Read Online The Arrangement by Riley Sharpe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Riley Sharpe
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myself upward, tucking my chin and tumbling over the balustrade.
“Asha!” he cries as I start to fall. “Son of a bitch!” He starts to curse further, at the same time grasping for me, trying to catch an ankle or wrist, but I haven’t thrown myself over the edge in a fit of suicidal stupidity. My hand and wrist curl around two of the vertical bars, arresting my fall, and I want to switch arms but the one that’s dislocated refuses to act in any way like I tell it to.
Okay. Maybe throwing myself over the railing with a dislocated shoulder was a little stupid. But it wasn’t thoughtless. Doubling up, I hook my ankles in between the rails so that I can hang from only those and reach out toward the ceiling almost directly underneath him, where a metal chandelier hangs. I didn’t just design this house for aesthetics; it’s my playground, and the light fixture is well secured in place so that I can swing from it at my fancy.
Clutching a metal arm, I begin releasing my feet, but Rune is faster, locking his fingers around one ankle. I brace myself and extend my other leg outward in a gymnastic spreading of my legs. My center of gravity is now solidly in yawning space one story up. Through his grip on my ankle, I can feel him start in surprise. No doubt he has a good view through repositioned goggles.
“You want this pussy?” I gasp, strained from keeping myself suspended and from the pain in my arm. “Come and get it.” Then I lever my leg back toward him, bringing my heel down toward his hand with the force of a small sledgehammer.
He tries to avoid it without losing his grip on me, but only succeeds in the first pursuit. I hope this is a testament to his trust in my own self-awareness, not to his inability to support me in a perilous situation. Over our years of internet flirtation and gaming dates I’ve assured him that I know how to handle myself IRL, probably as adept at the skill as he is at manipulating electronics, and he has to trust I wouldn’t give him a choice between getting his hand crushed and having me fall to my death.
Whatever the reason, now both of my legs are free and I swing to hang vertically from the chandelier, waiting half a heartbeat before dropping the rest of the way to the floor. It isn’t far, and I’ve done it before, but every jolt seems to go straight to my injured shoulder. Every shock reminds me of how effortlessly and expertly he popped the socket, leaving me no doubt that he really did spend almost a decade in some elite military unit as he’s claimed. His combat skills are rusty—either that, or he underestimated me—but I think he might still be able to beat me. The thought sends shivers to my clit and pricks up my nipples as I begin scurrying toward the library as silently as possible.
From Rune’s direction, I don’t hear any sound whatsoever.
I close and bolt the library door, then make for the patio doors, slipping out into the cool night and softly shutting the door behind me. Where to? Well, I need to get my damn arm reduced, and the barn is the closest place where I’m likely to find tools—and a gag, since I’ve never fixed a dislocated joint and will probably need several agonizing attempts to manage the task. The muted stars afford me just an iota of light, allowing me to see shadows of trees and buildings as I dart across the lawn.
I still don’t see the trap until an inhuman cry is wrenching out of me as I’m jolted to a belly-flop on the damp earth, blades of grass tickling my uncovered breasts and morning dew cooling my stomach, abdomen, as jaws of a bear trap close on my ankle.
No—Not a bear trap. Just something similar in design, with deep interlocking curves replacing the sharp teeth so that it securely lodges my ankle without tearing the skin or breaking any bones. Pulling myself toward it, I can just make out a dark line extending in both directions. He surrounded the house with Asha-traps! Not that I should be surprised. He’s got a
“Asha!” he cries as I start to fall. “Son of a bitch!” He starts to curse further, at the same time grasping for me, trying to catch an ankle or wrist, but I haven’t thrown myself over the edge in a fit of suicidal stupidity. My hand and wrist curl around two of the vertical bars, arresting my fall, and I want to switch arms but the one that’s dislocated refuses to act in any way like I tell it to.
Okay. Maybe throwing myself over the railing with a dislocated shoulder was a little stupid. But it wasn’t thoughtless. Doubling up, I hook my ankles in between the rails so that I can hang from only those and reach out toward the ceiling almost directly underneath him, where a metal chandelier hangs. I didn’t just design this house for aesthetics; it’s my playground, and the light fixture is well secured in place so that I can swing from it at my fancy.
Clutching a metal arm, I begin releasing my feet, but Rune is faster, locking his fingers around one ankle. I brace myself and extend my other leg outward in a gymnastic spreading of my legs. My center of gravity is now solidly in yawning space one story up. Through his grip on my ankle, I can feel him start in surprise. No doubt he has a good view through repositioned goggles.
“You want this pussy?” I gasp, strained from keeping myself suspended and from the pain in my arm. “Come and get it.” Then I lever my leg back toward him, bringing my heel down toward his hand with the force of a small sledgehammer.
He tries to avoid it without losing his grip on me, but only succeeds in the first pursuit. I hope this is a testament to his trust in my own self-awareness, not to his inability to support me in a perilous situation. Over our years of internet flirtation and gaming dates I’ve assured him that I know how to handle myself IRL, probably as adept at the skill as he is at manipulating electronics, and he has to trust I wouldn’t give him a choice between getting his hand crushed and having me fall to my death.
Whatever the reason, now both of my legs are free and I swing to hang vertically from the chandelier, waiting half a heartbeat before dropping the rest of the way to the floor. It isn’t far, and I’ve done it before, but every jolt seems to go straight to my injured shoulder. Every shock reminds me of how effortlessly and expertly he popped the socket, leaving me no doubt that he really did spend almost a decade in some elite military unit as he’s claimed. His combat skills are rusty—either that, or he underestimated me—but I think he might still be able to beat me. The thought sends shivers to my clit and pricks up my nipples as I begin scurrying toward the library as silently as possible.
From Rune’s direction, I don’t hear any sound whatsoever.
I close and bolt the library door, then make for the patio doors, slipping out into the cool night and softly shutting the door behind me. Where to? Well, I need to get my damn arm reduced, and the barn is the closest place where I’m likely to find tools—and a gag, since I’ve never fixed a dislocated joint and will probably need several agonizing attempts to manage the task. The muted stars afford me just an iota of light, allowing me to see shadows of trees and buildings as I dart across the lawn.
I still don’t see the trap until an inhuman cry is wrenching out of me as I’m jolted to a belly-flop on the damp earth, blades of grass tickling my uncovered breasts and morning dew cooling my stomach, abdomen, as jaws of a bear trap close on my ankle.
No—Not a bear trap. Just something similar in design, with deep interlocking curves replacing the sharp teeth so that it securely lodges my ankle without tearing the skin or breaking any bones. Pulling myself toward it, I can just make out a dark line extending in both directions. He surrounded the house with Asha-traps! Not that I should be surprised. He’s got a
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