Page 5 of To Curse A Knight

I knew I wasn’t in for a good night’s sleep when Blondie let him take me to his cozy little cartel den, but even in my dirtiest dreams, I never pictured being tied up by the big guy.

This was what soaking wet dreams were made of.

Had one of these just ‘lying around’ here, did ya ol’ Kell Bell?

My cock aside, I needed to find a way out of this situation. At least loosen the handcuffs. I didn’t want to escape from my Barbarian, but I wasn’t willingly playing the role of sitting duck. I knew a trick, but Kellan must have known it, too, because he’d placed a metal rod through the center of the chain.

Smart fucker.

Fighting the dizzy fuzz bouncing around in my brain, I reach out to my trusty five senses to make sense of my situation.

Small metal chair—check.

Arms bound behind me with the cuffs. Check.

The air was freezing, but it would have been warmer if he’d kept my clothes on. I’d been stripped in my unconscious state and wore nothing but my favorite red silk boxers and a pair of dress socks.

Not a foot fetish guy, then. Noted.

I was in a basement, judging by the damp smell of concrete and mold, but it might have been a basement in Timbuktu for all I knew.

How long ago did you put me out, Conan?

Stilling my body and slowing my breathing, I listened hard to my surroundings. Con men—good con men, at least—trained themselves to be observant through all the senses. It had saved my life on more than one occasion.

We were patient creatures—willing to put in the time for the payoff. I blocked out my own breaths and shivers in the barbarian’s basement to really hear the surrounding room.

Ahhh. There it was.

The faint, almost inaudible sound of another body breathing offered the slightest echo against the concrete near my head.

“You like watching another man cuffed in his drawers, do ya?”

My voice drawled sluggishly—I still had a good bit of drugs in my system—but no amount of drugs could mask my Irish sense of humor.

No response. But I’d have bet my left testicle he was in the room with me. Somewhere to my… right.

“What’d you dope me up with, Kell Bell? I’m having déjà vu of my college days.”

Better—less slow-motion action sequence and more coherent. I swore I heard a light snort, but still no confirmation came.

My theory Kellan couldn’t resist a good brat was about to be tested, and I was a snuffling little piglet on a platter.

“Not my first torture session, Conan,” I mused while wiggling some feeling back into my fingers. “Gonna have to try harder next time—got some nipple clamps back there?”

A wicked grin crossed my lips when a satisfying shuffle of feet came closer. Hints of lemony citrus and warm amber wafted toward me before I was hit with a whole wall of Kellan’s man-scent.

Intoxicating, really. Wish we weren’t in a real torture scenario, or this whole thing would have knocked a tasty little fantasy off the old bucket list.

The warmth of his body radiated against the freezing flesh of my own. He was hovering close. I licked my lips in anticipation.

Hard clips latched onto my tiny pink pearls and I squealed like the little metaphorical piglet I was. The familiar voice of buttered gravel growled above the shell of my ear.

“Your wish is my command,Caperucita Roja.”

Little Red Riding Hood. Cute. And I thought this grumbly bear wouldn’t know a joke if it kicked him in the teeth.

“Now,” he continued, heated form directly in front of me. “We’re going to play a little game. I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to give me answers.Capisce?”

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