FIFTEEN

I stopped dead in my tracks, sending gravel skittering everywhere. My mind couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing, but my body took over. It forced my legs to start churning, only this time, they carried me away from the exit. The only goal now was to blindly run.

Panic was a great motivator, but it couldn’t do the impossible. It didn’t make me as fast as the goddess of speed Nike or give me wings like Icarus to escape the Labyrinth. In fact, I only made it past the first turn before the Minotaur ensnared me in his powerful arms. His hold was a cage, and I ran at the bars, trying to escape.

“Marist, stop. It’s over,” Macalister said.

“How?” I sobbed. “How did you get ahead of me?”

He turned me to face him, and his pale eyes held me just as captive as his arms. Sweat dampened the hair at his temples, and he was breathing as hard as I was. He’d run in his suit and his dress shoes in the lazy September heat, and it’d taken its toll on him.

His hands were splayed out on my bare back, casing me to him while we both struggled to catch our breath and adjust to the shocking outcome of his game. His eyes hooded and his gaze swept down over my heated face, continuing further south.

I’d thought he was staring at my breasts, but his gaze shifted, and he frowned. “You’re hurt.”

I followed his eyeline and saw the angry red scratches across my bicep, the thin threads of blood seeping from them, and it pushed me past my limit. My knees gave way, and I sagged into his arms, drawing a startled noise of surprise from him. I clutched at the fabric of his suit as I went down, trying to halt my collapse, but it was pointless.

Macalister fell to a knee with me in his arms, slowing my descent. There was concern in his expression, and I found that more disorienting than anything else he’d tried to do. He wasn’t supposed to be capable of feelings.

“Tell me what’s happening,” he demanded, although there was an edge of nervousness to his voice that made him sound less like the monster I’d pictured him as.

But tell him what was happening? How about the world was upside-down? I’d lost. God, I’d lost everything. Instead of admitting defeat, I was a stupid girl and went with the most practical answer. “I don’t like blood,” I croaked.

He held me firmly as he shrugged out of his jacket, one arm and then the other, until it lay in a heap on the ground. Then he seated me on the path, the smooth stones pressing uncomfortably against my bottom, while he knelt beside me.

He jabbed a finger at the jacket. “Put it on.”

I let out a painful breath, a mixture of fear and relief. I didn’t look at him as I struggled into his suit coat that was far too big for me and smelled like a man who wasn’t my fiancé. But once I had it on and folded across my body, my nakedness and the blood covered, I found myself again. My bones solidified, and fire raced through my marrow.

“How the fuck did you get ahead of me?”

He climbed to his feet and wiped the gray dust marks from his knees before extending a hand to help me up. “I built this maze.”

He said it like that should be more than enough explanation. I swatted his hand away and went to stand, but he didn’t like that. As soon as I was on my feet, he lunged at me, wrapping his arms around my thighs and lifting. It bent me over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry.

“Put me down!” My heart rocketed into my throat, making it hard to talk as he righted himself and began to walk toward the exit.

“I don’t believe you’re in any position to tell me what to do.”

It wasn’t just shocking being possessed like this—it was uncomfortable. Every step he took made his broad shoulder dig into my belly, and I felt like a helpless maiden being carried back to the monster’s lair.

Except he wasn’t going deeper inside the maze; he carried me out the entrance and then around the side of it. What was he doing? I squirmed and wriggled, trying to escape, but his arm was banded tight around the back of my thighs, locking me in place.

He turned the corner, following the outer wall of the hedges, until he was halfway to the other end. And there he abruptly put me down, setting me dizzyingly on my feet. He kept one arm around my waist, but I wasn’t sure if this was to keep me upright or prevent me from escaping. Maybe it was both.

I watched with stunned disbelief as his free hand disappeared into the bush in front of us and a moment later an entire section of the hedge swung open. The fake foliage covering this secret door was the perfect seamless match.

I couldn’t breathe, but my voice still worked. “You cheated!”

Macalister had the nerve to look insulted. “Where in the rules did it stipulate I couldn’t leave the maze? I only had to catch you before you escaped.”

My eyes filled with tears of rage. “You cheated.”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

His hold on me changed. It grasped my wrist, covered by the overly long sleeve, and guided me through the passageway. He brought me stumbling into the long corridor that dead-ended with the urn on the other side—the starting line of the race I didn’t realize was unwinnable. Then the door swung closed behind, locking us inside.

I couldn’t fathom words. All the fury I felt was overwhelmed and drowned out by my trepidation. It kept me silent as I was led down the path and back to the center of the maze. My shoes were there, my bra and underwear discarded right beside them. It was a shocking sight, and I looked away, desperate not to see.

