Tomorrow.

  I watch as she peels off her clothing and exposes herself before me, her anger at my unyielding command overriding any fear or embarrassment she might be suffering from.

  It's a beautiful sight, a rare sight. I've never had a girl look at me like that when I ordered them to do something—and especially not Lailah. There was always a smirk tickling the corner of her mouth when she complied with my commands, be it professionally or sexually. Not that the latter ever went as far as I wanted it to. I was smarter than that. Getting involved with Lailah had never been worth the risk and trouble it would cause. Besides, she was promiscuous, and I hate to be just one of many. I don't share my women, ever, and with Lailah, I knew that decision would be out of my hands. Her obedience was well engrained, but was limited outside of her obligation toward the Covey.

  It's different with this girl. It may not last, but in this very moment, she is all mine, and she will be for the next few weeks.

  She seems to be glad to get out of the unflattering outfit, throwing each piece aside as if she couldn't get rid of it fast enough. A tremor travels through her body when my eyes trail along her petite figure, taking in every detail of her body as I try to figure out the best way to bind the rope around her frame. Her tits are small and soft, perfect to be tied tightly. I would love to see that on her, but it wouldn't be the right choice for tonight.

  After all, she'll have to sleep in the knots. It has to be confining and secure, impossible for her to break free, but still comfortable enough so she can find some rest.

  And sensual. Never anything wrong with having a piece of rope grazing those pretty lips between her legs.

  "On the bed," I repeat, jutting my chin in the direction of the sheets.

  She sighs, and I'm sure she's rolling her eyes at me when she turns away to climb on top of the mattress.

  I decide to let it go for now and fetch the rope that I keep in my duffle bag next to the bed.

  "Sit," I tell her when she's about to lie on her back. She throws me a questioning look, shifting her short limbs unsurely as she sits on her heels.

  She has so much to learn.

  There's so much I could teach her.

  And so little time to do it.

  I better make the best of the time I have.

  Chapter 19

  Malia

  I thought he would bind my ankles and wrists like he did last time and tie me to the bed posts so I couldn't run away.

  When he tells me to kneel before him with my knees spread apart, I feel a rush of hot embarrassment traveling down my spine.

  He told me to trust him and he promised he wouldn't touch me tonight. Yet here I am, kneeling with my legs spread apart and my center exposed to his will.

  "Normally, I'd tie your hands at the back," he says matter-of-factly as he joins me on the bed, moving my knees even further apart with his when he kneels before me. "But I'll be nice tonight. You need to get some rest."

  His gaze lingers just below my belly button, assessing my bare core with such intensity that it almost feels as if I'm being touched. My legs twitch, urging to close and shield myself before his eyes. But I know he wouldn't let that happen, probably granting any attempt of defiance with a harsh slap.

  And he's right about one thing: I don't like pain. Not at all. I know I'm not that kind of girl. I remember what I saw on my best friend's body. The bruises, hot marks left by someone who claims to love her. I will never understand that kind of connection. I will never understand the game those two had to play in order to give room to their feelings.

  But I'm beginning to understand another part of their unique relationship, even though I never thought I would. It was a mystery to me why anyone would ever want to be someone else‘s possession, subjected to their will and control.

  But now...

  There's a sense of liberation, knowing that there's absolutely nothing I can do about this, knowing that this handsome, mysterious man wants me as much as he does. I can see the desire emitting sparks in his grey eyes and the further proof that is stretching the fabric of his pants at his crotch.

  He's hard. Because of me.

  And he notices me staring.

  "Eyes up," he commands, a mischievous smirk on his face letting me know that nothing slips his attention.

  "Like what you're doing to me?" he asks, only worsening my predicament.

  I shake my head vehemently, as if that would rid me of the vicious blush that's spreading all the way to my ears.

  He chuckles darkly, but spares me another remark. Instead, he reaches for my right wrist, expertly wrapping the rope around it once before he brings both of my hands to the front and binds them together with such quick and skillful knots that my eyes can barely follow his movements.

  "You do this a lot," I comment, as I watch him work the rope. It's rugged and cuts into my skin when he fastens the knots, but not in a painful way.

  "It's a useful skill for someone in my position."

  "You're a rigger, right?"

  He arches his eyebrows in surprise. "Didn't know you were familiar with that label."

  "Well, yes, I'm not entirely stupid," I mutter.

  "It has nothing to do with being stupid," he insists. "I just didn't take you for someone who has done this before."

  "I haven't. But I've heard of it. Kind of."

  The questions are clearly visible in his gaze, but he doesn't give voice to them.

  He tightens the knot around my wrists before bringing the rope up to my neck, motioning for me to bend my arms so that my tied hands rest on my chest. He holds the rope with one hand while using the other to place my hands exactly where he wants them, centered between my boobs, while the rope drapes around my neck, trailing down my back.

  I tense when he moves his hands close to my nipples, barely gracing the skin in a deliberate move. He's teasing me, I can tell. His skilled fingers trail across my body, not really meeting my skin but intimating the movement. Goosebumps appear on my arms and my heart beat accelerates as my body prepares for an assault that never happens.

