Wicked as Seduction: Trees & Laila - Part 1 (Wicked & Devoted 5)

Laila swallowed as he rounded the bed, approaching her on enormous bare feet. His legs were harshly muscled trunks. His erection was large and obvious. His abdomen was muscled and corrugated like a man in peak physical shape. His chest, broad and hard and sprinkled with dark hair, was purely masculine. His shoulders—one covered in tribal ink—seemed impossibly wide, even for a man as enormous as him. The desire in his eyes as he took her in from head to toe was unmistakable.

Experience had taught her that showing weakness never resulted in mercy, so she stood her ground, refusing to flinch as he closed in, cutting off her only avenue of escape. Unless she wanted to scramble across the bed, of course. And what were the odds she could make it to the other side before he pinned her down and took advantage of her?

Her heart beat so wildly she could barely breathe, but she met his gaze straight on, painfully aware that she wore only a tank top he could probably see through and filmy white lace underwear. She did her best to ignore that and held up her wrist as much as the restraints allowed. “Get it off.”

Trees took her arm in his grip, his touch surprisingly gentle, as he settled the key in the padlock. “It’s not hurting you.”

“A man only uses these to restrain someone for his sexual…urges,” she spit at him like an accusation.

He paused as if mulling his response, then nodded. “But for me, that’s never against a woman’s will, Laila. Ever.”

Mentally, she snorted. What other reason would a man have to manacle a woman he intended to have sex with? “Your urges are none of my concern. But if you are being paid to protect me, you should never restrain me.”

After a minute flick of his wrist, he turned the key and extricated the padlock before unbuckling the cuff. Still, he didn’t release her. “Since my other cuffs secured Victor to a toilet—the best place for him until he goes to hell—these are the only restraints I have. They aren’t meant to alarm you, but I can’t protect you if you keep running from me.”

Since she couldn’t conceive of a reason he would have brought them at all except to secure her to his bed, she disagreed but kept her thoughts to herself.

“And if you hadn’t run, I wouldn’t have used them on you at all.”

So this was her fault? Of course. He was a man. He was never at fault for anything. “Let me pass. I want to get dressed.”

For a long moment, Trees didn’t move. Finally, he pressed his big back against the window and reached for the cuff still affixed to the nightstand. If she squeezed past him, every inch of her body would rub against his. And then what would happen? The possibilities terrified her, but he’d left her no choice.

Laila debated her approach. Turning her back to him would conceal her breasts, but her ass would brush the most rigid, male part of him, possibly exciting him more. Worse, she would be presenting him her vulnerable back, where she wouldn’t see his attack coming.

Better to face him head on.

But Trees took up three-quarters of the space between the window and the bed. When she tried to step past him, his hard penis brushed against her belly. She gasped, instinctively trying to retreat.

She nearly fell back to the mattress.

Trees wound his arm around her middle, keeping her upright. The move pressed her body tight against his.

Heat poured off of him, chasing away the January chill while making gooseflesh erupt across her skin. But he was too big, too close. Too frightening.

“Let me go.” Laila wriggled and writhed, but she only succeeded in making his erection stiffen and grow against her middle. It was all she could do not to scream.

“I’m trying. Stop moving. Fuck—” He grabbed her hips in a rough grip and used his brute strength to still her.

“Do not touch me!”

He worked his palms from her hips to her waist. “Take a deep breath, little one. Don’t panic. I won’t hurt you.”

With every word, his voice went deeper. Softer—not more gentle but more velvety. She’d heard him use that tone before, and like last time, she felt strangely compelled to comply.

Her gaze flew to his. Their eyes met. His burned. He wanted her, and he wasn’t trying to hide it. But everything else about his face was calm, almost reassuring.

Laila didn’t understand.

Slowly, she went still.

“Yes,” he praised, his voice lower and silkier than ever, as he locked his hands around her waist. “That’s a good girl.”

His words should have seemed patronizing, like someone crooning to a child, yet they soothed her. Some still-panicked part of her brain screamed that he was lulling her into cooperating before he forced her to the mattress and used her for his pleasure. But the thought had barely taken root when he lifted her around the corner of the bed, a foot away, then released her.