He was always shackled—arms, legs—and the guards knew never to get close enough to his mouth where he could bite. But tonight, either she’d forgotten he was capable of retaliation, or she just didn’t care. If he wanted, he could wrap his legs around her and squeeze the life out of her in a matter of seconds.
But even as the thought circled, he knew he wouldn’t do it. Not because she didn’t deserve it after everything she’d put him through, but because that dark place inside him was anxious to see where this was headed. And because every time her silky fingers brushed his skin, the electrical vibrations shooting through his limbs were better than anything he’d felt in a long time, even if he was chained and completely at her mercy. Even knowing things could turn straight to shit.
She freed the end of the bandage and slowly unrolled it from around his thigh. As the last of the cotton pulled free, cool air washed over his skin but was immediately replaced by her heat as she shifted forward to get a good look at his wound. And just seeing her lean in like that, so close to his groin, her warm breath fanning the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, his cock pulsed and grew painfully hard.
“This looks better.” She pressed her fingers all around the wound. A dull ache radiated outward from the spot, but it was quickly replaced with the heat of her fingers and more of those tiny electrical vibrations that felt so damn good.
Slowly, she lowered her hand and eased back onto her heels. “Cutting the wound open obviously worked.”
His pant leg fell to the floor, covering his skin once more. Disappointment was swift. He wanted her to go on touching him. Didn’t even care if it was just his wound. He wanted her hands on his body, anywhere. Everywhere.
Pushing against her knees, she rose to her feet, then moved around behind him. His muscles bunched when he could no longer see her, but he could feel her. Close. Once again her body heat washed over him, followed by her warm, seductive breath skimming the sensitive skin of his nape.
“This looks better too.” Her fingers landed against the wound on his upper right shoulder, and an uncontrollable shiver raced down his spine.
Her hand stilled. “Are you cold?”
Cold? No way in Hades. He was fucking hot. Hot and hard and aching right now. And even though he knew he shouldn’t be, he didn’t want her to stop.
“No,” he managed in a voice even he could tell was thick and heavy with desire. Did she hear it? She hadn’t made any overtly sexual moves, but he was already harder than he’d been with the nymphs, even though they’d pulled out every technique they knew and she was barely touching him. And she had to know it. The thin cotton pants weren’t hiding anything.
“The salve trapped infection in your wound,” she said, probing the edges of the cut on his back much as she’d done the one on his thigh. “I’ve no doubt you’d have healed fine without it. This one wasn’t as bad, but the injury on your thigh needed to be reopened.”
“What was in the salve?” He wanted to keep her talking. If she was volunteering information, he was going to use it.
“Healing herbs that sealed your wounds.”
And…?
“And,” she went on as if she’d heard his thought, “a chemical to enhance your reaction.”
That explained the heat. And the fact he’d been instantly hard even though those nymphs hadn’t interested him in the least. It also explained how they’d been able to hold him on the edge of release for hours.
Orgasm denial was an effective torture technique. Zagreus obviously hadn’t been able to break him physically, so he was trying to break him sexually. Nick had only been through one session, but just that one had been worse than all the physical shit he’d been subjected to in the six months he’d been there. He wasn’t sure how he’d make it through months of this kind of torture without losing his mind, especially when just looking at Cynna—just smelling her wild scent and knowing she was watching—made him instantly hard, jump-starting each session and making it all that much easier for the nymphs.
Her fingers moved from the wound on his back to his spine, then gently traced a line to the top of his low-slung drawstring pants, forcing another shiver to rack his body. “You have many scars. Scars that were here long before Zagreus brought you to this place. I’ve seen these before. Or ones like them. Where did you get them?”
Shock registered. That she’d noticed. That she was asking. An answer hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back, unsure what she was looking for. Even though she hadn’t done anything to torment him—yet—he knew full well there were other ways to torture a prisoner. Mental ways that would fuck with his head. And though she was totally hot and every part of him desperately wanted her touch, he wasn’t about to give her any advantage.
He didn’t answer, and in the silence, she trailed her hands back up to his neck, then to his jawbone. And then very gently, she skimmed her fingers over the jagged scar that ran across his left cheek and ended near the corner of his mouth.