Read Online CamillasConsequences by Helena Harker - Free Book Online
Authors: Helena Harker
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escape.
“Kneel!” I command him.
Ignoring me, Aldridge continues to work at his bonds. Tucking the bar under my arm, I grab the prod, adjust the settings to the highest electrical output and race toward him. With a fierce cry, I jab the prod into his belly. Zap-click-click-click. He wails and doubles over. I stab him again, this time in the side. Zap…zap…click-click…zap. Aldridge slumps to his knees, uttering a series of moans.
“Hold still!” I drop the prod, unfold the metal bar to its full length and lock it open. It is long enough to place between a man’s legs to keep them wide apart. While he recovers, I hook the immobilization bar to the shackles around his ankles.
After I finish, I untie the rope from the leg of the divan and hoist Aldridge to his feet. The drug hasn’t worn off completely, and he lacks coordination, but I want him standing regardless. His legs are apart and he cannot pull them together, cannot kick, cannot flee. Fighting to keep his balance, panting and cursing, he pulls at the restraints. The chandelier holds, and at last his struggles cease.
“You are utterly helpless, utterly in my power.” I walk over to him. He glares at me, venom in his gaze. “How long have you been tipping the velvet with your pretty housekeeper?”
He squirms and turns his head away. So be it. In a few minutes, he will answer in spite of himself.
Tucked into my waistband, I keep a small, sharp knife. A lady can never be too careful when she wanders about London spying on powerful men who have scandalous secrets. I remove the three-inch blade from its sheath and place the tip at Aldridge’s throat, directly against the pulsing artery.
“Please, Miss Covington. Release me.”
“You are so polite now, Aldridge. One must always be polite to a lady. Isn’t that correct?” I press the flat of the blade against his skin so he can feel the cold steel.
“Yes, Miss Covington.”
“Do you like it when a woman disrobes you?”
He swallows.
“Answer truthfully.” The artery pulses against the steel. He is so vulnerable.
“Yes. It arouses me.”
“You will not like it much today.” I will make sure of it. “Do not move.”
With a savage motion, I slice off the top button of his shirt. He flinches, and then grows very still. A wise decision on his part, for my blade is razor sharp. The other buttons follow suit as the blade cuts the thread that holds them in place. I open his shirt, admiring a smooth white chest with a fine line of soft hairs down the front. The male form is beautiful indeed, and Aldridge is no exception.
I walk behind him, make a quick incision in his collar and tear the fabric off with a satisfying riiiip, riiip, riiip. His shoulders are as muscular as I remember, but it is much sweeter to see them at close range as opposed to through the lens of the ’Scope.
“Now for your trousers.”
“No!” He flails but cannot free himself.
“But you enjoyed it when Tewkesbury pulled down your trousers.”
“Not you!”
“What do you like about having a man on his knees at your feet? Why does it arouse you?”
“I cannot speak of it.”
“You must.” The knife brushes the button on his trousers, and he squirms.
Aldridge is mine. I decide his fate, his torment, his punishment. To dominate another human being is the reward that waits at the end of the hunt, and it gives me an incomparable heady sensation.
I slice off the button. Aldridge whimpers, and I look up at him. The earlier venom is gone, replaced by fear. I make a long incision down the front of a trouser leg, down the next one, and then tear the garment off completely, tossing the tattered remains of the trousers aside. Coarse straw-colored hair covers his calves and thighs. What of the hair between his legs? Only his drawers remain, made of a fine burgundy silk, and they cover most of his thighs. It is almost a shame to cut them away.
“Answer me. Why do you find men attractive?”
“They are strong.
“Kneel!” I command him.
Ignoring me, Aldridge continues to work at his bonds. Tucking the bar under my arm, I grab the prod, adjust the settings to the highest electrical output and race toward him. With a fierce cry, I jab the prod into his belly. Zap-click-click-click. He wails and doubles over. I stab him again, this time in the side. Zap…zap…click-click…zap. Aldridge slumps to his knees, uttering a series of moans.
“Hold still!” I drop the prod, unfold the metal bar to its full length and lock it open. It is long enough to place between a man’s legs to keep them wide apart. While he recovers, I hook the immobilization bar to the shackles around his ankles.
After I finish, I untie the rope from the leg of the divan and hoist Aldridge to his feet. The drug hasn’t worn off completely, and he lacks coordination, but I want him standing regardless. His legs are apart and he cannot pull them together, cannot kick, cannot flee. Fighting to keep his balance, panting and cursing, he pulls at the restraints. The chandelier holds, and at last his struggles cease.
“You are utterly helpless, utterly in my power.” I walk over to him. He glares at me, venom in his gaze. “How long have you been tipping the velvet with your pretty housekeeper?”
He squirms and turns his head away. So be it. In a few minutes, he will answer in spite of himself.
Tucked into my waistband, I keep a small, sharp knife. A lady can never be too careful when she wanders about London spying on powerful men who have scandalous secrets. I remove the three-inch blade from its sheath and place the tip at Aldridge’s throat, directly against the pulsing artery.
“Please, Miss Covington. Release me.”
“You are so polite now, Aldridge. One must always be polite to a lady. Isn’t that correct?” I press the flat of the blade against his skin so he can feel the cold steel.
“Yes, Miss Covington.”
“Do you like it when a woman disrobes you?”
He swallows.
“Answer truthfully.” The artery pulses against the steel. He is so vulnerable.
“Yes. It arouses me.”
“You will not like it much today.” I will make sure of it. “Do not move.”
With a savage motion, I slice off the top button of his shirt. He flinches, and then grows very still. A wise decision on his part, for my blade is razor sharp. The other buttons follow suit as the blade cuts the thread that holds them in place. I open his shirt, admiring a smooth white chest with a fine line of soft hairs down the front. The male form is beautiful indeed, and Aldridge is no exception.
I walk behind him, make a quick incision in his collar and tear the fabric off with a satisfying riiiip, riiip, riiip. His shoulders are as muscular as I remember, but it is much sweeter to see them at close range as opposed to through the lens of the ’Scope.
“Now for your trousers.”
“No!” He flails but cannot free himself.
“But you enjoyed it when Tewkesbury pulled down your trousers.”
“Not you!”
“What do you like about having a man on his knees at your feet? Why does it arouse you?”
“I cannot speak of it.”
“You must.” The knife brushes the button on his trousers, and he squirms.
Aldridge is mine. I decide his fate, his torment, his punishment. To dominate another human being is the reward that waits at the end of the hunt, and it gives me an incomparable heady sensation.
I slice off the button. Aldridge whimpers, and I look up at him. The earlier venom is gone, replaced by fear. I make a long incision down the front of a trouser leg, down the next one, and then tear the garment off completely, tossing the tattered remains of the trousers aside. Coarse straw-colored hair covers his calves and thighs. What of the hair between his legs? Only his drawers remain, made of a fine burgundy silk, and they cover most of his thighs. It is almost a shame to cut them away.
“Answer me. Why do you find men attractive?”
“They are strong.
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