Page 36 of Fearless

So, of course, I frown harder. “Who?”

He sighs as he straightens, and lights himself a cigarette. We’ve been at this for at least an hour, so I guess I can’t blame him.

“Let’s just say, they have a special place in their heart for you.”

Revulsion twists my face, and a puff of smoke escapes his lips as he lets out a short chuckle. He smokes his cigarette while I stretch my legs and drink some of the water he brought me.

There was a moment where I almost refused it. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he could have drugged it or something. But posing is thirsty work, and if I’m ever going to get out of here I’ll have to stay hydrated. Who knows how long my flight to freedom will be?

I look down at the water bottle, tasting my mouth.

A memory blooms in my mind.

That’s because of the drugs I put in it.

I was in his apartment. I remember the glass of booze he poured me. Said he’d drugged it.

I quickly lift the bottle to my mouth and take another swallow. Better than Cillian happening to look up and see my hand trembling, right?

“On your back.”

A tremor chases through me. He moves silent as a cat when he wants to. I never heard him coming up behind me. I set the bottle down on the nightstand and climb on the bed without looking at him.

Who the hell knows what he would see in my eyes if he did?

I’ve barely laid down before he snatches my wrist. I bite back a protest when he hauls my arm toward the leather restraint, and suppress a shiver when he leans over me and grabs my other wrist to repeat the process.

This close, the smell of him is everywhere. Cigarettes and mints and his own masculinity. No sweat, but with the air-conditioner running down here, the air is chilled.

I expect him to move away, but instead he takes a seat beside me and reaches behind him.

“Now open that pretty mouth of yours,” he says, fighting a smirk and facing me as he lifts a hand. A silver ball gag dangles from his fingers.

Crap.

I know I’m past the point of rejecting anything he wants to put anywhere right now, but a fuckingball gag?

“If I can weigh in here,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerously low rumble. “I’d open my pretty little mouth and let the nice man put in whatever he wants.”

My mouth opens, but he stops about an inch from my mouth. Instead of putting in the gag, he runs a thumb over my bottom lip. I stop myself from biting his fucking finger off, and instead close my eyes as he slips his thumb between my lips.

When he rubs it against my tongue, that sensation is mirrored deep inside my core.

My body goes rigid.

Oh my God. How am Ienjoyingthis?

But before I have a chance to analyze that shit, he pulls out his thumb and uses it to wet my lips.

He could have just asked.

Instead of being angry, a slow fascination builds in my mind.

Hecouldhave asked.

Maybe I’m not as far off script with my original plan as I thought. If there’s even a chance he’s attracted to me, then why the hell am I hesitating? And this time he’s the one coming onto me—

The metal bit clicks against my teeth as he wedges it between my lips.

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