Page 233 of Those Who Are Bound

Jonah

Jonahwasexhausted.Hiscock felt like it was bleeding. As blasphemous as the analogy was, his dick had its own crown of thorns.

Her handling of him was rough and focused but also… dare he say, loving? She might not have let the sensitivity fade before she drew him back, making him more tender than less, but at the same time, every lick, flick, suck and caress was edged with care.

He might have lost his mind, too.

But she was irresistible. Her touch, her mouth… and her growing perplexity at his ability to take what she thought she was dishing out. She wasn’t the person—the demon, monster, whatever the fuck—she had it in her head she was.

Prove it to her.

That’s what Beckman had challenged him to do. Maybe this wasn’t the way, but to see her doubt as he refused to bend, break, recant his faith? Call her names? Judge her? He wasn’t sure what she expected him to do as she hand-and-mouth fucked him beyond the point of pain.

Yes, fucking intense pleasure, but it hurt, too. His flesh was goddamn sensitive, and after every orgasm—she’d just wrung a sixth from him—he was certain his dick would either explode or fall off.

His fingernails clawed into the wood over his head.

This was a competition, he understood that. Not every body part of his did, however.

She was tired, too. And he could see her ego was taking a hit. Good. He’d been right; he said she wasn’t dominant—she never had been. He didn’t know what those other men experienced, but her playacting at control where she clearly didn’t belong… this was torture.

“When does this end?” he asked. He could end this now. He’d had the ability all along, but she hadn’t realized that. With how she’d tied him, all he had to do was reach up and grasp the joints of the cross and lift. Because she hadn’t secured his legs, he could easily flip himself up. He knew the construction of the beams, and the cabling would hold his weight.

He was a climber. This would be so easy. But this was something she needed. And despite the show, the stage, he was going to give it to her. Because everybody fucking else in her life had led her to this moment.

So yeah, Beckman, he was going toprove it to her.Prove she couldn’t break someone who didn’t want to be broken. Because she was never a monster.

Elliott stared from her position below him, sitting back on her heels.And fuck him, if his miserable cock didn’t twitch. Her look was calculating, like she was trying to figure out if the question meant he was breaking. No. And he wasn’t asking for himself.

“That’s up to you,” she answered.

He chuckled darkly. Stubborn woman. “Do you think my faith is that shallow? Do you think it’s wrapped up in buildings, props, and ceremonies? You can’t shake me. You can’t take that part of me away, no matter how many times you make me come against this cross.”

Elliott kept staring at him. Her lashes fluttered, testimony to her own exhaustion.

They were both sweaty. Both were borrowing oxygen at an increased rate. The air was heavy and smelled of musk—him. The afternoon sun was casting a dark orange glow through the stained-glass windows.It was beautiful; surreal.

Her lower lip trembled once before she caught it, her posture stiffening. But the defeated one in this space was her. Her beautiful eyes were turning into storm clouds. She didn’t want to do this anymore; didn’t want to try to best him.

He did know her.

He stared back, hard, his look a command. “Untie me,” he growled.

Blinking, she tore her gaze away. “Just bend,” she whispered.

“No.”

“Jonah.” Her expression appeared to fade.

“Untie me.” He issued the directive again, his voice low and authoritative. Before she lost her shit, he wanted to be free. He needed her to do it. She needed to be the one to do it.

Looking back at him, she startled. “Oh my god,” she whispered. The sound was full of self-disgust. “Oh god.”

“Now!”

After a moment’s hesitation, one which had her looking back toward the main doors and had him wondering if she was contemplating making a break for it, Elliott scrambled to her feet. She slammed her body against his, elongated as she reached for the knots. She whispered again,“I’m sorry.” She wouldn’t look at him directly as she tugged at the restraints. “I’m sorry. I’m sick. I’m…”

He didn’t want apologies. He didn’t want to hear about sickness.

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