting tonight.”
She looked so breathtakingly erotic lying there on her back, with her legs and arms tied to the mattress.
He’d stretched the rope across her torso in an X pattern that made her breasts accessible while preventing movement in her core. She couldn’t lift or twist or do anything below the neck.
He leaned down, examining the three new cuts that sketched along the side of her ribs. He’d added those swirls a week ago, without her consent. Nothing like the one on her leg, the small carvings had only taken minutes, just a few quick turns of his blade before he’d buried himself inside her.
“What are you doing?” Fear trickled into her voice.
He pinched her nipples and tugged hard, elongating the peaks. “Tonight, I’m going to pierce these.”
“Fuck,” she said with a gulp. “Can we talk about it?”
“No.” Bending close, he spoke at her ear. “This gift means the most to me, Kate.”
“Why? Because it’s going to hurt the most?”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
Maybe someday he would tell her exactly what he was giving her.
“Stay still.” He squeezed her left breast, letting her know which one he was starting with.
Boones had instructed him on how to safely clean and pierce the area. With the preparations done, he didn’t draw it out.
Hands steady, he stabbed the back end of the barbell into one side of the nipple. The front of the bar pierced the other side.
The pain was probably so intense she felt it in the pit of her stomach. But she didn’t scream or fight in the restraints. Her hands balled in the sheets. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, and the sinews in her neck stretched taut.
Goddamn, she was devastating.
As he repeated the steps on the other nipple, heat simmered beneath his skin. Just imagining the sharp puncture of her sensitive tissues made his cock swell.
It wasn’t a fast pain. He’d never done this before, and each nipple took about a minute to pierce the ruthless rod all the way through.