Page 6 of Forbidden Heat

“Why,” I whisper to myself, “does he need rings in his bed?”

“They’re for bondage.”

I scream and drop the penlight as I whip around to face the door. Mr. Thorne is standing there, silhouetted by the hall light he must have turned on.

“What are you doing here?” I shout. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Keep your voice down. You’ll wake everyone.”

He comes into the room, advancing at an unhurried, deliberate pace. I’m frozen in place, unable to move, but my mouth still works. “How many people are there?” I ask, back to a whisper.

It’s a much safer question than anything having to do with the word that won’t stop echoing through my brain. Bondage. Bondage. Bondage.

“At the moment, just the Jamesons. But I do have guests from time to time, and if I’m hosting an event there can be a number of people in the house.”

“Okay.” I manage to say it in a fairly normal tone of voice, after clearing my throat. Mentioning that I won’t be here long enough for one of his events doesn’t seem like a good idea right now.

Mr. Thorne comes to a halt just outside my personal space. That’s still close enough that I feel his presence, like a pressure against my skin. He doesn’t speak, just waits for me to hang myself.

And I do.

“I — um —” Bending down, I grab the penlight. Those few seconds of hesitation are enough for me race through my options and realize there’s no use trying to make up a plausible excuse. There really isn’t one; and I’d be violating the second rule.

This seems like a really bad time to break one of his rules.

So I go with the truth. “I couldn’t sleep, and I was restless, so I started wandering the house.” Unable to hold his gaze, even with his face in shadows, I drop my eyes. “I’m sorry. I know there’s no excuse.”

Still he’s silent. With every passing second, my discomfort grows. Finally, I blurt out, “I’ll understand if you want me to leave.”

“We’ve already discussed that.” His voice is calm, almost mild. “Infractions are not answered with banishment.”

My pulse starts to race. “You … you want to punish me?” This sexy pirate of a man, who has a bed built for bondage … part of me is terrified at the kind of punishment he might deal out.

The rest of me wants to know what it would be like.

He moves an inch closer. I have a feeling if we measured the distance he’s just covered, it would be exactly one inch. But it’s enough; he’s in my space now, and I feel his energy against my skin. “What do you think your punishment should be?” he says.

Why is he asking me that? It throws me into turmoil. I can’t say what I’m really thinking — would I like it if he spanked me — so I fall back on let the punishment fit the crime. “You could ground me. Confine me to my room.”

“Do you think that’s appropriate?”

It’s driving me crazy, to have Mr. Bossy suddenly asking my opinion. It makes something in me frantic. “I don’t know. Your house, your rules.”

There’s a long silence. I’m still not looking at him. Finally, he turns and walks away. Lights come on, low, around the room, and then the door shuts with a soft click.

Now we’re well and truly alone. My heart pounds as he comes back to me. When his hand cups my face, I can’t hold back a tiny gasp.

He tilts my head up so I’m looking at him. “For some people,” he says softly, “pleasure and pain are intertwined.”

“Yes.” I know that’s true, even if I don’t really understand it.

“For me, discipline and control are intrinsic to who I am and how I live. But pain … it’s a pathway to pleasure. Do you understand?”

“I’m not sure.” It’s not quite a foreign language he’s speaking, but it’s close. His hand is so warm against my skin; I want to kiss it, bite it, lick it.

“I’m talking about sex.”

“Okay,” I breathe. Sex and this man go together like a hand in a glove, but I sense that there’s more that I’m not grasping. “You … like sex to hurt?”

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