The bedroom door was cracked open, and he entered without knocking. Lyse sat on the far side of the bed, her back to him, shoulders up around her ears. He knew immediately that she’d heard the conversation with his mam, but he refused to apologize.
“Have you been to the toilet?” He dumped his pack on the floor on the side of the bed closest to the door.
Lyse turned her head, giving him her solemn, stressed profile. “No.”
“Better be going.”
Lyse nodded and left the room. By the time she returned, he was ready for her.
“C’mere.”
As she rounded the end of the bed, eyeing him warily, he took ahold of her arm and whipped a zip tie around it before she could be protesting. The sleeve of her jumper would protect her skin from the plastic. Before Lyse could react, he had her at the headboard and attached to a daisy chain of zip ties that would be keeping her on the bed but not fully restricted during the night.
See, he could be nice.
What—” Lyse tugged on her arm, exasperation in her eyes. “Fionn…”
“This way I know you’ll be staying where I put you.”
“Fionn, I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
“You’re definitely not. I’ll be back.”
Grabbing what he needed from his pack, he left to get ready for the night. When he returned, it was to Lyse lying on the bed, her back to him, fully clothed but shoes off, glasses on the side table. Her hair was pulled up and spread over the pillow, leaving her nape bare. The vulnerability that one spot was revealin’ hit him somewhere he didn’t want to think about.
Leaving his fatigues on, he stripped off his shirt and emptied his pockets. The Sig went on the nightstand within easy reach. After turning off the light, he laid down on his side of the too-small bed and tried to be ignoring the fact that he was in bed with the woman he fantasized about far too often.
Except he couldn’t ignore it, and he couldn’t go to sleep. Every time he was close to drifting off, Lyse would shift around restlessly, jostling the bed as if she couldn’t find a way to get comfortable. He was wanting to help, to fix whatever the problem was, and that pissed him off. He jerked up to sitting. “What’s the story, for feck’s sake?”
The bed went still, almost as if Lyse was holding her breath “I can’t—” She sighed and shifted again. “I can’t sleep in these clothes, and you didn’t give me a chance to change.”
“What do you want me to be doing, stripping you?”
“N-no,” she choked out. Then shifted again.
Fionn reached for the light and flipped it on. Lyse’s back was still to him, one hand extended in front of her by the zip ties, the other fidgeting around under the back of her shirt. “What are you doing?”
Lyse glanced hastily over her shoulder, a hard blush staining her cheeks. “I-I just—” She pulled her hand back to her front. “Never mind.”
He eyed her a moment, his brain fiddlin’ with the problem, and then a lightbulb went on. Grabbing his knife, he circled the bed.
Lyse stared at the blade with wide eyes, trying to retreat through the headboard even though it was impossible. “What are you doing?”
“Hold still.”
Setting the knife on the bedspread, he reached around to slide his hands under the backside of her shirt. Warm skin met his, but he ignored it. Or tried to. The tightening behind his zipper was making it difficult. He found the clasp and unhooked her bra with a quick jerk.
The sigh of relief that escaped Lyse brushed his shoulder, making him very aware that his skin was naked and so, so close to her mouth. Telling himself to hurry, he moved down the smooth groove of her spine and around her ribs. Damn, her skin was feeling soft on his palms, like heated silk. A hitch in Lyse’s breath drew his attention to the way her tits pressed into his chest, nothing between them but her jumper and a soon-to-be removed bra. Sweat popped out on his forehead.
Be hurrying it up, dumbass!
Putting a few inches of air between them, he glided one hand up to the strap on Lyse’s arm that was tied to the bed. “Be still,” he breathed. Her face was averted, and the words brushed her ear as he grasped the knife. Keeping the sharp side turned away from her, he slid the knife under her shirt and up to join his other hand. The blade sliced through the strap of her bra like butter.
He let go of the material, felt it drop along her body. A shiver shook through Lyse, and he was noticing her breathing was quick and light. Trying to ignore the proximity of her tits to his hand, he moved to the opposite shoulder, only then realizing he was pressing his hips into the mattress, putting pressure where he needed it most.
Holy fecking God, he was in trouble.
Grasping the strap, he repeated the cutting once more. As he dropped his hands, the backs of one set of knuckles brushed Lyse’s rigid nipple.
Lyse gasped, the sound shattering the silence like a rock through glass. Her back arched, pushing herself harder against his hands. No doubt it was instinct, but he couldn’t resist. An instinct of his own had his hand turning, the palm flattening on the plump curve of her tit.
So soft. So round.
Lyse whimpered. He caught a glimpse of white teeth biting into her lip, hard enough to be drawing blood.
“Lyse?”
Without thought his thumb swept up to circle the hard nub. Lyse’s head fell back on her shoulders, her mouth opening, arching herself harder against the touch. Begging for more. Such beautiful, innocent pleasure.
But she’s not innocent, is she?
He pinched her nipple at the thought, then again when her hand came up to grab his bicep, her fingernails digging deep. She turned her head, and her gaze
