Page 14 of Covert Desires

Blood wells up instantly, darker than expected. The alcohol in his system turns it thin, makes it flow faster.

Nico’s scream splits the air. He thrashes like a caged animal, but I'm already moving. My weight pins him as I capture his left wrist again, stretching it to the bedpost. The tape holds firm this time.

Nine years as a mercenary taught me things they don't cover in basic training. How to subdue. How to control. How to survive.

Focus, Kiah.

His legs come up, nearly catching my jaw. I dodge the wild kicks, my hands already moving to secure his ankles. The bed frame groans as I stretch him spread-eagle, the tape binding him tight against the inexpensive wood.

Blood from his shoulder stains my sheets crimson, but I barely notice. My world has narrowed to the rhythm of capture, the dance of predator and prey.

Only now the roles have reversed.

“You fucking whore!” The fury in Nico’s voice is unmistakable.

His body twists and turns as he continues to curse at me, but the duct tape holds firm.

“Just shut up!” I demand.

But he doesn’t listen.

The profanities die in his throat as I tape his mouth too, an uneven piece of silver stretching from cheek to cheek.

Finally, I step back, surveying my work.

Nico’s face is twisted in rage as he tugs at his restraints. But his attempts are futile.

“Two can play this game, little boy,” I whisper to my prisoner as I stroke a tousle of dark hair from his sweaty forehead. “You messed with the wrong woman.”

Satisfied that he isn't going anywhere, I quietly collapse in the armchair beside the bed, exhaling loudly as I wipe the sweat from my brow.

All tied up, Nico doesn’t look so scary. He looks quite vulnerable, in fact. I must say I prefer him this way—bound and spread.

I should probably deal with that shard in his shoulder, but the cut doesn’t look too deep; he’ll be fine.

If I have to play nurse right now, I might end up jamming that shard in deeper on purpose just because his face pisses me off.

I pick up what remains of the whiskey and take a long swig that burns through my throat to my belly. It’s a welcome sensation, though.

“Fucking hell.”

Sitting back, I study my bound captive as his muffled moans fill the air, his stormy eyes wild.

Desperation is a good look on him. Who knew?

We could have a lot of fun like this…

An unexpected flicker of lust sparks through my core, and I bite my bottom lip, looking away, out the window, to the storm, hoping for a distraction.

What the fuck?

How am I turned on by this psycho?

Though I know it’s not all about the tattooed devil tied to my bed. It’s the danger, the excitement of it all, that’s soaking my already wet panties with desire.

The adrenaline rush is undeniable.

I feel alive!

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