Death Layer (The Depraved Club) by Celia Loren, Colleen Masters Page B

risk. So you’ll just have to sleep with me.”
    My blood drains and then rushes back into my face and I
shake my head vehemently.
    He narrows his eyes and lunges over to me. “Jesus Christ, I
already told you, I’m not gonna rape you. I get plenty of pussy the traditional
way.”
    His fists close around my shoulders and slide me up the wall
until I am standing. His nostrils are flared in anger and his breathing is a
little heavy with the effort from lifting me. One of his brawny arms darts
around my waist and presses my body to his like a rag doll, my curves conforming
to him naturally through the thin fabric of his borrowed clothes. He easily
carries me to the bed and tosses me down, grabbing my shackled ankle as I
bounce on the mattress.
    He fishes in his pocket for a key and unlocks the cuffs. Of
course he carries a handcuff key in his pocket. Because. Why wouldn’t he?
    I gasp in relief as my ankle falls free, but the relief is
short-lived. Bane stretches his body over me and grabs one of my wrists,
forcing it into the shackle. Reaching over my head, his bare muscles ripple in
my face as he strings the chain around the headboard and then snaps my other
wrist captive.
“Fuck,” I groan.
    I am literally chained to Bane’s bed.
    “Kinky,” Bane observes with a smile.
    He is still stretched out on top of me, the pressure of his
massive body alarming. His lips are almost touching mine, his eyes as cool and
intense as ever. I arch my back subtly to try to increase the distance between
our faces, but regret it: the movement launches my breasts into his chest and
his hips rock instinctually into mine in response, a shock of heat radiating up
my sex.
    A startled moan escapes my lips at the feeling of his
hardness between my legs and my breath catches in my throat like a butterfly in
a net.
    Bane closes his eyes and his face settles into a frown that
almost looks pained. When his eyes open, that original question is back. I
can’t look away, once again a deer in the headlights, and suddenly his hot lips
are searing mine.
    For a moment I forget the chains, the club, and the world,
and I melt into him. Bane is all man, cut angles and muscles and heat, but when
his tongue presses under mine and sends a shockwave of radioactive heat through
my brain I suddenly remember who and where I am.
    I remember the chains.
    “No!” I jerk my chin away, panting, and squeeze my eyes
shut. “No, stop. Please.”
    Bane goes rigidly still, and I feel his withdrawal both
physically and energetically. After a suspenseful moment, he rolls off me with
a grunt and snaps off the light.
    “Have it your way. Fucking cock tease.”
    In the dark I hear him punch the pillow a few times before
settling in.

 
     
    Chapter Eleven
     
     
    I awake to the sound of a turning key to find Bane kneeling
over my chest, fiddling with my cuffs. His thighs and, yes, the bulge of his
crotch, are right in my face. Can’t say it’s the worst way to wake up, but it
draws a sharp gasp from me.
    “Ow,” I groan. It’s my new favorite word because literally
everything hurts.
    Bane looks down and displays that lopsided, cold grin.
    “Good evening, princess,” he grunts. “Having second
thoughts?”
    He chuckles and does a playful hip thrust in my direction
that almost makes me laugh. There’s no end to this clown’s confidence. Or
arrogance.
    “How can I ever forgive myself,” I mutter.
    Bane arches his eyebrows. “I don’t care for your sarcastic
tone, Red. It stings just like a boner with no release. Anyway, time to get up.
It’s party time again and you’re going back to the clubhouse. We’re gonna play
it cool like nothing happened last night. Nobody else finds out about your
little date with the drainpipe or my little stakeout in the alley. Got it?”
    “Fine,” I sigh, rubbing my chewed-up wrists.
    Bane’s eyes narrow as he sweeps an inspecting gaze over my
body. He bends over to his nightstand, opens a drawer, and drops a tube of
Neosporin