DELIVER(50)

When her silence stretched, he tilted his head. “What is it?”

A deep groove appeared between her eyes. “You’re not broken or defeated.” The side of her mouth tipped up into a trembling curve, making his chest swell against the restraints. “But you let me do this.” A whisper.

When her eyes lowered, he bent his head to remain in her line of sight. “I have faith in you, Liv. You know how to handle Van. What’s wrong?”

The furrow in her brow deepened. “This kind of bondage is about trust, not control.” She traced a finger over the rope harness and adjusted a knot to line up with the others. “I would’ve never attempted it on one of the captives.” She glanced at him through her dark lashes. “I practiced a lot on a borrowed mannequin.”

Given the labyrinth of knots, it was a binding that couldn’t be easily forced, a position he certainly wouldn’t have volunteered before Mr. E’s visit. He pressed his lips to her forehead. Maybe his trust was too soon, but somehow it had braided a bridge between them that was as complex and sturdy as the rope that bound him.

“You trust me.” She wasn’t asking, but disbelief creased her face.

He captured her parted lips, stroked his tongue over hers, tasting her sincerity, and straightened to behold her. “I trust your intentions.”

Soft brown eyes stared back, her hand settling on his inner thigh. He felt that single point of contact through his whole body, warming and stirring. She stretched a finger and stroked down his semi-erect shaft. “You shouldn’t.”

His breath strangled. “Liv.” He groaned, his penis jerking against her touch. “What are you doing?”

“Before I text Van, you need to memorize the requirements. A perfect little slave could recite them verbatim.” She curled her fingers around the pulse between his legs, massaging him to hardness. “And you need to do it while I distract you.”

She grabbed his nipple and twisted it to unholy hell, sparking pain through his chest. The rope between his arms and thighs halted the bow of his back.

“Arruugh!” He moaned for long seconds after she released him.

“What is requirement number one?”

He ground his teeth, reeling from the lingering bite of her fingers. “Slave can only have sex with felonious men—”

She yanked on his other nipple with a brutal pinch, and let go. The sting thrummed through his body, and his groin heated, stiffening to the point of pain.

Her hand clenched around his erection. “Slave has never experienced sexual intimacy with a woman. Slave is heterosexual but hates women. He desires only his Master.” She arched a slim eyebrow.

He repeated the requirement. “How would anyone know if I’ve slept with a woman?”

Those gorgeous eyes roamed his face. She trailed her other hand along his hairline, around his ear, and down his neck, watching the path of her caress. “Experience. Skill. Confidence. These things surface in a man’s eyes when he regards a woman.” Her gaze flicked to his, the hand on his penis sliding up and down. “Don’t gape at me like that.”

“Seriously?” He released a ragged breath. “You’re stroking me.”

“When we’re in the presence of others, don’t look at me at all. You need to practice that now.”

If he was going to be tied up or naked around Van or the buyer, he wouldn’t be looking at her with anything but panic.

“Tell me requirement number two.” She added a second hand between his legs, fondling his balls while she twisted her wrist along his length, her heavy-lidded gaze clinging to his.

“Slave must—” A shudder rippled over him, his biceps flexing against the rope. “Service the Master. Slave’s body is prepared and—” His release coiled, tightening, threatening. “You have to stop.”

She leaned in and bit his lip. Hard. Consuming. The pang snapped his control, the build up tumbling over in a powerful wave of heat and sighing relief. His head dropped back on his shoulders, his body shaking in the constriction of rope.

As the bliss of his orgasm drifted from his muscles, he realized he’d closed his eyes. When he opened them, she stood above him, her cute little nose wrinkled in annoyance. He wanted to kiss it. His lips twitched. “Um. I guess I need to work on requirement seven.”

“No. Number seven is kneeling, one of the only f*cking rules you haven’t broken.” She rubbed her eyes and glared at him. “Number three. Eyes down. Four. No clothes.”

“I’ve got number four covered.” He tried to check his smile, but his cheeks were persistent.

“Good job.” Her monotone response matched her disapproving stare.

Hard to believe he’d considered her vicious. With the set of her stubborn jaw and her lips in a plump flat line, she looked decisively non-threatening. “You’re adorable.”

She spun, striding to the locked cabinet where she kept her crops, whips, and paddles. “You’re patronizing me, you little prick.”

Oh, he’d really ticked her off. Her aggravation vibrated with the slap of her feet on the floor. He peeked at his lap, and the sight of his come tightened his chest with guilt. Dammit, he needed to try harder.

She unlocked the cabinet and returned with something he knew existed but had never seen in person. Shaped like a cone and made of black rubber or plastic, the phallic shape sent a shiver of dread down his spine. “No. No way. Go get the flogger.”