When he set her down on the bed, and braced his hands on either side of her, for a split second, Emmery lost herself.
She wished it was Dez.
She wished it was Shade.
She craved some twisted fantasy where this man could be both.
“Am I to your satisfaction?” he asked, tucking a hair behind her ear.
Emmery frowned. “What do you mean?”
The Treasurer cupped her cheek as Dez had, and his thumb skimmed her birthmark. “Do you crave me? Find me irresistible?” His lips lingered only a sliver from hers.
In answer, Emmery fisted his shirt and brought his lips to hers. Unlike Dez, his firm mouth parted her lips with haste. She threaded her hands into his hair, wound his curls around her fingers, and he smiled against her mouth.
But nothing about this felt the same. He may look like Dez, but his kiss held none of the same emotion. None of the same fire.
As he kissed her, his eyes closed, and she took the moment to search him from the bed wrangled curls to the tip of his boots. Chains and keys of all kinds hung off him, but they appeared welded to his body somehow.
Then he leaned into her, his lips urgent against hers. She couldn’t breathe and just wanted to get the fuck away from him, but her fingers found the bottom of his tunic, and her hands slid up his torso.
Smooth. No scars. No thorns. Disappointing.
His body pressed her into the mattress as the kiss grew, expanded and morphed into need. At least for him.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered against his lips.
The hard length of him strained against his trousers and he rolled his hips against hers. He inhaled sharply and murmured, “Tell me all your secrets.”
It sounded so much like something Dez would say she almost pulled back, convinced it may truly be him. “I sort of—” She put on her best doe eyes and batted her lashes for the full effect. “If I wanted to tie you up, would you let me?”
The Treasurer grinned against her mouth. “If that pleases you.”
With a sly smile on her face, Emmery placed a hand on his chest and shoved him back. She stood, happy to put distance between them, so she couldbreathe. His eyes followed her, his hot gaze tracing her every dip and curve.
“The second drawer, love,” he drawled.
Emmery froze and ice spread in her veins. Her shoulders hunched.
Love. That’s what Shade called her. But in Destonne’s voice it spurred a new ache. Her mouth grew dry. “What did—what did you call me?”
He smiled and this time it bordered sunshine, like light filtered through thick clouds. “Love. That’s what you like.” He tilted his head, a softness to his gaze. “Is it not?”
She swallowed her feelings, and willed her mind not to wander, descend or plummet, as if the ground gave out beneath her.
At the foot of the bed, she yanked open the chest of drawers and sifted through all sorts of ties, chains, blindfolds, and dear gods—
Before she could see anything else that would surely traumatize her, she chose a pair of iron handcuffs and slammed it closed. When she turned back to the Treasurer, he lounged with his arms lazily draped over his head. Shirtless. Waiting for her.
Emmery’s hips swayed as she stalked back to him, though her mind raced. Easily, she crawled onto the bed, and kissed him, then slipped the first cuff on one of his already chained wrists and snapped it shut. She did the same with the other and secured him to the metal headboard.
She smiled against his lips as she yanked the key free and tucked it between her cleavage. Then she sparked her flame and held it to his throat.
The Treasurer’s eyes flared and he shrank back but had nowhere to go. “Is this part of the game, love? Because I do have hard limits, and burning my face is one of them.”
Emmery bared her teeth. “Who—whatare you? Why do you look like that?”
“You truly don’t know?” He leaned in, his voice low, “I’m your desire. Your weakness.”