Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

He licks my earlobe again, then grazes his teeth over it. He's breathing into my ear and nibbling all around the shell of it. My knees go weak and my breath stutters in my chest.

I sway backwards but the comforting bulk of his body suddenly isn't there to catch me. Instead, he steps back, grabs my shoulder, and jerks me around to face him. Then he braces one leg behind him, bends forward a little, grabs the knot at my wrists, lifts my arms enough to duck under them, and rams his shoulder into my stomach.

At the same time, he wraps his arms around my hips, then slings me over his shoulder like a freaking sack of potatoes. He grunts a little when he lifts me, but he's got the advantage of surprise and decades of a five-day-a-week workout schedule with a personal trainer, so he's plenty strong enough to carry me.

And he doesn't have far to carry me, just over the threshold and into the cabin's main room, where he stops and lets me slide down his body until I land on my feet. All the blood that rushed into my head when he tossed me over his shoulder drains back down and I sway on my feet, light-headed and tingly.

His big hands around my upper arms steady me and I'm just gazing into his hazel eyes, kinda stupidly. His hands tighten even as his eyes crinkle into a fond look that's at odds with what we're supposed to be doing here.

But then he reaches overhead for something that rattles and clinks, and holy shit. There are freaking hooks dangling from the ceiling, on chains, attached to pulley systems near the ceiling.

He pulls one of the chains down enough to fasten the trailing ends of the rope around my wrists to the hook at the end of it. Then he yanks on the chain to raise the hook and keeps pulling the rope so my arms are pulled higher and higher, stretched over my head, and I'm balanced on my tiptoes.

He takes a step back, cocks his head as he assesses me, then adjusts the chain so that I settle firmly on my own feet. The tension pulling at my arms lessens enough that I'm not…well, I'm not comfortable , that's for damn sure, but I'm not really un comfortable.

When he steps away, I'm able to get my first real view of the cabin's interior. A huge stone fireplace dominates one wall, and the opposite wall is mostly windows. It's too dark to see what they look out at, though, and anyway, I'm too distracted by what's in the cabin to pay much attention to what's outside.

It's like someone gut-renovated a hunting cabin and turned it into a sex dungeon. A huge four-poster bed with manacles attached at each post dominates the room in front of the wall of windows. There's a tall bench near the foot of the bed that looks like a cross between a gym bench and a massage table. It's got extra padded sections attached at the sides.

And hanging on the walls, instead of antlers or stuffed animal heads or photographs of a happy family on vacation, is an impressive array of BDSM tools. Paddles in various sizes, multiple floggers, riding crops, and a bunch of things I don't even know the use for. Holy fuck.

"How did you find this place?" I'm kinda proud of how calm I sound, considering how I'm tied up, hanging from a hook in the ceiling in the main part of the cabin's…living room?

Whatever the sex dungeon version of a vacation cabin would be called. Because there aren't any comfy couches or recliners grouped around a coffee table or entertainment center in this cabin.

It's pretty much: giant bed, fucking bench, bunch of sadistic toys.

The fireplace is the most normal thing about the cabin. At least it looks like it works as it was originally intended. There's a stack of firewood next to the hearth and a metal bucket for ashes. There's even a thick, fluffy rug on the floor in front of it. It's way too hot today for a fire, though.

And I don't think that thick, fluffy rug is in the cards for me tonight.

"A friend of a friend is letting me use it."

"W-what are you going to do to me here?" Okay, I sound a little less calm this time and he hears it and chuckles.

"I," he says, returning to stand in front of me with the knife in his hand, "am going to do whatever I want to you."

He flips the knife so it points at me, then steps right up close. The tip of the knife rests just below the hollow at my throat. Slowly and with careful attention so it barely grazes me, he drags the knife down the center of my chest as he speaks. "You are going to take whatever I give you."

My chest is heaving and I'm not at all sure whether it's because I'm scared to death that he'll cut me or I'm trying to make sure he does. It's kind of a toss-up right now.

When he reaches the waistband of my shorts, he drops the knife so it's in between my thighs. I suck in a deep breath, balanced on my toes, while he holds the blade of a freaking knife at the crotch seam of the denim.

His eyes flick up to meet mine and then he very deliberately lowers his eyes to where my dick is straining behind my zipper. A hot wash of humiliation makes sweat spring up all over my body. The number of times I've gotten hard watching Logan wield his big chef's knife while cooking is honestly embarrassing.

He drags the knife up, over the rigid line of my dick, and I try really hard not to arch into the blade. Not that successfully, since the knife's point catches on a few denim threads.

"You are going to love every minute of it, aren't you, boy?"

"Yes, Sir," I breathe. Of course he'd noticed.

I'm holding myself as still as possible, but I'm quivering with fear and dread and the kind of arousal that twists in my stomach and threatens to make me come without warning.

"Good." He flashes this broad grin at me and yikes, I should not be turned on by a man who sounds so chipper while holding a knife to my junk. But here we are.

"You stay there," he says. Like I can go anywhere right now. It's possible that I roll my eyes, and he pokes me in the belly with the knife. I yelp, but it barely breaks the skin and he just chuckles. "I've got a couple things to do before we really get started here."

He exits the cabin and comes back within minutes with a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He sets it down on the floor just inside the door with a heavy thump, then squats down to riffle through it. His back is to me, so I get to enjoy the sight of his firm ass encased in casual slacks and the muscles in his back shift under his white button-down shirt while he's searching for whatever he's searching for.

Only for a minute, though, because when he stands up, he's got a black cloth dangling from his hand, which turns out to be a blindfold. He places it over my head, gently pulls a few strands of hair out from under it and snugs the strap behind my head.

Like when he closed the trunk lid on me, the darkness descends and it's total and complete. I can't even see a sliver of light at the edges of the blindfold. It's soft on my eyelids and temples and the wide strap is comfortable.

I sway a little on my feet, the utter lack of sight making me momentarily dizzy. He steadies me with firm hands at my sides.

If he were my Daddy in this scene, he'd kiss me, stroke my sides, maybe lick at or nibble on my nipples. But this Sir isn't sweet or gentle and I'm lucky he hasn't bitten me or hit me.

Yet.

There are all kinds of rustling and clanking sounds, plus more noises that I can't even begin to identify. I give up trying. I'll see what Sir wants me to see, when he wants me to see it. The anticipation is making me breathless.

Finally, there's the sound of a faucet running and then Sir is back. When he pulls the blindfold off, I blink my eyes to adjust to the light, as he holds a glass of water with a metal straw in front of my mouth. "Drink," he orders.

The straw is cool on my lips, and I gulp the water down. He refills the glass without comment, and I sip it more slowly this time. When I'm done, he takes the glass away, puts it in the sink, and comes back to me.

He detaches my hands from the hook and leads me to a closed door I hadn't noticed before. When he swings it open, it's a bathroom. There's a walk-in shower not unlike the one in Logan's Westport house, a nice big soaking tub, and in a smaller room with its own door, there's a toilet and a bidet.

He unties my hands, then points at the bidet. "Do whatever business you need to and then clean yourself up for me."

I flush with hot shame as he pushes me into the room and closes the door. I think he's still standing on the other side, and I don't know what my problem is. I've cleaned myself for my Daddy plenty of times. But something about preparing myself for my own degradation feels…well, degrading.

There's a sharp rap on the door. "I don't hear anything, boy. Get to it. You do not want me coming in there."

No, I don't. I get to it.