Chapter 32 #2
My reaction is half fear, half arousal, and full on fucking anger. I jerk my head, snapping my teeth at his fingers, but he moves his hand in time.
“Such fire in your eyes, Hellcat,” he chuckles, taking a pace back. “I love the way they flash. Shall we see how long that lasts?”
My retort is on the tip of my tongue, but it fades as he walks to the cabinet on the wall. Slides back the glass door. Picks up a goddamn knife.
“What the hell are you going to do with that?” The question slips out before I can stop it, and I can hear the note of panic in my voice. I clamp down hard, trying again. “This isn’t funny.”
He turns toward me, angling the blade so it catches the light, watching the gleam with an expression that’s almost curious. He’s way too calm.
Fucking psycho.
“You know,” he says, “it’s not going to bring me any pleasure to torture you.”
I swallow hard. I also don’t believe him. “Bullshit.”
He pulls his eyes off the knife and meets my gaze, mouth pushing into a full-on grin. “Yeah, okay, you got me.”
And that’s Declan, right there. Holding a knife like he means to use it, smiling with his eyes sparkling and dimples I have no business noticing right now. He looks fucking gorgeous, and I still respond to him.
Even now, while he threatens me, and I’m busy hating the hell out of him.
No one deserves to look that good. Especially no one as fucked up as Declan goddamn Hale.
“You’re going to lose your panties or your top,” he tells me, waving the knife. “Your choice.”
I press my lips thin. I’m not playing his games.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Both, then.”
“T-shirt,” I blurt. I don’t want that knife anywhere near anything… sensitive.
“Too late.”
Fucker. He was toying with me. He was always going to do what he wanted.
There’s nothing I can do to stop him as he pulls my strappy top away from my chest, nicks the neckline with the tip of the knife, then rips it open, right down the middle.
It pulls at me, drawing a gasp, rocking me against my toes as I scrabble for purchase.
My shoulders take the strain. And while I’m still fighting for balance, he cuts through the straps, one after the other.
My top falls away, but he catches it, bundling it up and throwing it to the side of the room.
“Let’s try again,” he murmurs. “Bra or panties?”
“Bra.” No hesitation this time.
He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Sorry, still wrong answer. Going to have to be both.”
Motherfucker!
He doesn’t bother with the clasp. The blade makes short work of the straps, then he pulls the center away from my skin and cuts that too. My bra’s in tatters, thrown across the room to land on my top, leaving me in just my panties.
“Did you cut my leathers off too, you bastard?” I can’t see my jacket clearly enough to be sure.
“Of course not.” He looks offended. “I’m no barbarian.”
“Says the man who’s tied me up and is busy slicing through my clothing.”
“Artistry, sweetheart,” he mutters, pulling away the side of my panties. There’s a snip and the material sags, cohesion gone.
“I’m not your goddamn sweetheart.”
“You know,” he says, cutting the other side. “Most people in your predicament would be genuinely afraid. You appear to be genuinely irate.” He peels my panties away. “And genuinely naked.”
Despite my anger, I shiver. Declan always seems a little dark, a little scary, but despite his calm, it’s like something within him has snapped.
Or worse, it’s always been there, and he’s giving it free rein.
For the first time, I do feel genuine fear.
Stripping away the last remnants of my clothing has only enforced my vulnerability.
It doesn’t make any sense. I was tied up already, completely helpless. But my clothing—such as it was—gave me a barrier I now no longer have.
And he’s still holding that knife.
But even as it draws my gaze, he spins, arm coming back and snapping forward, and the knife turns through the air, burying itself in the dartboard fifteen feet away.
Declan’s full of surprises.
“Let’s get to it,” he says, like we have some cleaning to do, and walks to the vaulting horse. He’s put his box down on there, and I can’t see what’s in it. But what he pulls out is something I instantly recognize.
“That’s a flogger.”
“It is indeed.” He gives it a practice swish through the air.
“Why the hell do you need a flogger?”
“For flogging.”
I swallow hard, struggling against the ropes in reflex, even though it’s pointless. I’m naked, stretched out, on my toes, and Declan has a flogger.
“I don’t agree to this,” I say quickly.
He smiles as he prowls towards me, steps deliberate, the flogger twirling aimlessly at his side. Saying nothing.
“Declan, please…”
“What’s the package?”
“I don’t know, okay?”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
Not in a million years.
“That’s what I thought,” he says to my silence. I should’ve lied and said yes; I hesitated for too long. “Then we’ll do it my way.”
I lick my lips, eyeing the flogger. It has a thick leather handle, a good eighteen inches long, with a dozen suede strands coming off it. “Where the hell did you get that thing?”
