Page 10 of Bound Wings
I angle his chair to face the bed directly. Through the gag, he tries to squeal something. Beg something.
I'm not interested in anyone's tongue tonight. Well. Not his, anyway.
"You have that look in your eyes," Nora says, backing further into the corner. "The crazy one. That's exactly why you need to go."
I close the distance in two steps and put a hand on her shoulder, pressing just enough that she loses her balance and lands on the bed beneath me. I follow her down, catching her mouth with mine before she can finish whatever protest she was building up to, and I feel it die somewhere against my tongue instead.
God, I've missed this. Missed her. Two weeks of watching her from a car parked in the trees, and now here she is, underneath me, tasting like whiskey and someone else.
The second I put even a fraction of my weight on her, the second my tongue is in her mouth, she forgets every single thing that isn't me. She always has.
We are exactly what we've always been. Hers and mine.
She kisses me back with the same starved ferocity clawing through me, nails catching in my shirt.
Then the man in the chair grunts, and her whole body goes rigid under mine like she's remembered where she is. Who's watching.
She turns her face away, offering me her cheek instead of her mouth.
I lick a slow stripe up it anyway. "No, Slava. He's—he's right there. We shouldn't be doing this."
"Hmm." I drop my voice. "Don't get shy on me now, butterfly. You made him believe you wanted him tonight. Only fair we make sure heseesexactly who you actually belong to."
The expression on her face when she realizes what I mean will be burned in my mind forever.
"No. No. No-no-no-no," she says, shaking her head against me.
I bite down gently at her temple, and that's when her eyes flick sideways to the tied man. "I'm sorry," she mouths at him, and he stares back at her with wide, round eyes, silently begging her to do something to get him out of his predicament.
I hate that she's talking to him at all. I hate this whole silent little conversation happening right under my nose.
"Eyes. On. Me," I hiss, gripping her chin and turning her face back to mine. "Don't push me tonight, Nora. I'm already barely holding it together. Don't look at him. Don't talk to him. Don't even think about him."
She lets out a long breath and drags her gaze back to mine, finally where it belongs.
"You need to let him go," she mutters. "Both of you need to leave. I mean it, Slava. I've had enough."
"No." I tighten my grip in her hair. "You need to stop talking about him, or I can't promise what happens next."
"What you do next?" She arches a brow. "Worse than tying the man to a chair and dragging him into my bedroom? Just let him go. Please."
"No," I say again, dragging my mouth down to her neck.
"This is—" she starts, then gets distracted as I work a hickey into the side of her throat. "This is exactly why I want to leave. You're a—" She sucks in a breath as I bite down over the same spot. "You're a violent man."
"I know what I am," I murmur against her skin. "But you’re always safe with me."
"You can’t guarantee that. Not in the world you live in."
"Yes I can."
"You tied a stranger to a chair in my sister's house."
"You just let one put his hands where only mine have ever been. I'd say I’m justified," I hiss.
Her mouth opens—to argue, to fight, to tell me I'm insane, probably all three—but I don’t give her the chance.
Chapter Seven
