Page 80 of Point of Contention

I shrugged. “Don’t remind me.”

She smiled, then stopped in front of the St. Andrew’s Cross. “This one.”

I stepped quickly behind her and slid one hand around her throat, the other between her legs, then I kissed her neck, her jaw, her ear, teasing her wet center with my middle finger. “Safe word?”

“Lavender, Master Creed.”

I growled against her throat. My cock hardened, a steel rod nestled against the crease of her ass. I held her to my body, impaled on my finger, as I walked her to the cross, then turned her around and let her go. Nodding to the top half of the cross, I said, “Stretch your arms, Rylan.”

She reached up quickly, placing her arms against the black leather, trying in vain to bite back the grin of excitement pulling at her lips.

Shaking my head at her eagerness, I reached up and strapped in her left arm. “How did I get so lucky?”

“It’s anyone’s guess.”

I side-eyed her as I secured her other wrist.

“Sorry.” She rolled her lips together to keep from laughing. “It’s anyone’s guess, Sir.”

I looked down at her feet, then nudged them further apart with my own. Leaning down, I strapped her left ankle, then looked up at her. “What is your comfort level right now? Ten is very comfortable. One is… we never want to get to one. Understand?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Ten, Sir.”

I bent to fasten her other ankle to the cross. When she was fully secured, I rose to my feet.

Her body was stretched in the shape of an X, completely on display for me.

A fuckinggoddessand all mine.

I stood back a few feet and took in the sight of her, letting my gaze travel slowly over her body, from the curve of her armpit to the dip in her waist, the swell of her hip… I memorized her all over again, taking my time.

Partly because I was selfish; I needed to drink her in after being away from her for so long.

But also, because this was part of the torture. The punishment.

She’d be dripping and desperate, positively wanton by the time I next touched her.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rylan

Anticipation tightened my belly, coated my skin with sweat. My inner thighs were slick with my arousal, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I was completely restrained.

And I had been for some time now.

I shivered as the weight of my predicament sank in.

Cabot had slipped out of the room five, maybe ten minutes ago—I had no way of measuring time in here, and moments felt longer than normal. Or maybe it was just being shackled to this thing that made time cease to exist. Don’t know; this was a first for me.

And, though I trusted him not to leave me hereindefinitely, the longer I was alone, bound across this big X, the louder that little voice in my head questioned me. Why did I like this? Need it? Why was I so turned on from being completely immobile and at the mercy of a sadist?

But then that beautiful sadist returned to the room, dressed in only a pair of low slung dark blue jeans, his intricate tree tattoo stretching from the crest of his shoulders down to tease at the firm cheeks of his ass before disappearing into his jeans, and my heart stuttered at the sight of him.

That intense, delicious man wasmine.

From the broad stretch of his shoulders, to his chest dusted with dark hair, to the ridges of abs that led to a deep V of muscles that traveled down into a thick, hard cock pressing against the snug fit of his jeans…