  "Stay."

  He speaks to me as if I was a dog, his commands uttered in a seething voice that neither expects nor allows backtalk.

  I don't move, but my eyes follow his every motion as he gets up on his knees, his visible bulge taunting me as he guides the rope down my back.

  "Trust me." His voice is just a hoarse whisper, teasing, just like his non-touch.

  Just as I wonder why he'd repeat those words right now, he bends down, bringing his hand between my legs at the same time that I can feel the rope along my backside.

  "What are y-"

  "Hush."

  He grabs the rope coming from the front, right below my exposed core.

  I can't stop myself from gasping in surprise when he brings the rope back up, tightening it right between my pussy lips.

  He comes back to the front, never letting go of the rope. He holds it in a tight grip, applying pressure to my most sensitive spot, and I react to it like any person would: by closing my legs.

  "No!"

  His harsh command is accompanied by a savage slap against my inner thigh, forcing my legs to spread open for him.

  "Move again and you'll regret it," he warns, adding a little venom to his words.

  I grimace when the rope cuts into my flesh like a sharp bite. His eyes are on me, holding me in a sinister grip just like the rope does, but at least I can avert myself from their intrusion. I lower my head and shield my eyes away from him in shame.

  He's not bothered by it, but just continues his elaborate tie by fastening the rope around the knots at my wrist. Even without looking I can tell that he doesn't secure the knot just yet, giving room for hope to rise within my chest.

  "You like this, don't you?"

  I shake my head, still not looking at him.

  A fiery kiss on my thigh causes me to shriek out in pain. He slaps me again, on the exact same spot, inflicting even more pain than before.

  "Look at me!"

  I grimace, bowing my head even lower as I refuse to obey him.

  "Eyes up, Onyx." His voice is calm and collected, but there's a fury underlining every syllable that makes my heart race in fear. "Now!"

  Another assault hits the soft flesh on my thigh, and this time the agony is so blinding that it causes me to comply instantly. My eyes shoot up, firing reproach at him while I press my lips together to prevent myself from voicing an insult that will get me punished even further.

  "Don't you ever lie to me, Onyx," he hisses, narrowing his eyes.

  "I'm not lying," I insist. "I don't like this. Why would I?"

  The expression on his face darkens, filling me with worry. I tense up, preparing for another attack against my vulnerable skin. I know he's right. I am lying. I can feel the betrayal all over my body, but especially in one place.

  My core is throbbing with a need I have never felt before.

  It's purely physical, I'm sure. It's a natural reaction to friction. It doesn't mean anything.

  And it sure as hell can't mean that I like this. It just can't.

  “You know there’s an easy way to find out.”

  An impish smirk appears on his face when his hand slowly trails down the side of my body, outlining the curve of my hips before he reaches my upper thigh.

  "That doesn't mean anything," I try to protest.

  He throws me a condescending look.

  "Keep telling that to yourself if it makes you feel better, little girl," he chides. "Shall we see if your body betrays you?"

  I respond with an enraged glare, but keep my mouth shut.

  "You said you wouldn't touch me tonight," I remind him impulsively.

  He smiles, shaking his head while his hand moves closer to my core, threatening to break his promise. But just before the tips of his fingers reach my sensitive lips, he stops.

  Our eyes meet in a silent stare, each trying to read the other without speaking. But it seems that the understanding gained from our wordless exchange is one-sided. I fail to read his expression entirely, losing myself in the attempt to hear words that aren't spoken—while I feel as if he looks right into my soul. I get distracted by the salient tattoo at the side of his skull, breaking eye contact to follow the twists and turns of the black lines beneath his hazel brown hair.

  He recognizes my diversion for what it is, a defeat on my part. He won. He's better at this, more experienced and more secure in what's happening between us. At first, I don't even notice the way he moves his hand toward my center, barely grazing my skin before he gets a hold of the rope.

  A sigh that resembles a heartfelt moan escapes my lips when he pulls at the rope ever so slightly, before letting it go again. He repeats the motion, the friction of the rough rope causing my clit to swell with yearning.

  "Look at that," he whispers, his gaze sidling down to my lap. "I don't have to touch you to prove my point. You're gushing all over my rope, you little slut."

  The moan that flees my lips this time is laced with desperation. I'm angry at him. I'm angry because I know he's right. I'm angry because he called me a slut—and I liked it.

  What is wrong with me?

  I'm angry at him because he's doing all of this to me without breaking his promise. He's not touching me, not really.

  And yet I find myself grinding against that goddamn rope he draped between my legs, unable and unwilling to stop myself from taking even more pleasure from this.

  His dark chuckle only worsens my outrage. I try to shut it out by closing my eyes and turning away from him.

  "Sure, you don't like this," he mocks me. "You don't like this at all."

  "Shut up," I seethe.

  The words depart my unruly mouth before I can think—and I regret them a moment later.

  Chapter 20

  Nate

  She doesn't see it coming, even though she should have expected it. The shock on her face is real when I push her down on her back, her legs still spread apart and the rope cutting into her swollen, aching core.

