Page 86 of Can't Stop Watching
"Safer for who?" I whisper.
"For them." The words hang between us, heavy with unspoken history.
My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I wonder if he can feel it. This is terrifying in a way that has nothing to do with being pressed against his wall in a dress with nothing underneath. This is the kind of terrifying that could break me if I'm not careful.
A man like him doesn't just fall for a girl like me. Men like Dane are temporary hurricanes that leave devastation in their wake. Aren't they?
"What exactly are you trying to tell me, Dane?" I force myself to meet his eyes, determined not to hide from whatever this is.
For a moment, his intensity is so overwhelming that I'm genuinely afraid of what he might say next. Then his expression changes from vulnerable to predatory.
His voice drops to a dangerous rumble that vibrates through my entire body. "That I'm crazy about you and tonight I'm going to tattoo my name so deep into your body that you'll never want to be fucked by anyone else but me."
Holy. Shit.
My knees tremble. No one has ever spoken to me like that—like I'm oxygen and they're drowning. Like they'd tear the world apart just to have me.
Before I can respond, he spins me around, pressing me face-first against the wall. There's a metallic clicking sound, and something cold circles my wrist, snapping shut with a definitive click.
Handcuffs. He just fucking handcuffed me.
I should be terrified. I should be outraged. But instead, I'm so turned on I can barely breathe.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his lips brushing the back of my neck.
I test the restraint, feeling the solid metal against my skin. I'm not trapped—I could say no and he'd release me instantly. That knowledge is what makes me nod.
"Use your words, Lila," he commands softly.
"Yes," I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "It's okay."
He tugs gently on the cuffs, leading me away from the wall. "Then come with me."
I follow him through his apartment toward the bedroom, the handcuffs creating this thrilling balance of vulnerability and anticipation. Each step makes the fabric of my dress brush against places that are already aching for his touch.
"You know," I say, trying to sound casual despite the hammering of my heart, "most guys just text 'u up?' at midnight. Your approach is a bit extra."
He glances back at me, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. "I'm not most guys."
"Clearly," I mutter, but there's no bite to it.
I hesitate at the threshold. Once I cross it, something's going to change between us. This isn't just sex anymore—it's surrender, it's the ultimate trust, it's...
Fuck it. Whatever this is, I want it more than I've wanted anything in a long time.
I step into his bedroom, just for Dane to hold me back and place me right under the doorframe.
I barely have time to process what's happening when Dane reaches into his pocket and pulls out a second pair of handcuffs. The metallic click as they close around my free wrist makes me turn to jelly.
"Two pairs? Someone came prepared," I say, trying to joke while my heart threatens to burst through my chest.
It's only then that I notice the chin-up bar secured to the doorframe above my head. Wait, is this some kind of fitness test? Is he trying to tell me I should work on my upper body strength? Because honestly, I'm more of a yoga girl. Pull-ups are what I do when I reach for a tall cupboard.
"Um, if you wanted a workout buddy, you could've just asked," I joke nervously.
Dane doesn't answer. Instead, he lifts my arms above my head and secures the handcuffs to the bar with practiced efficiency. The motion stretches me upward, nearly forcing meonto my tiptoes. My arms are fully extended overhead, the metal biting into my wrists just enough to remind me I'm completely at his mercy.
Holy shit. I'm actually handcuffed to a doorframe in Dane Wolfe's apartment.
