Page 39 of Vienna Betrayal

And once again her heart lurched at the vulnerability she sensed in him.

Alena’s heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach fluttered, and once again the urge to pull back, to abandon the lies and manipulations pressed on her from within.

She couldn’t go on pretending she could have her cake and eat it too. No matter what mental hurdles she jumped, or Gordian justifications she came up with, there was no way to separate their relationship as sub and Dom from their relationship as investigator and target.

“Alexander—”

His eyes opened, and once more there was something in them, a darkness so wild it was almost feral. Those eyes were completely at odds with the tender way he held her hand against his face.

The rapacious look in his eyes made her wonder if she should have let him walk away earlier. Wondered if his talk of the dark, hard things he wanted to do to her was more literal than figurative.

Unsure what to do—which was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling—Alena lowered her hand from his cheek.

For a moment they were still, as if frozen in time.

Alexander’s hand shot out, grabbing not her hair but the back of her neck.

She gasped as he applied pressure and forced her upper body down.

Her breasts hit the leather-covered torso support. A second later her nose touched, and she turned her head to the side, her cheek mashed against the leather as he kept applying pressure—not a dangerous amount, but enough to make her brutally aware of how easy it would be for him to truly harm her.

The thought made her tremble, and it wasn’t all from fear.

“Sir...”

“Quiet.” He released her neck and grabbed a wrist.

Alexander forced her right arm down so it dangled, then guided her fingers to a handle jutting out from one of the legs. It was cool against her palm, and had molded finger grips, the whole thing reminding her of the stationary handles on leg machines at the gym.

With her hand in place, Alexander crouched. Cheek resting on the leather, her gaze was restricted, and she could only see the top of his bent head. But she could feel what he was doing.

Cool, smooth strapping—it felt like nylon tie-down straps—was looped around her wrist.

He raised his head and glanced at her, brow raised. “I told you to be quiet. One word. Do you want to object?”

“Not when you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” He finished with her right wrist, which was now securely bound. Her elbows were slightly bent, meaning no stress and strain on her shoulder like there had been last night.

She’d traded physical comfort for more dangerous bondage.

His choice to use strapping rather than cuffs or safety restraints meant there was no quick release.

No easy getaway.

“Like what, Alena?” he asked again.

“Like the wolf.”

“The wolf?”

“The one who eats Little Red Riding Hood.”

Alexander stood and circled around to her other side. She reached down, groping until she was able to find and grab the handle. A participant in her own captivity.

He crouched and started to bind her left wrist.

“Have you heard that fairytale?” she asked, aware that she was nervously filling the silence, when she should have been practicing deep breathing and relaxing pre-punishment.

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