I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help myself. “Are there other cuffs? Is there another drop-down rail on your side of the bed?”
“Yep,” he says, casually.
“What the fuck is this place?” I whisper to myself.
“I was being considerate,” he offers. “I could’ve restrained you much less comfortably.”
“I’m telling Rafe about this,” I state, since it’s the only threat I can muster.
“Go ahead,” he replies, easily. “Of course, Rafe thinks you’re a lying little whore right now, so I wouldn’t expect him to believe you. Feel free to file your complaint, though.”
No, Rafe doesn’t give a single fuck about me. Damn. I was hoping that would work.
I’m so agitated. Even though the restraints are soft and he gave me enough pull in the chains to rest my hands on the pillow, just looking at the rail makes me angry. I’m also antsy knowing there’s a naked man right on the bed behind me, and when he shifts and his clean, post-shower scent wafts my way, I also remember he’s an attractive man.
This is the single weirdest night of my life. I thought the weird scale went full-tilt back in Chicago when I stayed at that Morelli house, but apparently in Vegas not only are they all mean, they’re also sexual deviants.
My head fills up with images and I can’t tell if they terrify me or turn me on. I tell myself I’m safe because I’m fully clothed, but how easy would it be for him to move up behind me and slip the button through my jeans? Even as I tried to squirm away, he could drag down the zipper and slip his hand inside. Without the use of my hands, how could I stop him from restraining my hips and easing the denim down my legs, removing my panties and pinning my writhing body to the bed…?
Fuck.
I’m not sure where fear ended and arousal began, but I’m starting to think sexual deviance is catching. These damn sex cuffs are a bad influence, that’s what it is. Also, it’s incredibly hard to ignore the nakedness I know exists just a few inches away on this bed.
Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pray for death. That’s a little dramatic, but I’m so confused right now, I might welcome the peace.
I try to calm down, but my every thought right now is frantic or feverish. I need distance between myself and the man in this bed with me; since physical distance is clearly out of the question, I have to find it somewhere else. Closing my eyes and taking a slow, deep breath, I envision the last moment I felt completely calm. Standing in Rafe’s driveway, looking up at the night sky. I isolate the peaceful parts, clearing away Rafe’s mean ass, and Sin’s psychotic ass. No asses remain, now it’s just me and the stars.
Peace flows through me, loosening some of the tension in my shoulders. Everything is going to be okay, I tell myself.
Only I don’t know that.
I doubt he’ll even answer me, but I ask anyway. “Will you let me go tomorrow?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“What does it depend on?”
“Just go to sleep, Laurel. Asking me a million questions won’t change anything.”
When my eyes open, the first sight they focus on is my cuffed hands and the cool metal bar I’m chained to. The room is still pretty dark, but looking at the window, I see that it’s light outside. Some kind of blackout curtain hangs over his window, keeping the room dark. I wonder if he usually keeps strange hours. Maybe he works into the morning and needs to sleep when the sun is coming up.
Then again, he kidnapped my ass, so fuck his sleep schedule.
Oh well, he got his wish. I stayed the night in Vegas, whether I wanted to or not.
I roll over to see if he’s still in bed with me, but his spot is empty.
I lie here for a few minutes, adjusting to the inconvenience of being awake and dreading what today will bring. I don’t know why Sin needed me to stay another night. I don’t know why he thinks Rafe will be less of a dick today than he was last night.
Thinking about last night fills me with dread, so I shove it and him right back out of my head. Dickhead.
I call out for the other dickhead, the one who can release me from these damn sex cuffs and let me go pee. “Sin, can you come help me?”
I don’t even know if the man is in the house, but I’m hoping he wouldn’t leave me here like this.
I don’t hear his movements in the quiet house, no soft steps on the gray carpet, no creak of the stairs. Despite the soundlessness, he does appear in the doorway and walk over to me. Without a word of apology or explanation, he reaches into his pocket for a tiny silver key and grabs my left wrist.