Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
There’s a hiss in the barn as the milking clamps release and the cows dutifully step away, now free. I stare at the milking clamps—just like tiny cuffs, really—and I get an idea.
I watch the road for his return, my hands shaking with anxiety. Everything is ready. I’ve changed into my tightest-fitting tunic and cut the neckline to show a little cleavage. I fluff my curls and bite my lips to give them a little color. At the kitchen table, I’ve draped the chairs in fabric to hide the fact that I’ve tied all kinds of implements to the arms of one. All I have to do is push the fabric aside to grab the pneumatic milkers and snag them on his fingers. I know from working with the cows that once they’re on, they’re impossible to get off without the release button. They need to distract him long enough for me to tie his wrists down with the leg clamps I have for cattle that get a little unruly when being medicated…and then I can torture him for information.
It’s going to be awful, but if it gets me information on Rafaela, I have no choice. I take a deep breath, watching as he approaches my door, and steel myself. Think sexy. Think seductive. Think killer.
I can do this. I can. I can. I can. He wouldn’t think twice about destroying me, so I must harden myself and think along the same lines.
I can do this.
Opening the door before he can knock, I pin my sultriest smile to my face and give him a coy look. “Welcome back, stranger.”
“My name is Aithar,” he tells me with a bright smile. He smells like fresh soap, as if he showered before coming over, and his eyes are eager as he looks me over. “You are more beautiful than I remember.”
“Flatterer.” I step aside and indicate he should enter, a calm sweeping over me. “You’re here for the butter?”
“I am.” He comes inside, looking around with interest.
“Just the butter?” I tease, walking behind him and letting my fingertips snake down his back.
That makes him turn. He gazes at me thoughtfully, and for a moment, he looks really, really young. No, not young, I decide, because he could be twenty, or he could be thirty. His features are fully adult, but there’s a strange naivete in his expressions.
He’s an excellent actor. I remember how hard his laugh was when he separated Rafaela from me. How he’d kicked me in the gut and left me behind in the slave pens. There was no warmth in his gaze then, and it’s deceiving to see it now.
“If butter is all you are comfortable with, then yes, I am here solely for butter.” Aithar smiles again. “I am happy to let you lead the way.”
“Is that so?” I practically purr at him. I take his hand and lead him toward one of the prepared chairs. There are no calluses on his palm despite the scrawl of tattoos that cover his knuckles and the back of his hand. It’s a strange contrast. “Come have a seat, and let me get a good look at you.”
He’s got no clue of what I plan, I think, because he immediately thumps into the seat I steer him toward, and his gaze remains locked on me. Those bright eyes devour me with fascination, watching my every move. I take his hand again and he lets me.
Playing with one finger, I lick my lips. “How were you hoping tonight would go, sweetheart?”
He tilts his head, thinking. “I was hoping you would have a great deal of butter. And that you would talk to me. Tell me about yourself. Mostly I am hoping to hear you talk more. You have the most attractive voice.”
It’s a compliment I’ve never heard before. Most men that want to get laid lavish attention on my thick curls (which are fantastic), my full lips (pouty and sexy) or my tits and ass (both equally incredible). My voice is not something that’s normally called out. “You say the sweetest things.” I toy with another finger. “What do you want me to tell you? What I’d do to you?”
He swallows visibly. “If you like. Or you can tell me about you.”
I’m not interested in telling him anything about me that he can turn into a weapon. I continue to smile, easing his hand down near the arm of the chair even as I play with his fingers. “Well…I make butter…and…”
I flick the fabric aside and grab one of the udder clamps and slip it onto his finger.
“And I use a lot of these things.”
He eyes his clamped finger thoughtfully as I quickly lash his other arm to the chair. Either his reflexes are slow, or he’s more distracted than I thought, because he doesn’t fight back. He simply wiggles his trapped finger as I tighten his other arm to the chair, and move back to the one he’s got the clamp on. I move with haste, holding my breath as I lash him down. When both of his arms are trapped, I allow the tiniest, freaked-out laugh to bubble up in my throat.