Tex (Burnout) by Dahlia West Page A

buckle and encircled her wrist with the cuff. He fastened it and then took hold of the silver clip and shook it. “Hurt?” he asked.
     
    “No,” she told him. It was snug, but not tight and not uncomfortable at all.
     
    “Feel too tight?”
     
    She shook her head. “No, it’s okay.”
     
    “Good.” He let go of her wrist and walked over to the bed. Lifting up the corner of the mattress, he drew out a silver chain.
     
    “Oh,” Abby said.
     
    He smiled at her reassuringly. “I know. No chains. But this isn’t the kind you were thinking of, right?”
     
    Abby examined it. It was smaller than she’d pictured. Gleaming and polished, not dirty and rusted. It wasn’t any thicker than her thumb.
     
    “They’re strong and easy to clean,” he told her. “But most importantly, they won’t hurt you.”
     
    Between the chain, the cuff, and the wrought iron headboard, she could never get away. Mark must have read her expression because he lifted her chin to bring her gaze to him. “We’re just going to cuff your wrists. Not your legs this time.”
     
    Abby eyed the chain and the bed. “And you promise not to hurt me?” She knew that was silly, a promise could be easily made and just as easily broken, but she looked into his eyes, searching for anything, any small hint of danger or a lie. Sarah had said she trusted him. Abby just wanted to be sure.
     
    Mark brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Never.”
     
    Try as she might, she could see nothing but gentleness and kindness in his eyes. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Just the wrists.” Not that it really mattered, but to Abby being bound completely seemed like a lot to take on for the first time.
     
    Mark slid his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close, kissing her forehead. “Good girl,” he told her and her stomach fluttered a bit.
     
    He brought over the other cuff and put it on her wrist. “Undress for me,” he told her.
     
    Abby hesitated. Having a guy rip your clothes, you ripping your own clothes off in a fit of passion, those were acceptable. But doing a strip tease in front of Mark when her heart was hammering in her chest? That did not seem possible. He sensed her reluctance. He turned, opened the closet door and took down the fluffy white bathrobe hanging on the back. “Would you prefer to get undressed in the bathroom, Abby?”
     
    “Yes,” she told him, taking the robe gratefully.
     
    “Okay. It’s the second door on the right. The second door.”
     
    Abby headed past the closed first door and entered the bathroom. It was enormous with a white tile floor and white walls broken with a strip of glossy black diagonally set tiles waist high, encircling the room. To her left was a small linen closet and a large black cabinet housing the white porcelain sink. In the corner was a tiled shower with a large glass door. Against the far wall, tucked under the window, was a large, white clawfoot tub.
     
    It was beautiful. She wondered if Mark had bought it this way or had decorated it himself. She didn’t know why a man would choose a tub like that, but it looked damn inviting.
     
    She slowly unbuttoned her blouse, removed her bra, and unzipped her skirt. She laid her clothes on the chair to her right and examined the black cuffs against her pale skin. She was about to let a man chain her to his bed. It sounded crazy if she thought about it for too long. Then she pictured Mark as that man, and it still seemed crazy, but kind of exciting, too. She slipped on the oversized robe and stepped out of the bathroom.
     
    Opposite the bathroom door was a room with an open door. It was a small home office with a desk, some bookshelves, and a computer.
     
    So, she’d seen Mark’s bedroom, his bathroom, and now his study, all of which had the doors open. But the door next to the bathroom was closed. Mark had said the bathroom was the second on the right. Had said that twice. But had he said not to go in the closed