“This?” He lifts it up. “I made a stop while you were asleep in the pickup.”
“I wasn’t asleep. You drugged me.”
He shrugs. “Same difference.” He walks past me, beginning to spin the flogger in the air as he goes. There’s a practiced rhythm to the movement.
I turn on my toes, not wanting him where I can’t see him. “I told you, I don’t want this.”
“Mmm hmm. Happening anyway.”
The flogger thuds into my ass, multiple strands acting like a single, thick blow.
It’s not particularly hard, but I still feel it.
The weight of the impact, the faint scratchy sensation against my skin.
It barely hurts, but I cry out, more from fear of what’s to come and the shock that he would dare to do this.
“Declan, I said no. I don’t like pain.”
He pauses, the flogger falling loose in his hand. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” My heart’s beating faster. I don’t think he’s going to listen.
“You’re basing that on what, exactly?” He reaches out, taking my left nipple between finger and thumb. Rolling it, twisting it, pulling it out, making my breast stretch.
I bite at my lip. “I’m not a masochist.”
“No? You got wet enough when I spanked you.”
“That’s different.” It didn’t hurt that much. It was sensual. It wasn’t a goddamn flogger. “You’re going to torture me, aren’t you?”
His smile gives me the answer before the words come. “Yes,” he says deliberately. “I am.”
“Please don’t.” I shake my head as much as I can, arms pinning it on either side. “I don’t want you to hurt me.”
“Hellcat, I’m not going to hurt you.” He sounds like the suggestion is repulsive.
“Less convincing when you’re holding a flogger.” He’s moved to my side, and I watch it out of the corner of my eye.
“This isn’t pain,” he demurs. “It’s stimulation.”
“Whatever bullshit you’re selling, I still said no.”
“Heard you.” He begins spinning the flogger. The strands whoosh through the air behind me in a steady rhythm. I no longer want to turn; I don’t want that thing on parts of me more sensitive than my back. “What’s the package?”
“Fuck you.”
Declan chuckles. “Bold choice of insult.”
He turns, still spinning that damn thing, and balanced only on my toes, I’m not able to move fast enough. The whirling strands caress my breast, striking across my nipple and down one side. All along the tattoo he always seems to target.
I cry out in reflex, pulling helplessly at the rope, anticipating a pain that hasn’t come. It’s a mild prickling sensation, nothing more, and I flush with embarrassment at my excessive response. My breast tingles with the memory of it.
Declan is watching me with curiosity, idly spinning the flogger. “Did that hurt?”
“No…” Well within my pain tolerances. Which I suspect are about to get tested.
“Shall we try again?”
“No, thank you.”
He chuckles, letting the flogger drop down, slapping it against his jeans as he walks back to his box. I stare at his back in confusion. Did he really accept a no from me?
A moment later, he’s returning. Flogger still in his hand, but a fucking ball gag in the other.
“It seems your ability to speak is a distraction for you,” he informs me. “I want you to be able to focus on the experience.” He holds the gag before my face. It’s a black leather ball on a strap. “Open.”
I pull back as much as the rope will allow. “No. Hard no. Don’t want this.”
He hooks the flogger under his arm and runs the back of his hand down across my sensitized breast. I hiss at the touch. “Open.”
I shake my head, glaring at him.
He smiles, the bastard clearly enjoying himself, then takes my nipple between finger and thumb. Pinching until I grit my teeth. “Open.”
“Nhh-nhh.” I press my lips together.
He pulls on my nipple, stretching my breast, watching me intently as the discomfort slowly builds until I can’t help the whimper that escapes. It’s not the pain, it’s the promise in his eyes of what’s to come.
“If you gag me, I can’t safeword,” I blurt out.
“You don’t have a safeword.”
“I need one.” Never mind that this is some kind of acceptance of the inevitable. He was always going to do it anyway; that much was clear.
“Good point.” He seems delighted by my suggestion. “I prefer a question-and-answer system. The answer you can give at any time; the question is, ‘What’s in the package?’”
I stare at him.
Bastard.
Declan steps in closer, pressing the ball gag to my lips. “You’re going to open, little hellcat. Do you know why?”
I shake my head, trying to keep it from my lips, but he presses it in harder and doesn’t let me escape.
“I’ll tell you,” he murmurs. “You’re going to open, partly because you don’t want me to escalate further, but mostly because you want me to be pleased.”
My struggles cease, and I’m not even sure it’s a conscious thing. I’m staring at his intense, pale blue eyes, inches from my own, and I know he’s right.