When Macalister pulled me to a stop and turned to face me, his expression cautiously eager, it broke me.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered.

Rather than look angry, he looked . . . worried. Like he was confused and unsure and it was fucking terrifying to see him like that. This version of him, I didn’t know how to handle. He set his heavy hand on my shoulder, and I was grateful it was covered by the coat to prevent him from making true contact with me.

“I have no interest in forcing myself upon you,” he said. “But I can’t deny how much I need this.” He set his hand on my other shoulder, boxing me in under his hold, and his expression filled with longing. “I cannot deny how badly I want this. Once it’s done, I’ll be able to let you go. If you honor our agreement, I’ll consider the one I made with Royce null and void.”

My breath caught. He was saying I’d be free. Not from his house or his control, but at least from his interference with my relationship with Royce.

His hands crept inward, drifting up my neck until my face was trapped between both of his palms, ensuring there was no escape from his hypnotic eyes. He was so close, his warm breath rolled over my skin. It slid down my neck and caressed the bare skin it found between the lapels of the jacket.

“I understand your reluctance. I believe I can make it easier on you.”

“How?”

He took one hand off my face, and it glided down my front so it could delve inside the jacket. I flinched at his cold fingers, but he wasn’t attempting to touch me. He was only trying to reach into the interior pocket. The red tie spilled out into his hand.

“You want to blindfold me again?” I both did and didn’t like the idea. On one hand, I wouldn’t be able to see him, which might give me the chance to pretend he was someone else. But on the other, I worried about giving up that much control.

“No,” he said. His eyes were cryptic, his thoughts hidden too far behind them. “I’ll show you, but I’ll have to remove my coat you’re wearing.”

I bit my bottom lip. It was hot under the coat, and the silk lining clung to my sweat-dampened skin, but it was far easier to stand before him with it on than completely naked. When I didn’t say no right away, he must have taken that as a yes, because he hooked his fingers under the neck and eased it down. The coat fell in a jerky cascade, catching for a moment on my elbows before falling to the stones at our feet.

His tone was soft but direct. “Give me your wrists.”

My blood turned to slush, making it impossible to move.

“If you do this, it’s the only thing you have to give tonight. Everything else I will take.” I didn’t understand what he meant. He slowly blinked his deep and intense eyes. “If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. But I am persistent and patient, and I won’t give up until I have what I want. What I’m suggesting is the illusion of giving up control.”

It would be just like the hands that had held me during the initiation. All I had to do was say the word, and I’d be released. Even more, with my arms bound in front of me, I’d still have the option to push him away or run. He was offering a false ‘out’ for my mind. A way to lie to myself so I could let it happen.

“Surrender your hands,” he said, “and then tell yourself you had no choice.”

I closed my eyes, knowing what he’d said was true. He was a man who wasn’t denied anything, so he wouldn’t give up until he’d had his two minutes with me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have traded them away in the first place.

Macalister was . . . inevitable.

I lifted my hands, my entire body trembling, and heard his quiet, pleased sigh.

The silk draped over my wrists then cinched them together. My eyes fluttered open as the second knot was looped and pulled tight.

And then it was done. My hands were bound, and I’d submitted to him. Dark satisfaction streaked through his expression. Now he’d take what he wanted.

As he’d warned me, it started with his hands. He set his cool palms on my shoulders and glided them down my arms, his fingers flowing like water. His touch was meant to be sensual, and my body tried to like it, but my mind refused.

He commanded it in a hushed but powerful voice. “Look at me.”

I’d been staring off into nothingness, not seeing the fountain or the hedges, and avoiding him. My reluctant gaze shifted his direction, working slowly up along his fitted white dress shirt until I reached his face.

His expression was the same one he’d shown me only a handful of times. It was full of shameless desire. He looked at me like a king surveying his new bride.

“Some part of you wanted to lose,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the dripping fountain. “You secretly hoped this would happen.”

“No,” I blurted. It came from me in such a rush, to him it probably sounded forced. Like I was overcompensating, but what he’d said wasn’t true at all.

Right?

His half-smile said he didn’t believe me.

His hands were firm but not rough as I was turned to face the fountain. Its steadily flowing water was hypnotic, and I fell into a kind of trance as I stood on the path and endured Macalister’s reverent caresses. He gathered my hair in his hands and pushed it gently over my shoulder, exposing every inch of my back to him. It was his favorite part on a woman’s body, he’d said.

A fingertip traced a line across my shoulder blades and down my spine, moving like a slow drop of water finding its path down into the hollow of my back. It drew a shiver from me, and he gave a soft noise of satisfaction, enjoying my body’s response.

When his hands slid around to cradle my hips, he moved in. The length of his body pressed to mine, emphasizing the opposition between us. I was shorter, he was tall. I was nude, he was clothed. And I was female, while he was male.

