The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 2)

You had to have trust for that to happen, though.

And Jane was the only one—

“I will do what I want to you. So no, you don’t get the buckles.”

V bit his lip. “Please—”

She rubbed his ankles . . . and went up to his calves. “You do not get them. You are going to keep yourself just as you are. Or things will not go well for you.”

Jane walked up to the head of the bed. Staring down at him, she played with the tips of her breasts, as if she knew what was tingling on him, and with her forefingers drawing little circles, she bit her own lip.

A mirror of him.

“Please,” he groaned.

In the back of his mind, he wondered what his brothers would think if they saw him like this, all laid out and at-the-mercy. The embarrassment nearly caused him to lift out of the trance he wanted to be in—so he stopped thinking like that.

To get himself jacked back into the erotica, he turned and looked beyond his shellan.

There, in a chair in the corner, he pictured his roommate, Butch, sitting in utter stillness. Watching with hazel eyes. And liking what he saw—

V’s cock kicked so hard, it felt like he was coming—

“No, you can’t do that right now,” Jane said. “You’re a patient who needs treatment first. I have to get my instruments.”

The panting got more intense as she turned away from him and floated to the side door that opened into the next examination room. Opening the panel, she reached in and pulled something forward. A rolling table. That was draped with a surgical cloth.

V undulated on the latex sheet, his skin catching on what was underneath him, the adhesion pulling on his ass, separating his cheeks. He moaned again—and looked over at Not Really There Butch.

“Yes,” V breathed. “I need to be examined. I need to be treated.”

His eyes rolled back in his head. And when they finally refocused, Jane was putting on a nurse’s uniform. She buttoned it only around the waist, the top half left open so that her breasts showed, the bottom half loose so her sex peeked out. Reaching to the rolling table, she picked up a—

“Mask,” he moaned. “Mask . . .”

As V started to come, and couldn’t stop, he watched her put a white latex mask up to her head. With deft hands, she pulled it down and arranged it properly over her features. The effect was as if she had shrink-wrapped her face, her lips pouffing out of a hole while her green eyes flashed out of two cuts, the rest of her anonymous. Alien. A stranger he knew and yet could not recognize.

Hot jets landed on his abs, even his pecs, too, and he had to fight to keep his arms and legs splayed out—because he wanted to do what she said. He wanted to follow commands.

Because otherwise she wasn’t going to give him what he wanted.

Jane moved the tray into his visual field. And then she stomped on the lift for the bed. With a whirring sound, the head lifted enough so that he could see the top of the roller table—and when she was sure he was staring in the right place, she picked up the corners of the drape and pulled them back—

Stainless steel syringes. The old-fashioned kind with the glass bellies. A dozen of them.

And that wasn’t all.

There were clamps. Lots of clamps, big as the sets on car batteries.

“Please . . .” V mumbled. “I can’t hold myself . . .”

“So you need the ties? Because you’re weak.”

He looked at Not Really There Butch. His roommate lifted a brow and nodded.

“Yes,” V said hoarsely. “I’m weak.”

“You have to earn your ties.”

“How,” he asked the alien who had his shellan’s voice. “What do I have to do?”

Jane lowered the head of the bed back down, and then did the same to the entire mattress, the sinking feeling making him nauseous—or maybe that was just his excitement. When there was a bump and things could go no farther to the floor, Jane walked up and around the top. There was some bumping and shifting, and then the headboard partition that held the pillows on the bed disappeared.

Jane mounted the mattress right over his face, one knee by each of his shoulders, her body becoming fully corporeal, a ghost no more.

V cried out her name as he looked up at her glistening sex.

“You know what you need to do,” she said.

And then she sat on his face.

Vishous let all his hunger out, devouring the folds that were at his mouth, nuzzling with his nose, sucking and eating with a desperation that made him sweat. On top of him, Jane rode him, the suffocation the sweetest kind, the lack of oxygen making his lungs burn, her taste and scent turning the rest of him into a bonfire. And then she was coming into his mouth, pressing his head down into the mattress, arching over him.