15. Cold Beer
Cold Beer
Kelya
Iget lost in the problem of how to tie up a full-grown man in his own cords.
Are there really only four limbs on this man?
At least the chair has ornate bits that I can thread the rope through.
It’s strange to be so close to him like this.
My inner omega would like me to curl up in his lap and see how it feels, but that may be more immoral than tying him up.
I tug the cords, and they feel strong enough.
Maybe he’ll just sleep for the next twelve hours, suspended in this chair, and I won’t even have to worry. That’ll be plenty of time to get away.
My head feels kind of woozy, though. I open a pack of fig newtons and eat a few while I inspect my work again. The cookies leave my mouth dry, so I look in his fridge for a drink. There’s some beer, and I do a little dance. I can have a beer! Just one. It’s fine.
Omegas don’t drink beer…but I do!
I can’t find a bottle opener, so I slam it against the edge of the table.
At the sound of the lid crushing against the wood, Tony’s head pops up. Oh fuck.
Well, whatever.
“Kelya.”
“Tony.”
He looks down and sees his predicament. “Did you tie me to a chair?”
“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same thing to me. Oh, wait, you have done the same thing to me!”
I drink some of the beer, and it’s so crisp and cold. This will fix me.
“Hm,” is all he says as he uselessly pulls against the cords. They seem tight enough, and he looks frustrated by that fact.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“I’m assuming you’re tying me up and then running away?”
“You are very smart. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“No.”
“Poor baby.”
I drink more beer, and it goes right to my head. I feel like I need it to deal with this dickhead.
“How do you feel?” He watches me take inventory. “Having a man at your mercy?”
“Just a normal day for a girl like me.”
I pace the room, running my hand over his keyboards as I walk by.
“What does said man need all this for?”
“Record keeping.”
“You aren’t the chatty type.”
“Is that your type? Is that why you sound upset?”
“I do prefer when men talk. They often talk themselves into anything.”
“It must be frustrating for you then, having to deal with me.”
“I won’t have to deal with you for long, Cypress.”
That shuts him up. He looks kind of insanely hot tied to a chair like this.
Only wearing underwear, with his massive thighs and bare chest out.
Frustrated. The way he looks at me, like he’s absolutely fed up, gets me going.
I like seeing him tied up and focused on me.
I set my hands on his thighs, beer bottle trapped between my palm and his muscled leg, and lean in close.
“You’re right. Usually, I only have to ask a question or two and a man will just ride that attention right over the edge.”
“Seems you’ve met your match.”
Hm. I suppose so. Why does it feel like he’s the one in charge, even though he’s the one tied up? I have to get on top again. Metaphorically.
He seems like the kind of guy who prefers to be on top. I glance down to his black underwear and then back to his face.
“You want me to stay?” I purr.
“I want you to come with me. I want you to come willingly with me.”
This is good. This is helpful. It’s always a nice thing when people tell you what they want, then you can exploit them with this knowledge.
“We should play a game,” I announce and stand back up. “Hold on. I need supplies. Sit tight, Cypress.”
I set my beer next to a lighter. Tony’s second lighter, a cheap pink one from a corner market, is also on the table.
It makes me feel good he had to go buy a replacement.
I dash out of his room—through the front door this time—and into mine to get what I need.
When I return, he’s clearly tried to get out of his bonds and found himself unsuccessful.
His jaw is tight, and he looks a little exhausted.
I set my things on the table, drink the rest of my beer, then stand over him. It was warm and tasted like shit. I should have just been done with it.
“If you answer my question, I’ll stick around for a little bit longer.”
“Ok.”
“If you’re a tight-lipped asshole about your answers, I’m out. But, because I’m a nice omega and I know it’ll be hard for you, I’ll give you a few chances.”
“Ok.”
“So, you’ll play?”
“Sure, Rosette, I’ll play.” His little nickname for me is too sweet. A direct play on me calling him Cypress. He called me that just before he told me he’d tie me up and take me out of here no matter what. “I’ve played all your games so far.”
I narrow my eyes, annoyed.
At my reaction, a small smile pulls at the edge of his lips. He’s going to lose this next game. I take the lid off my lipstick tube and generously apply it. Havana red.
“As long as we play the game, I’ll be here.”
He nods, and so do I.
I begin.
“Why are the Livingstons looking for me?”
I crawl into his lap slowly, making sure I don’t crush his manhood. He still groans, though I think I was careful. There’s no way he’s that big.
