The room grew dark again. She pushed that button on the wall near the door, and the tension in the chains grew taut, dragging his arms up and away from his body, forcing him to step out from the wall. She let the motor hum for several seconds as his arms were lifted, then pushed Stop when his elbows were at a right angle. Not exactly comfortable, but not as painful as when the satyrs wrenched his arms over his head, pulling on his sockets, making him grapple to hold himself upright.
The stones were cold on the soles of his feet, and brisk air washed over his spine. Today—thankfully—he wasn’t naked to start. The cotton drawstring pants might be thin, but they gave him at least a little protection from whatever was coming. Shifting his arms, he wrapped his hands around the chains for balance. Fabric rustled, and then the torch on the far wall flared to life, casting warm illumination over the cell. He looked away as his eyes adjusted to the light, then slowly slid his gaze back her way and nearly swallowed his tongue.
She wasn’t decked out in her usual dominatrix getup. Tonight her blonde hair was pulled back into a neat tail, showing off the supple line of her jaw, and her face was void of makeup, making her look years younger than before. Instead of the skintight corset and skimpy skirt she always wore, she was dressed in a thin black tank and loose-fitting, soft pink cotton pajama pants that accentuated her natural curves. But what surprised him most was the fact her feet were as bare as his. As if she hadn’t planned to come down to the dungeon tonight. As if she’d rushed and forgotten shoes.
He watched her carefully, wondering what she was up to, wondering what she had planned. Aside from the other night when he’d been sick and she’d tended his wound, she never came alone. Quietly, she set a small bag on the floor near the door, withdrew something he couldn’t see and slipped it into her pocket, then pulled out a white plastic bottle and turned to face him.
Her dark eyes found his and held. Eyes that didn’t look as flat and dead as they had in days past. She twirled the bottle in her hand several times, then stepped forward. Heat gathered in his belly and slinked downward as she drew close, and his skin tingled at the prospect of her touch. A touch he shouldn’t want but couldn’t seem to stop fantasizing about.
Her sultry heat encircled him as she drew near. She uncapped the bottle and held it to his lips. “Drink.”
When he hesitated, she tipped her head, and something gentle passed over her eyes. Something he couldn’t quite read. “It’s only water. I promise.”
His mouth felt suddenly dry. Fresh water was a rarity in this place. One he craved.
She pressed the tip of the bottle to his lips, and he opened slowly, feeling the smooth plastic against his skin. In a rush, cool, clear water washed over his tongue, flooding his mouth, awakening his taste buds, making him groan.
One side of her lips ticked up, just a touch, just enough to change the entire look of her face. In an instant, she went from hard and jaded to soft and…gorgeous. “I guess it’s safe to say you like that.”
He did. But not just the water. He liked that she was the one pouring it into his mouth. Blood rushed from his belly into his cock as he watched her watching him. And excitement he knew he shouldn’t be feeling energized his body and made his pulse beat hard in his arteries.
“Careful,” she said in that sexy, alluring voice as she pulled the water bottle away. “I don’t want you to get sick.”
Sickness was the last thing on his mind. She had suddenly become the center of everything. He licked his lips while she capped the bottle and set it down, watching her every movement.
Drawing a deep breath, she stood in front of him once more and nodded toward his leg. “I need to check your wound.”
She didn’t wait for his answer, simply lowered to the floor and braced her hands on her thighs. And in the silence, as he waited for that first touch, Nick couldn’t help but think back to those nymphs kneeling in front of him yesterday just like this, to the way they’d ripped off his towel, to the things they’d done with their hands and mouths.
His cock stiffened and swelled, but not with remembered arousal. No, this arousal was purely from the prospect of watching Cynna kneeling so submissively in front of him, preparing to touch him in any way she wanted.
And skata, how fucking twisted was it that he knew some kind of torture was coming, but he couldn’t wait to see what she did next?
His pulse roared as her soft fingers grasped the hem of his left pant leg. The pants were loose enough for her to push the thin cotton all the way up his knee, past his wound. Tingles raced across his skin as she lifted the fabric higher, and he swallowed hard, fighting back his traitorous body’s reaction. Only when she bunched the fabric together around his upper thigh did he realize his ankles weren’t shackled as they had been yesterday.