His Gift 1(20)

“Mmm!” I shook my head, slowly but firmly. I hadn’t disobeyed!

“I told you to go home and get a good night’s sleep,” Jake said. “And what did you do? You were out until after four o’clock in the morning.”

Holy crap, was he serious? Was he going to punish me for going to work? What kind of a sick fuck was he, anyway?

My arms and legs yanked at their knots, but I could tell by their tightness that I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Mmm!”

He said nothing as I writhed against the ropes that were binding me. My brain was still fuzzy, or maybe that was the effect of the blindfold. Was this a dream?

I breathed hard against the gag. In the dark, I could feel my body tensing bit by bit as I woke up from whatever crazy sedative they’d given me.

It had been a while since he spoke. When his voice came, it was from the bottom of the bed. I breathed in. Orient yourself.

“I want you to know that I’m not going to harm you, Lacey. There’s no need to be afraid.”

I wanted to scream back at him. I wanted to thrash around. But what would any of that accomplish? That was what he wanted. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. I lay there completely still. Listening.

Waiting.

His footsteps came around the bed. The mattress was padded and I could barely hear the mattress give under his weight as he sat next to me.

I swallowed hard. Fabric brushed my arm. His jacket, maybe.

He was sitting there. Sitting next to me. Despite myself, my body began to react to his nearness with a heat that spread quickly down through my chest, down to my thighs and between. He was sitting right there next to me, and I couldn’t stand the blindfold.

“You’re an artist, yes, Lacey?”

I didn’t move. I didn’t nod. I wasn’t playing his game, whatever it was.

“An artist. And now I’ve blinded you. I wonder if this will be harder.”

Harder to do what?

“You’re behaving much better now, Lacey,” Jake whispered. “Even if you can’t answer me. I understand that this is going to be more difficult. But I think you’ll enjoy this by the end.”

What? What was going to be difficult?

His hand touched my stomach and I cried out from behind the gag. His hand rested, simply rested on my stomach. His fingers were warm through the fabric of my dress.

This touch was all he needed to tell me that I was his. With it, he proved my vulnerability. I couldn’t slap his hand away, couldn’t wrench out of the ropes that tied all of my limbs back.

He had me there, completely his, unable to get away.

My breaths began to come faster.

In my terror there was a strange fascination. Jake Carville didn’t strike me as the type of man who would harm me. Weird, I know, since I was tied to his bed. But the way he’d spoken to me, the gentle spark of desire in his eyes—these things made me want to trust him.

Even now, in the way he spoke, there was a cool certainty to his words that gave me pause.

He spoke to me as though he knew already that I was going to like whatever he did. God save me, I was curious. So curious. I wasn’t some prude. Sure, I was a virgin, but it wasn’t like that was on purpose. Guys mostly saw me as friends, and that was as far as it went.

In Jake’s eyes, though, there was more. Much more. And it scared me, yes. I was lying blindfolded on a bed, my hands and ankles tied. It scared me. And it made me wonder.

His hand moved down my stomach. Slowly, but not inching. He was going to take what he wanted. I could feel myself throbbing. Hot. Wet. Did I want it? God, I did. My body did, and it was going to drag my mind along for the ride no matter what.

I was tied down, wasn’t I? I was helpless. I couldn’t do anything, and I found myself wanting to give in. I wanted to let my body respond willingly to him, the way it wanted to instinctively.

My lips trembled. I waited in the dark.

His fingers slid to my hip, his one hand caressing the slow curves of my body. He stopped at the hem of my dress. His fingers hovered, grazing my skin there.

Then he shifted his weight on the bed. I felt the motion against my leg, and then there was another hand on my body. He gripped both of my hips, his thumbs caressing the shape of my hipbone.

He must have bent forward, because I felt his weight come to bear on his hands. The pressure pinned my hips down against the bed. Then—

His breath. Oh God, his mouth is right there, right there on top of me, breathing on me. My body spasmed and I kept myself from arching up against his face. It was an effort not to cry out with the ache.

Behind the gag, my lips parted slightly. I let my tongue come forward and push against the silk fabric binding my mouth. The air was dark, damp, and so hot that I felt every inch of my skin begin to itch with heat.