Chapter 22 #2
He shoved those thoughts aside, because after her pronouncement about their maybe third, he’d declared that they had to eat something before having any more serious conversations.
Really, he needed time to figure out how to talk about the fact that he didn’t think he could share her, and not even the laws of their society could sway him.
Which was a big fucking problem.
“Why did you move?”
Nikolett set aside her food. “I’m going to wash my hands.”
Eric watched her go, fancifully imaging he could see her erecting her mental walls as she walked away.
He waited for the door to close before rising to his feet. She was going to shift the conversation, avoid telling him about her past. It had nearly broken him when she said there hadn’t been room for her trauma because he’d let his own shit take up all the space. Not anymore.
Which meant the logical next step was to tie her up and make her talk.
It was time to unpack the special box he’d stocked specifically for this trip.
Eric grinned and went to his suitcase.
Two minutes later when Nikolett opened the bathroom door, he was waiting for her.
She yelped when he grabbed her.
“She’s fine,” he yelled in the general direction of the lamp with the mic—he’d forced Grigoris to show him where they’d hidden mics, and one was in the lamp by the bed.
“Why did you ambush me?” Nikolett demanded, though she seemed content enough in his arms. And when he set her down on the edge of the bed, interest flared in her gaze.
Eric leaned in and kissed her, long and soft.
It was enough to distract her from what his hands were doing.
He kept kissing her as, by feel, he grabbed the Velcro cuff he’d left on the bed and slid it around one wrist, fastening it in place.
She heard the snicking sound of the hook and loop catching and pulled back from the kiss. While she processed the restraint on one wrist, he fastened the other.
He’d looped adjustable restraint straps around the feet of the ornate bed, then clipped Velcro cuffs to those.
Nikolett looked at each wrist in turn, then up at him, one brow raised.
Eric grabbed the tail end of one strap and pulled, tightening the slack. Her arm was pulled down and to the side.
When he did the same to her other arm—despite her futile lunge to stop him and some Hungarian cursing—she made an irritated sound, then slid off the bed to sit on the floor, back against the foot of the mattress.
That gained her a bit more wiggle room, allowing her to bring her arms in enough to almost touch her sides, but not quite.
Eric sat on the floor too, groaning a little because he wasn’t as young as he’d once been, leaning back against a heavy armchair to face her, their legs touching.
“What game are we playing now?”
“No game,” he told her. “I’m just making it easier for you to talk to me.”
“This will make it easier?” She raised her wrists.
“Yes. Because I’ve removed your option to retreat.” He sat forward. “Now you have to tell me. Otherwise, I’ll make you sleep there on the floor.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Yes. I would.” He would sleep next to her on the floor of course, but he left that part out.
Nikolett’s throat worked, but then she lifted her chin. “Are these from the sex supplies you brought?”
“Yes.”
“You flew to romantic Paris to profess your love and you brought flowers and sex toys?”
“What can I say, I’m a planner.”
“No, you’re not. You go into berserker rages and kill people.”
“I’m a planner when it comes to sex.”
“It’s interesting that—”
“No, Nikolett.” He cut her off, holding her gaze. “No deflecting.”
She glanced away. “I don’t want to cry anymore,” she finally admitted, voice just above a whisper. “I cried this morning and for half an hour earlier after the shower. That time, I cried for no reason.”
“There was a reason. Emotional catharsis.”
“I wasn’t sad.”
“Tears don’t have to be sad. Tears are a release. The point of intense sex, especially with some power exchange dynamics, is that emotional catharsis.”
“If I make you orgasm nine times, will you cry?”
“Probably. Because my dick would fall off.”
She laughed, but slowly the smile that accompanied the laugh faded.
“If you don’t want to tell me why you moved with your grandmother when you were twelve, or why you have a hard limit around belts, you don’t have to. We can talk about other things.”
“What things?” she snapped. “Our future? Our marriage? Our jobs?”
His jaw clenched, but he nodded. “If you want.”
“We need to talk about all those things.”
“I agree. And if you want to do it now, we can.”
Nikolett rocked forward and back, just a little, and agitated movement. “We should,” she repeated.
“Then let’s.”
She blinked and a tear fell. Nikolett made a frustrated noise, wiping her cheek on her shoulder. “Damn it, Eric. Why do I cry when I’m with you?”
He scooted over to her, kissing away her tears before shifting to sit beside her once more, careful not to sit on her hand. “I’m hoping it’s good tears now.”
She sighed, leaning her head against the mattress, but didn’t speak.
When he gently laced his fingers with hers, their joined hands resting on the floor between their hips, she squeezed his hand almost desperately. She was poised on some precipice, wracked with tension that she was doing too good a job of hiding.
If she was having trouble being vulnerable, he’d go first. “I had one shitty father and one good father.”