Page 103 of Drawn By Dragonblood
Silence reigned as I glanced around the room that had been tidied since my last visit. Although coated in a bit of shadow, I noted the cleanliness of the floor, the various benches, and peg boards and tables with their precisely lined toys. My feet moved me to the left, my fingers trailing over various instruments, some of which I had no clue about how one wielded them or the pain level they might inflict.
Floggers, crops, whips…a cane that made my backside clench and rushed the blood to my cock. My breath echoed in my ears as I lifted the wooden rod, its smoothness and unnatural warmth reminding me of the scale-like armor Elijah had created.
Holding the cane closer to my face revealed tiny scales.
It had definitely been designed by Elijah.
I slid my hand along its length, and like I’d stroked my stiff dick, pre-cum oozed from my slit, smearing in the jeans near-choking my balls.
The cane would hurt when wielded by Elijah—I had no doubt—but his touch would bring pleasure in its wake.
And fuck if that thought didn’t make my cock jerk and my heart rate accelerate.
A rush of that something swarmed over me, catching my breath a second before Elijah’s presence registered in my lust-filled brain. The darkness in me rose, tingling my hands, my feet, and my balls.
Yes.
Breath held, I turned.
Elijah hovered in the doorway, tensed like a dragon ready to leap at whoever had dared to touch his treasure. Pale eyes, dark pupils swirling—I didn’t fucking imagine the otherworldliness of his strange stare. The dude was not thoroughly human. No fucking way.
I swallowed but couldn’t tear my gaze from him. Couldn’t breathe as he stalked toward me, shoulders hunched, chin lowered, gaze piercing. “The beast inside you calls to me.”
I didn’t know what the fuck he meant, but it sounded like truth with how the words rumbled deeply from his chest and caused my arms to erupt in goose bumps.
That voice in my head? Yeah—it fucking agreed wholeheartedly, almost…cackling in glee.
“Let me show you.” Elijah stalked close with his suggestion, clasping his hand around mine, which still clutched the cane. Our chests bumped, and he tipped his head to the side, his gaze roaming down my neck and back to my lips. “Let me set you free.”
Please.
My balls seized, and I released my hold on the cane as Elijah stepped back, taking it with him.
“Strip.” His low command didn’t allow argument, not that I’d have attempted one.
Every inch of my tingling skin, every zapping atom inside my body, craved what I somehow knew what he and he alone could give me.
My hands shook while pushing off my jeans and kicking them free from my bare feet. I pulled my shirt off overhead and dropped it to the floor where it landed with a soft swish. Our heavy, panted breaths echoed in the cavernous room of melted rock and kinky toys meant to set a tortured soul free.
At least, I hoped that would be the truth.
Fists clenched at my sides, I stood before him, dripping pre-cum and shivering even though lava seemed to boil inside my soul.
Elijah took his time sizing me up, his gaze lingering here and there, and until he circled me, I wanted to beg him to just get on with it already, same as when I’d offered up my virgin ass to him. Lifting his arm, he trailed the end of the cane up the inside of my thigh, over my cock, and up my abs, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
I hissed between my teeth, my nerve endings alight and ready to fly.
“I know you want me to strap you to that cross,” he said, his voice as strained as I felt, “but you lost that privilege by disobeying me while in New York.”
A frown dented my brow as he set the cane aside and reached overhead to the dangling chains I hadn’t realized I stood beneath. “Give me your hands, beta.”
My fear squashed by need, I obeyed, and soft leather caressed my wrists, shackles attached to the chains.
Elijah moved away, and my gaze trailed over the ceiling, to the other end of the chains against the far wall. He pulled them upward until my arms stretched overhead. I was strung up, balancing on the balls of my feet and stretched taut, but not enough that my muscles screamed for relief.
“I’m going to do what I dreamed of doing,” he said, pressing his once more against me, his mouth on my ear, the heat of his skin like a brand on my chest. “You’re hung at my mercy,” he murmured with a deeper rumble, and I whimpered. “Mine to torment, mine to pleasure.”
He wrapped his hand around my cock and squeezed.