“Proof of life,” he replies. I feel the reverberations from his deep voice in my hands splayed across his chest. This close, I see the bruises forming under his eyes from getting punched in the nose. Damn, I got him real good. I leave a deep red kiss stain right over the bruise.
“Fail.”
“Then why’d you kiss me? For a fail, I get a kiss?”
“When your face has no more room for kisses—your lips are last—then I’m out. It’s how we keep track. Record keeping.” I gently touch his lower lip, like he might not know what I mean.
This gets a laugh out of him.
He smells so good right now. It makes the air feel hazy. I apply another coat of lipstick and his eyes track the movement. We are inches apart.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“Barberie.”
He doesn’t elaborate, so I kiss his forehead.
“That’s in the South.” I realize I know where his hometown is.
“Is that a question?”
I roll my eyes, grab his head and lean it back, then kiss his jaw.
“Do I get to ask a question?” he asks when I right his head.
“Of course. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Where are you from?”
What a fucking stupid question for my stalker to ask me. I gesture at the three computers and piles of surveillance equipment. Like he doesn’t know. “You’ve been following me for ages, and when you finally get to ask me a question, that’s the one you choose?”
He looks so funny sitting there with my kiss marks on his face while he realizes the opportunity he’s got.
“Why target alphas? Foreigners. Mostly Americans. Why?” he asks seriously. He has been following me.
“I don’t know.”
The question throws me off. I’m not sure when I decided to target them. Maybe it’s because they make me feel better. They are easy to manipulate. I understand them and how they work. My mind cycles through the choices, and I fail to decide which one to tell him.
“No answer? So, do you fail? Do I kiss your face?” he asks.
“No.”
“That seems unfair.”
“Welcome to dealing with omegas, Tony. First time?”
His face falls, and his eyes lose focus. No, it’s not the first time. Interesting. Now that’s all I want to know about.
“Who was she?”
“Who is she? Sure, yeah, I had an omega,” he answers simply. Seeing he’s about to fail and not wanting to lose, he amends, “In Barberie. She smelled like lemons and poppyseeds.”
I make a noise like maybe that’s not a great smell. Citrus and seeds. Is that what he would prefer? My scent, my real scent, is nearly the opposite of that.
“What’s her name? I can’t imagine anything fitting an omega who smells like a muffin.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I thought she smelled good. That’s why I wanted to be with her. Her name’s Emmanuelle. She’s my age,” he offers. Seeing my earnest face, he gives me more information. “She, like most omegas, did me dirty.”
“Did she reject you?”
“She did. It’s my turn. You’ve asked three questions now.”
I narrow my eyes, only remembering one. I gesture for him to carry on.
“What’s your scent? Your paperwork says roses, but that’s not right.”
“How do you know that’s not right?”
“You can’t answer my question with a question.”
I roll my eyes and sigh. What a frustrating nearly-naked man.
“This is your game!” He points out.
“I won’t tell you my scent. Men who stalk me across oceans intent on kidnapping me don’t get to know my scent. I’ll take the fail. You can kiss me.”
I turn my cheek, presenting it to him, but he doesn’t move.
“I would rather have the answer.”
I wait, but the kiss never comes. I turn to look him in the eyes, inches from his face. He’s serious. It’s clear he wants this more than he wants anything else we’ve talked about. The tension only grows the longer I deny him.
He could use his alpha bark and demand that I answer.
He’s strong, so he could break out of the binds and force me to take a reverse scent blocker.
They are just tiny pills you can get anywhere.
He’s got a hundred pounds of pure muscle on his tall-as-fuck frame, mostly in the thighs.
This man could take anything he wants from me, and I wouldn’t be able to do a damned thing.
No one knows I’m here. Even my mother doesn’t know where I am.
Despite the fact that I have him bound, he has all the power here.
Slowly, I shake my head. I won’t give him that. He wants it too much.
“Serves me right for trying to make the game fair. Is this why your omega rejected you?”
He levels me with a look and then wrestles with his binds. For a split second, I think he may be strong enough to get out of them, but he just turns red in the neck and remains tied up.
I kiss him just above the rim of his glasses.
“Fail.” My lips against his hot skin seem to settle him. I’m surprised by how much he responds to me while also being so frustratingly pigheaded.
“Where did you learn knots like these?” he asks.
My eyebrow quirks up, surprised he’s asked me a new question.
“I used to crochet a lot when I was a kid.”
He shakes his head like it’s a joke.