Page 96 of Spark of Madness

And through my fuming rage, I know there is only one way to show it. Spitting fury, flinging words of hatred, screaming, and fighting the inevitable won’t prove how much better I am. I must meet them with the dignity and grace of my entire being. I am not a raging impulse of emotion to be satiated by outbursts. I’m a woman—something stronger and far more spectacular than they’ll ever be.

I breathe in deeply, and on the exhale, I force my shoulders to release their tension, my fingers to unclench from fists, my heart to calm from this passion. I search my mind for a breadcrumb of calmness I can follow along a path to serenity, and when I find it, I run toward it.

Stealing Arlo’s gaze, I lower to my knees on the hard tile floor and cross my arms behind my back. “Start the damn clock.”

Arlo’s eyebrows flatten to a straight line and his eyes narrow to scrutinize me, his lips parting on a slow, steady exhale. Everyone’s attention is pulled toward Arlo…watching and waiting. He’s the one who must bind me and string me up for them. He’s my warden, and his actions alone will determine when this nightmare officially begins.

Air catches in my lungs, threatening to reveal my sudden fear, but I shove it back down, refusing to show my weakness. Arlo steps slowly, his feet moving with a dullthudon the tile as he comes toward me. He stops in front of me, then holds his hand out at his side. “Bring me the rope,” he says to everyone and no one.

Something sparks behind his eyes, something mad and powerful. I’m not quite certain if the look terrifies me or turns me on. It shouldn’t turn me on, for heaven’s sake. Not a single moment of this should, regardless of whether he’s here. I’m enraged and horrified, and there’s no room for lust. Except…the way he looks at me could easily set my insides on fire.

Someone places a length of rope in Arlo’s hand, but I don’t know who because I can’t tear my eyes away from him. Winding the rope around his palm, his eyes skate over my naked form, drinking me in, taking his time. Then he moves so unexpectedly that it startles me, and my shoulders jump as he circles around me.

Inch by inch, he dresses me in coarse rope. Each twist, each tug, each drag of the rope across my skin cheats me into a shameful state of anticipation. It’s as though he uses my anger as fuel for the fire he lights within me. I can hear his every breath as he works close to me, as he takes liberties to graze my skin with his fingers and draw sensations over my body.

I try to fight it when he jerks on a knot that tugs me backward, but his force is too strong. My lips part as I attempt to draw in a steeling breath, but it blows out shakily. I feel this way forhim.Loathe as I am to admit it, I feel things for Arlo Rainn. I feel things that no one is allowed to feel. I feel things that are beyond the scope of reason. I feel things that could nearly restore my faith in a higher power—if only it weren’t for the circumstances.

I want to fight the heaviness between my legs as my mind wanders, recalling his touch and the way he made me swell. I want to fight the pebbling of my nipples as ropes sweep across them before tugging tight around the mounds of my breasts to frame them. I want to fight the pull of tension through my core. But Arlo’s voice whispers through my mind.

Moments later, it whispers against my ear. “Your strength is unmatchable. Don’t let them take it from you.” He speaks so softly that I have to strain to hear him—but at least I know none of the others will. He moves away from me and takes command, speaking loud enough that everyone can hear him. “Stand.”

With Arlo’s hand gripping my elbow, and my arms bound behind my back, I slowly climb to my feet. As soon as I’m steady, he lets go of me and begins looping the rope through one of the metal hoops dangling above me.

I tilt my head to look up at it, focusing on the rope as it moves through, trying to ignore the fact that I’m standing naked in the foyer of the Homestead with nearly every member of the Control surrounding me, staring at me, eagerly waiting for their turn to put me in my place.

My place is dancing on top of theirfresh graves.

My jaw tenses as I lower my head to level, squeezing my eyes shut tightly, breathing through the heated resentment. In a heartbeat, the resentment disappears, giving way to a jolt of panic as the ropes around my body tighten, lifting me sideways from the ground. The knots that pull me into suspension are positioned along my side, just beneath my hip, and around my left ankle.

Hoisting me up, I hang sidelong to the ground. Arlo adjusts the rope so my body forms an angle, my head slightly higher than my hips. My left leg is straight, the knot around my ankle aiding in suspending my leg, and once it’s secure, he reaches down, tapping my right knee, closest to the floor.

“Bend,” he orders, and I do it, eager to lift my dangling leg as it hangs uncomfortably without support.

Bending my right knee and kicking my ankle back toward my bottom, he binds my leg to keep it that way, forever bent, kneecap pointing toward the floor in such a way that it keeps my thighs spread wide…

Accessible.

The familiar panic I had felt in the caves pricks in my mind, sending an electric current of frightened awareness rushing beneath my skin.

His hands leave me altogether, and I’m left to hang, settling in the ropes for a few moments. I listen to the sound of them creaking with the light sway of my body.

Then, a warm, heavy palm presses to my belly, an arm skimming along my side as it reaches around me from behind. I turn my head skyward to look behind me, and the air rushes from my lungs in relief. The hand belongs to Arlo. He’s still right there at my back, running his palm down the center of my stomach.

Lower and lower he travels, and with each inch, my pounding heart beats a little faster. His fingers run down the tuft of hair before dipping between my legs.

“Let’s see if you’re ready for us, Mercy Madness.”

My body twitches against my bindings as his fingers slip low, bending to press inside me and finding the wetness he dragged out of me in my bedroom. A low moan escapes me as he caresses, finding that wonderful spot inside and pressing against it with a perfectly pressured rhythm.

“Perfect,” he mutters, catching my eyes and holding my stare.

How does he do thisto me?

Damnit, how does he do this?!

Never once have I responded like this in service, not to anyone, not to a single other man.

Because none of themwere him.

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