Forbidden Sensations: A Dark Romance by Savannah Rose (e book reader pc TXT) 📕

On the count of three, I would unlock the two cuffs, and bring his arms forward with the paracord. Much like a marionette.

I stood a calculated safe distance away, my flare gun trained on his crotch, and warned him if he didn't do exactly what I said, how I said it and when I said it, I'd blow the Petersen jewels clean off the face of the planet.

I unlocked the cuffs, got in position, and arrived at two-and-a-half when I yanked on the paracord. The scream was absolutely mythical. If I hadn't enjoyed it so much, I would have cringed. Jesus Christ what a pussy this guy was. We were definitely getting down to the brass tax of what made Maddox Petersen tick.

Money made him tick.

Power made him untouchable.

Take all that away, and you're left with a shell of a douche-bag.

A whimpering piece of dog shit whose fingers were trembling as I said he had another count to three before those cuffs better be locked back together. And we both knew I didn't always make it to 'three'.

With the business end of the flare gun four feet away from his gonads, he managed to lock the cuffs in front of him, numb fingers or not. He was snuffling. Actually snuffling, like the snotty ass toddler he was. A very woke part of me said this was probably an act, that he was only pretending to be on the verge of crying so he'd get my guard down.

Tell me something I don't know, I told my woke self. Ain't no way this jackass was going to pull a fast one on me. Being out here in the most primitive of conditions, the adrenaline pumping through my veins, every sense was on its highest alert. I pulled the release end of the knot, and the paracord slithered back in my hands like an obedient snake.

“Ready for an adventure, Maddy?” I rolled my eyes at myself, and laughed. “I mean, another adventure. We're already on one, right?”

“You're fucking insane,” he panted, there at my feet. On his knees. Naked and bound like a subservient little boy. I dug the fuck out of that.

“Get up, asshole.”

“I can't–”

“Holy fucking shit, are you kidding me? You are the biggest god damn wimp, Maddox, seriously. Your mother must be so disappointed.”

He swallowed, hard, stared at his hands, and croaked, “So's my dad.”

I paused, for just a moment, kept the gun exactly where it needed to be, but paused. What was that supposed to mean? Did he think I gave a shit about what his daddy thought of him? Or was that another cutsie-tootise diversion tactic? Men like Maddox (and I use the term very, very loosely) don't have feelings. They're incapable.

“Okay, well, whatever. Shit head. Get up, get moving, or I'll make your life three times more miserable than it is right now.”

“Just three?” he hissed, getting to his hands and knees, trying to stand upright. Like a fucking Neanderthal.

“Oh, you're funny. Handsome, charming, and full of wit. Can't believe you're not married. Is that why your mom's disappointed? And your dad?”

That got him. Hah. He stopped, halfway to straightening out his posture, pretended like my last dig didn't bother him, but the eyes are windows to the soul. Even though Maddox had no soul, it was still obvious there was some sort of issue in the parental department. Big shock. Who doesn't have demons in their childhood closet? Well, Becca and I, for two. We were members of an exclusive club – one whose formative years weren't filled with trauma and dysfunction.

“I was engaged, once,” he said without me prompting the question.

“Awww. Isn't that nice. Start walking.” I pointed the gun toward a small path through the brush.

He turned and started shuffling where I'd indicated. His butt was red from the grit of the sand, and there were dimples just above his tight, sculpted cheeks.

“Nice ass,” I complimented.

Maddox didn't reply. Too busy trying to push his way through the thick overgrowth. Lucky for me and women everywhere, our genitals are on the inside. Chugging one's way through prickly branches and shrubs whilst your member is fwapping around, exposed and vulnerable to Mother Nature's bountiful – perhaps poisonous – abundance must be quite the challenge. Especially when your hands are manacled in front of you. Either keep 'em cupped around your only reason for existing, or shove the plant life out of your way.

He'd opted for the latter, which surprised me.

We hiked our way through the overgrowth, me keeping a safe four foot distance away from that ass, never taking my finger off the trigger.

Maddox stumbled a few times, but never went down. It impressed me, the way the muscles in his ass clenched like their own fists to keep him on his feet. I never figured myself to be an ass-chick. Maybe I was.

Not that ass, though, I scolded myself. Then nodded to myself. I didn't know what I was thinking. Maybe I was ovulating.

The sound of rushing water echoed through the tropical air. It had gotten humid today, making the air warm and sticky.

I wiped my forehead. Hearing the trickle of cool fresh water seemed to be make me sweat even more. Maddox was certainly sweating. Clear rivers of perspiration ran between his shoulder blades. There was a splattering of freckles on his back, too.

He had to be Irish.

Not that I cared. Northern Europeans were fair skinned and burned easily.

Even though the canopy of trees was thick, it wasn't rainforest thick. Maddox would rue the day he started shaving his head. It was already pinking up a bit from exposure, and getting fuzzy with hair that wanted to grow but for whatever reason he disallowed.

God, he was so pitiful.

We arrived at the rocky bank of the small pond. Water from above splashed into the clear blue of the lagoon, churning and turning it into the world's coldest jacuzzi.

“Get in,” I said.

I half expected