  She yells out in surprise and pain when her back meets the mattress, raising her arms in an attempt to push me away when I climb on top of her. I keep her legs apart by forcing my knees between hers and wrap my hands around her tied wrists.

  "Did you just tell me to shut up?" I bark at her. "What makes you think you get to talk to me that way?"

  She stares up at me in horror, her eyes wide and her lips quivering as she tries to process what's happening to her. Her fear is back, replacing the animosity that tempted her to this insolence. But even in this terrified state, her chest is heaving with need, a thin layer of sweat covering the skin just above her upper lip.

  "I'm... I'm sorry," she stutters.

  "No, you're not," I challenge. "But you will be."

  She whimpers, violently shaking her head as she closes her eyes shut in terror.

  "Please, don't! Please don't hit me!"

  I don't respond, instead unfastening the end of the rope that's connected to the knots around her wrists. She's too petrified of the pain she thinks she's about to receive to fight me. Frozen, her raven black eyes are locked on my hands as I work the rope. I loosen the knot just enough to gain some leeway and adjust the tautness with which the rope is running between her legs.

  She sighs when I loosen it, reveling in the sight of her juices dripping from the rope as I remove it from her core. I'm careful not to touch her swollen center as I rearrange the rope, now letting it run at the outside of her pussy lips, effectively squeezing her swollen core together instead of caressing her most sensitive spot directly.

  It's just a small adjustment, but one that causes her to release a moan so sweet that it speaks to something deep inside of me. A part I like to keep hidden. A part that only a girl like her can inspire.

  I've been rock hard ever since she removed her clothes, but seeing her like this, moaning as she's torn between terror and arousal, turns my craving into torment.

  And it's her fault. It's her fault for being so fucking responsive. Her body tells me everything I need to know, and it only becomes more appealing when it's coupled with her stubborn mind.

  I guide the rope back up to her wrists, running it through the knots twice before I bring it further up to the headboard of the bed. The frame is made of iron railings, which makes it easy to fasten the rope with a few quick nodes. I make sure to fasten it securely, leaving no chance for her to break free, even if she somehow managed to bring her tied hands close enough to the headboard. Her arms are stretched out over her head but still bent, giving her more comfort than she deserves.

  She squirms beneath me, casting a questioning look at me as she awaits my next move. The plea to not hurt her is written all across her panicked expression, but she doesn’t say a word.

  It wouldn't make a difference. At least she seems to understand that much.

  I observe her for a few moments, watching her weak, half-assed attempts at fighting the rope keeping her in place. The laces get tightened between her legs every time she moves her arms too much, cutting into the soft flesh around her entrance. She assesses her situation, growing more cautious with every movement as she tries to figure out what options remain, how much she can yank at the rope before it becomes too painful, what eases the ache - and a subtle twist of her hips tells me that she's also seeking something else.

  "Miss having the rope pressing on your clit?" I want to know, placing my hands at the insides of her upper thighs as I spread them further apart.

  She closes her eyes in shame, and the way she bites at her lower lip makes my cock twitch.

  I didn't plan on any of this. I didn't plan to have her spend the night next to me, naked and tied, writhing like a bitch in heat while I suffer through my own craving.

  I told her that I wouldn't touch her tonight. But as much as I want to stick to that promise, I can't ignore the savage urge she's provoking inside me. It's getting harder by the minute, quite literally.

  And not just for me.

  "Are you... are you going to hurt me?" she asks cautiously, seeking my gaze with a silent plea written across her face.

  "I am going to punish you."

  My response makes her tremble with anxiety and she produces a pathetic whimper.

  "Please, don't-"

  "I told you, you'll have to learn, Onyx," I cut her off. "You refused to listen. You lied to me and you acted disrespectfully. You know I can't let this pass. I warned you."

  Strong tremors take a hold of her when I move my hand close to her center, hovering my palm just an inch away from her slickened core. I can feel the heat of her arousal breathing against my skin, begging to be touched and toyed with.

  She squirms, moving her hips in a rotating motion that clearly tells me of her inner fight. One moment she moves closer, so close that her wetness almost meets my palm, just to retreat in the last second, pulling away as if something scared her away.

  She wants me to touch her, but her stubbornness won't allow her body to win out over her mind.

  "You want me to break my promise?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  And I also know she'll deny the truth.

  She shakes her head, shielding her eyes from mine, just like any liar would.

  "Look at me."

  Her eyelids flutter nervously before she convinces herself to comply.

  "You know how much I hate liars," I warn her.

  She nods, quivering.

  "So I’ll ask you again: do you want me to break my promise? Do you want me to touch you?"

  She mewls as if in pain, pressing her lips together while her breathing turns more erratic. I watch her suffering through her unsatisfied arousal, her senses heightened and her soft spots even more sensitive to touch. There’s no direct contact, no friction driving her desire, and yet she’s writhing as she tries to cope with the heat that’s taken over her body and soul.

  It’s tempting to see how she’d react. If this is what she’s like with just a little rope keeping her in place, teasing her with merely a taste of what I’m capable of, I can’t even imagine what it must be like when I give her everything I have. She’s a surprise in that regard, a very pleasant one.