Page 18 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
“Stop that.”
Another small adjustment had him sitting up, towering over me, the position forcing my ass off the ground. I balanced on his thighs precariously, unable to get any leverage to move away from him.
His lips spread in a gloating smile. “I see. Since you’d kidnapped me, I thought maybe you used the ropes to tie up your lovers, all part of the roleplay. That’s not the case, is it?”
My cheeks heated—actually, my whole body was feeling a little feverish. I had to find some way to distract him and change the subject. “How can you be so dumb you haven’t figured out the reverse command yet? It’ssoeasy.”
“You’re the one who likes to be tied up, aren’t you, Rick?” His voice took on a new timber and cadence—low, rumbly, and suggestive—and my stomach clenched at the sound.
“Please.”
“Please what?” he asked, his bound hands lowering until they grazed the outline of my erection. “Please stop? Or please keep going? I’m guessing the latter since this is clearly turning you on.”
“It is not!” The breathy quality of my voice wasn’t doing me any favors, so I snapped my mouth shut again.
“You must have a safe word,” he murmured, stroking me through my clothes until I went cross-eyed. “Tell me what it is.”
If I did, the ropes would completely fall away, and then he’d run straight to the castle and tell everyone what I’d done. I shook my head stubbornly.
“You said it would be easy,” he mused, his touch light and infuriating. “But I hadn’t guessed it yet. Is it just … unbind?”
The ropes immediately loosened on me. I shoved him off, scrambling out from under him. His own wrists remained tied, and he looked at them in pure affront, before glaring up at me. “What the fuck?”
Panting, I grinned down at him in triumph, adjusting myself to relieve some of the discomfort. “The person who says the first command word also has to say the reversal. Otherwise, you could just release yourself whenever you wanted. Where’s the fun in that?”
“Which is why you wouldn’t tell me,” he said, begrudgingly impressed. “Because if you said it, I would have been freed while you were still tied.”
I shrugged. “Yes and no. The safe word ends everything.”
“And what is your safe word, exactly?” The too-casual tone had returned.
I snorted and ignored the question, picking up the end of the rope. “Come on, let’s go back in.”
He pushed himself to his feet and trudged after me. “Is it reallythatimportant to keep me here?”
I hesitated, my back to him. “The Good Wizard is supposed to arrive in a few days. I’ll ask him if there are any alternatives.”
He didn’t say anything as I walked him back to the tower. Once I closed the door, I answered his earlier question. “Pestilence.”
The rope drooped, freeing his hands, and he arched an eyebrow at me.
“No one can get it up when they’re thinking of disease,” I explained as I wound the rope back up. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. Now that he knew the release, I wouldn’t be able to use the ropes again.
“Well, at least I know what to say if your torture ever becomes truly unbearable.” He walked back to the couch and picked up the book, holding it like a screen between us.
The clear dismissal stung for a reason I couldn’t name.
Interruption Two
Most evil mages lived in a gated community located in a pocket dimension outside of the normal parameters of time and space. They used to have their own individual estates spread throughout the various kingdoms they tormented, but enterprising Chosen Ones kept breaking into their homes when they weren’t even on the clock. Several evil mages had lost their heads that way, and their insurance did not cover death when they were not actively participating in an evil scheme, which left too many of their families with no monetary relief.
Leaving the pocket dimension required an annoying amount of paperwork because the person who had designed the system was an evil mage who enjoyed bureaucratic torture. However, because they were all evil mages, most of them ignored the rules and simply came and went as they pleased.
Cyril didn’t want anyone to know that he was going on a vacation in the Desolated Lands, so he had to bribe the guard to let him through without the proper visas. Since it was a pleasure trip and not work-related, his carriage was simple and understated, but contained all the possible comforts they would need for this trip. His wife was delighted with everything it provided—books, board games, tea, snakes, whiskey—and then promptly fell asleep five minutes into the drive.
Reaching the Desolated Lands took most of the first day of travel. Near evening, the carriage stopped, and Cyril got out to stretch his legs. As soon as he stepped outside, he knew something was wrong.
It was not a wasteland.
