Page 73 of Brutal

“Why did you want to tie me up?” I counter.

“Because—” He flounders. “Because I like tying you up. I like seeing you help—” He cuts himself off.

“There you go.” I give him a slight smile. “It’s no big deal, right? You can do that, for me?”

He takes another sip from the bottle before he nods. “Yeah. I guess. Why not?”

I motion toward the bed. “Strip, then.” I glance around the room and spot a bathrobe hanging from a hook near the door. Perfect. I take the sash off the robe and turn to the bed again.

He sets the bottle down, shrugging his shirt off and tossing it onto the floor before shedding his pants. “Where do you want me?”

“On the bed, face up.” I test the rope. “I’m going to tie your wrists to the bed frame.”

I don’t know why the bed has a few decorative bars on the frame. Maybe it’s a very desirable feature among rich douchebags.

Drake stares at me like he expects me to tell him I’m just kidding, but I wait for him to realize I mean it.

He gets on the bed, flopping down onto his back with loose limbs.

Fuck, how drunk is he?

“Arms up,” I order, and I get a small thrill when he actually obeys. I keep my face impassive, though, and get to work securing his wrists to the bars. I keep just enough slack so that his circulation isn’t cut off, but not enough for him to slip out.

“What’re you gonna do to me?” he asks, a note of interest in his voice that hints that he might not be too sloshed to get it up. “Tie me down, leave me here? Let the crew have their way with me?” He laughs. “I’d let them, if that’s what would make you forgive me. Fuck. Goddamn it, what are you fucking doing to me, Mimosa?”

“I should,” I agree, pushing against his chest. “Maybe I’d enjoy seeing you get fucked by a big, burly guy. The captain has some heft on him.”

He swallows hard, his face paling. “You’re not serious, are you?” he asks warily, letting himself be pushed flat down on the bed. “I mean, I don’t?—”

“You just said you’d let them,” I point out.

Drake hisses out a breath, tugging lightly at the sash. “C’mon, Mimi…”

“It would only be fair, right?” I trail my fingers down to his stomach and tap around his belly button. “You did all those horrible things to me.”

He squirms. “Well, yeah, but I stopped those two men from fucking you. Doesn’t that count for something?” he pleads.

For all his protests, he’s not saying he changed his mind, that he wouldn’t do it, and I wonder if he really does have a secret submissive side since he’s clearly not doing this out of real penance.

“You only changed your mind because you decided I was yours,” I point out. I move my fingers to his sides, and he inhales sharply, as if trying to escape my touch.

Experimentally, I drag my nails upward, towards his armpits, and he writhes away.

Drake Brutal is apparently very ticklish.

“Don’t—” He bursts out laughing, trying to squirm away from my touch, but I follow him mercilessly. Tickling is nowhere near any of the torture he’s put me through, but if it gives him a few moments of discomfort, I’ll take it.

Of course, the fact that he’s getting hard tells me that that plan might be backfiring a little.

When I finally relent, Drake is gasping for breath, curling onto his side. I flick the head of his half-hard cock. “Maybe I should keep going. Since you seem to like it.”

“I—” He nearly chokes on his moan. “I don’t like it,” he says, but he’s clearly lying because he’s getting off on this too.

I was right.

He’s fucking cute when he’s not acting like a privileged asshole.

I push his thighs flat on the bed again and wrap my hand around his cock, giving it long, slow strokes. “What should I do with this thing…” I muse out loud.

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