Distinctly male.

He wasn’t physically aroused, but the shape of him pressed to me made all the air vanish from my lungs. The line of buttons down his shirt and the buckle of his belt kissed my skin, and as his hands continued to rise, I pressed my lips together.

It’d been two months since anyone had really touched me besides myself, and since I wasn’t facing him, I tried to think these hands didn’t belong to Macalister. But every time I attempted it, it was like he knew. There was the flash of his Cartier watch, or the smell of his cologne, or his heavy sigh of contentment in my ear that couldn’t be anyone but him.

His hands stroked up over my breasts, and I swallowed an enormous breath. I didn’t want to like the way it felt, but my neglected skin enjoyed the sensation. My nipples firmed into tight points as he massaged and explored. I issued a sound of surprise when he pinched one between his thumb and forefinger, hard enough to verge on pain.

It was shameful how I felt the sensation between my legs in a dull ache.

He didn’t follow his script exactly as he’d laid it out, because his mouth came down on the curve of my neck while his hands encased my breasts. He’d told me he wasn’t going to start with his mouth until he was done with his hands, and there was a very crucial place he hadn’t touched yet.

Was he not going to? The thought caused the faintest of whines to float through my mind. What the fuck was wrong with me?

It was undeniable how his kisses on my neck felt, coupled with his sensuous hands, and I gave up fighting. My hands were tied, after all, so I allowed myself to acknowledge I liked what he was doing—only a little.

Try to enjoy it.

It was what Alice had whispered to me before the initiation, when she knew what was going to happen. What her own husband was planning on doing to me. What a fucked up blessing she’d given that day. Would she feel the same way if she found out his two minutes had been deferred?

“Alice.” I said her name like a safe word, and it had a similar effect. He paused.

His lips moved against my skin as he spoke. “What about her?”

I had a million questions about why their relationship was the way it was, but it was doubtful he’d tell me. None of the Hales seemed to think much about each other’s feelings, but that wasn’t how I operated. She’d been aloof and direct, but nice to me in her own way. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

His hands started again, abandoning my breasts and inching downward. “The only person who can hurt Alice . . . is Alice.” His tone was ironic. “Believe me, I’ve tried. She’s unbreakable.”

Was this why they’d fallen out of love? Had Macalister tried to conquer her and failed? I didn’t get any more time to think about it because his hands spilled over my stomach and then the knots at my wrists, gliding lower.

The muscles in my belly clenched at his touch. My breath went ragged when he sucked on a tender spot just below my ear. I didn’t want his fingers to move any lower, but goosebumps marched up my legs.

He teased me. His palms slid over and between my thighs while avoiding the most intimate spot. My chest was tight with anxiety and anticipation, and he dragged the moment out for a lifetime. Long enough for my traitorous body to settle back against his and subtly encourage.

His voice was seductively evil. “It’s all right to want it,” he whispered. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Oh, fuck. I hated him. I couldn’t stand how he twisted me up to the point of ripping me apart or how—

“Oh,” I gasped, a mixture of horror and pleasure.

His fingers brushed through where I was hot and damp and throbbing in a way that made me uncomfortable. The tie seemed to grow tighter around my wrists, but maybe that was because every muscle in me had tensed.

His fingers were tentative at first but grew bolder when a panicked whimper eked from my throat. It was clear he enjoyed what he was doing. He made a thick groan of satisfaction, and his erection began to swell behind the fly of his pants. I felt it harden against my hip, and once again, I had two opposing emotions at the same time.

First was fear. He was a powerful man, and my hands were bound. I wondered if there would always be a hint of danger tied to this event, or if it would go away as I grew more experienced. Instinctively, I couldn’t trust any man with a hard-on.

The second emotion was pride, and it was fucking pathetic. Touching me had turned Macalister on, but so what? I hadn’t done something special or unique that any other woman wasn’t capable of. So, why did I feel flattered that he found me arousing?

The pads of his fingers rolled a slow circle over my clit, and another panicked moan welled up from deep in my stomach. I used my bound hands to grab his wrist to try to stop him, but there was no power in my attempt.

It was all for show.

My sex-starved body was greedy. It would humiliatingly accept pleasure from any hand right now.

The stubble dotting his jaw was rough against the side of my neck as he kissed and nipped at me. And his hands. Those fucking hands rubbed against me, making it so damn hard to stay quiet. I didn’t want him to know it felt good, which was pointless. He seemed to know everything.

He ground his palm against my center, and tremors worked up my legs, making it hard to stand. I sagged back against him, concentrating on not letting a moan pour from my mouth, but then abruptly the hands were gone.

