Iron Dominance

Without the slightest look, though with trembling hands, she crossed her arms, took hold of her dress, and skimmed it off over her head, let it fall, then took off her underwear—both bra and panties.

 

Naked, standing naked, in the middle of the ballroom. Her nipples beaded; her cleft and clit swelled in arousal. But she had Theo again. She did.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-eight

 

 

 

 

Theo led her by the hand into a large room with walls painted a feral combination of black, red, and gold and a ceiling festooned with dangling chains. Padded machinery, crosses, tables, and other devices she couldn’t decipher the function of, were set up here and there on the floor and walls, like metallic creatures ready to pounce on straying humans. White rope hung, coiled, from pegs and struts. She shuddered, her mouth dried.

 

“Don’t worry, Claire.” Theo stood behind her, combed his hands through her hair then twisted it into a rope, and carefully tied it together at her nape. “I’ll take care of you.”

 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmured.

 

He kissed her neck, then turned her to face one of the devices. All black, the device was some form of sawhorse, like one used in timber work, only padded on top, with rings attached here and there. Her mind raced ahead—rings for tying ropes to.

 

“That?” she whispered and swallowed past the lump in her throat.

 

“Yes. Give me your wrist.”

 

Sometime while she’d been distracted—which meant as soon as she’d entered this room—he’d picked up a coil of rope.

 

The thumping against her ribs would be her heart. She licked her lips and raised her right wrist. The loop of rope Theo placed around it was white as an angel’s wing. Pure and so not innocent. This whole place, every movement, every instruction Theo gave her, made her feel like she’d plugged into his galvanic machine. Thud, thud, went her heart.

 

With a few deft finger movements, he wound it about her wrist, snugged it down firmly, and waited.

 

She stared at the rope. Hung upon a revelation, an epiphany moment. This wasn’t just possible, just bearable—it excited her. Letting Theo take charge of her had always been the utmost thrill. This too. Rope no longer sank talons into her gut. Whatever he wanted, she could do.

 

Oh, yes.

 

“Good, sweetheart. Lie down.”

 

She blinked at him, nodded.

 

He guided her until she lay on her stomach across the length of the padding with her bottom in the air, sticking out past the end. Slowly, precisely, he wound rope about her limbs and body. She wriggled at times into the padding, until he pressed his hand to her back and made her stop.

 

Her bent knees and her ankles and wrists were tied with enough rope to set a ship’s rigging. Her breasts were bound so firmly they felt round and filled with blood. Each heartbeat made them throb and made her so aware of them resting against either side of the padding.

 

She couldn’t move a single inch, and it made her so hot, she bit back a groan when the ends of the flogger grazed her *.

 

“I must admit,” Dankyo said, “you look far more interesting like this than when you’re glowering at me.”

 

Dankyo? She’d been unaware who was back there. Did he have the flogger?

 

“Why are you—” Then she noticed Theo lounging against the wall, watching, still in his coat and trousers. “Huh. Aren’t you stretching the limits of your duties a bit?”

 

“Not really.”

 

The fire-laden smack of the flogger’s tendrils on her bottom startled her. “Ah!”

 

She strained at the ropes fastening her arms to the sawhorse, closed her eyes as they pulled taut…and held. Dankyo, of all people. She bit back a swear word she might have called him.

 

Mortifying, yet, strangely, knowing Theo watched Dankyo smack her… She arched the tiniest bit, wriggling the inch or two her ass could move…and heat blossomed.

 

No. She went still, made her breathing slow. This was awful. Dankyo would see, know she got off on this. Say something. Distraction needed here.

 

“You’ve played us both, haven’t you? Arranged this. You wanted us together.”

 

“Possibly.”

 

“Why?”

 

He bent down, squatting next to her head, then putting a hand up to hold her chin. “Maybe because I can see that in your own way, you’re good for him. That he does need you as much as you do him. Maybe because you’ve made me realize something about myself I’d never have known otherwise.”

 

Unable to look away, she looked, really looked at him. A hint of a smile curved his lips. Oh. Frick.

 

He stood and removed his coat, folded it, and put it on the floor. Next, while she watched, tongue-tied, he stripped off his shirt and placed it on top of the coat. His hairless torso gleamed. He flexed his shoulders, making slabs of muscle slide like earthquaked rock. The man could lift a landship.

 

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