Page 46 of Captured Onyx

But of course, he doesn't let that happen. I hear his bare feet tapping around the bed as he walks over to my side, positioning himself between me and the window.

I want to turn away, but my eyes are caught by the sight of his morning wood.

He chuckles, reaching down to his crotch to encompass his hardness.

"I should shove this between your pretty lips," he says huskily, sending a sizzling shock down my spine. "Would you like that?"

He goes down on his knees so that we're at the same eye level, tilting his head to the side as he awaits my response.

"Does it matter?" I ask. "You do whatever you want to anyway."

He rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head.

"We've only been awake for a few moments and you're already testing me?"

"I've been awake most of the night," I reply, frowning at him. "I wasn't exactly comfortable."

He sighs, not deigning me with a verbal response, before he gets back up on his feet and begins to unfasten the knots that have held me in place all night. He unties my leg first, watching as I stretch my foot and bend my knee for the first time in hours.

I sigh with relief when he frees my wrists, finally allowing me to lower my arms.

"Come, sit up."

His words are spoken surprisingly softly and not laced with his usual commanding tone that I've gotten used to. I cast him a puzzled look when he brings his arms behind my upper back to help me sit up.

"On your knees," he adds, still supporting me as I try to balance myself awkwardly. "If you can."

I huff, about to make a sarcastic remark when I realize that I'm light-headed and the room begins spinning as I try to position myself the way he asked. I tumble to the side and probably would have collapsed on the mattress—or fallen to the floor next to the bed—if it hadn't been for him. He stops my fall, propping me against his sturdy frame while I try to compose myself

"Careful there," he cautions, still speaking in that oddly soft tone.

He leans down to me, brushing the hair away from my face before his eyes lock with mine, a piercing grey gaze that holds me as steady as his hands do.

"I'm sorry, it's just-"

"Don't be," he stops me. "This is perfectly normal. The rope has cut off the blood flow in several places. It's normal to feel a little light-headed."

I don't know how to feel about the way he's treating me now, about the way he pins a strand of hair behind my ear, about the way he wipes away the thin layer of sweat that is gathering in little droplets on my forehead.

About the way he looks at me, his face marked by actual concern.

Is this part of his game?

And why am I falling for it?

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