I swayed as he bent and retrieved the suit coat from the ground and brushed the dirt and leaves from it. It was cool without him against me, and the breeze blew, which helped to cut through the haze of unwanted desire he’d worked up in me.

Was that it?

No. He walked around to face me, taking in my undoubtably flushed cheeks and heaving chest, and gave me a look that said we’d only just begun. He used his free hand to grab one of the tails of the tie and, like a leash, he pulled me along toward the base of the fountain. As if he were my master and I were his pleasure slave.

It was erotic and obscene.

He laid his coat down open on the bench, and my heart thudded as I recalled what was supposed to happen next. Since my hands were tied, I couldn’t resist when he scooped me up in his arms and lowered me onto my back, down on the suit coat.

The cement was rough and gritty against my bare legs, and as we closed in on the part I most dreaded, I lowered my bound hands to cover my nakedness. As if it would give me protection. I pretended that when he got to my hands shielding my most intimate part, he’d stop, even though I knew he wouldn’t. Not unless I said to.

This was my feeble attempt to not just give myself over so willingly.

Macalister put one hand and one knee on the bench and hovered over me. His gaze raked down my body, tracing the swell of my breasts and the flare of my hips and the junction of my thighs that was hidden beneath my hands.

“I couldn’t see beyond that ridiculous green hair you used to have.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over mine. “But you’re stunning.”

I turned my head away from him, not wanting his kiss or the reminder of how much control I’d given him.

But he grasped my chin and turned me back to meet his gaze, and irritation flashed in his icy eyes. “I gave you a compliment.”

My voice was empty. “Thank you.”

He stared at me like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He could only see things from his perspective. He probably thought he’d transformed me like an ugly duckling, and I should be grateful. But was the opposite true?

I lay perfectly still as his mouth roamed over my skin. He tasted my lips again before carving a path down my body. Anticipation needled at me as his tongue swirled over my nipple and drew wet tracks from breast to breast.

Since we were beneath the fountain, whenever the wind blew, water would faintly mist over us. It sheened my skin and gave me a chill, and I told myself it was the cause of the shiver that shook my shoulders. It couldn’t be his hot mouth biting and sucking and devouring.

When he’d had his fill, Macalister snaked down to kneel beside the bench and between my legs. He pushed my outside knee off the stone and onto the ground to give him more room, and I began to quake. This hadn’t been so hard with the initiation. I’d been caught off guard, and Royce had started, and—

None of the other men had said they were obsessed with me.

His hands stroked up and down my thighs, followed by his lips. He kissed the length of my calf, the inside of my knee. Each one was an electric jolt, both pleasant and unpleasant. I stared up at the sky, full of sparkling stars and a bright moon, and chased my ragged breath.

When his hands scooped under my legs and he pulled me closer to him, positioning me right at the edge of the bench, I wasn’t sure where to put my foot that had been resting on the stone. He straightened for a moment, dropped a kiss against my ankle, and set it over his shoulder.

His breath was warm against my skin in juxtaposition to the cool, misty breeze, and then suddenly there was fire. It scored along the insides of my thighs as he dug his sharp fingers in and raked them down. I hissed at the discomfort and lifted my head to glare at him—

Big mistake. He watched me with longing as he pressed his lips to the red lines blooming on my skin. The track marks he’d created and said were necessary to intensify my orgasm. It was as if he wanted to soothe the pain away. I couldn’t watch. My head thumped back against the unforgiving stone, and I swallowed huge gulps of air.

He moved closer to my hands, and my heart beat furiously. Blood roared through me, fueled with anticipation and unwanted need. Could he feel every tremble in me? Did he think he was the cause?

I held my body uncomfortably tight when his mouth arrived at my hands blocking him from his destination. He didn’t push them away. Instead he continued to kiss, outlining each finger. It simulated what he wanted to do. His head between my thighs, his mouth at my center, his palms smoothing seductively over my legs.

By making Royce his father’s proxy the night of the initiation, at least I’d spared him from having to watch what was about to happen. My left hand was on top of my right, and Macalister ignored the ring there the same way he ignored the one he wore on his own hand.

He peeled my left hand back and laced his fingers with mine. It was disorienting and intimate, but I couldn’t focus on it. There was still my right hand covering myself from him, but he was only a breath away.

Everything froze like an ice storm, a moment trapped under glass.

An alarm sounded in my mind, reminding me to keep fighting, and it came from me between panted breaths. “It’s been . . . more than . . . two minutes.”

His eyes were so hooded, so drunk off desire, he didn’t understand what I was talking about at first. But a smug smile burned across his lips, like a banker excited to tell a rude customer their account was overdrawn.

“It has.” His voice was rich and dark. “You owe me interest, though. One minute for each day you denied me.”