Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Hands restrained, I shifted my hips. The deep peace that only came from this settled over me. I shut my eyes, letting myself drift on an intense wave of relaxation. Eventually, I’d get serious about getting off, but I liked to draw it out, start with enjoying the rare quiet of my brain, then slowly ramp up my movements against the bed.
Vroom.
Oh shit. I heard a car in the driveway, then noises coming from within the house. Holden must have come home for lunch. Clearly, I’d miscalculated.
Okay. Breathe. My door was closed. He’d likely assume I was resting, like he’d ordered. I flexed my right wrist. Heck. No give at all. The left side was worse because of my injuries. Couldn’t wriggle my fingers without searing pain jolting up to my neck. Forget trying to rotate that wrist. Damn it. I was out of practice. I’d have to wait out the key safe because creating a bunch of noise while freeing myself was likely a bigger risk. All I needed to do was breathe, not unlike a dive.
Strangely, my cock pulsed. Apparently, like bondage itself, the threat of discovery did something for me. But I was sure as hell not going to make the bed squeak by giving in to the urge to hump against the towel. So I held still. Waited.
And then the smoke detector went off.
Chapter Eleven
Holden
I didn’t come home for lunch to check on Cal. No, that would be silly. I’d forgotten my everything bagel and leftover salad in the flurry of getting out the door after taking Cal to collect his stuff.
Lies.
I’d known exactly where that damned bagel was the whole time. And leaving it in the counter bread box was a convenient excuse. I could have stayed on campus. The cafeteria was accessible and well-stocked, and the friendly staff knew exactly how I liked my panini or stir fry noodles. I was a regular there and at Blessed Bean, which also had lunch options.
I’d come here precisely to check on Cal, but he was nowhere to be seen when I entered the house. Kitchen sparkling, table gleaming, living room untouched. Oh wait. A throw pillow had been moved from the chaise to the other side of the couch. Perhaps he had sat still for half a second. The backyard was similarly empty, but his bedroom door was shut. If he were napping again, I certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake him.
Deciding to check on Cal before I returned to campus for a late-afternoon class, I started preparing my lunch. I set the bagel going in the toaster, then rolled over to the fridge, wanting to add some red pepper and carrots to my salad. On stiff pain days like this, I usually found it easiest to chop at the table or the lower portion of my island, which meant I was well away from the toaster when it started smoking.
Damn it. I’d been distracted by worries about Cal’s whereabouts and well-being and forgot, yet again, that my cheap toaster hated extra-thick bagels and especially despised bagels with lots of little toppings. I could only move so fast in my chair to rescue the smoldering toaster and the desiccated husk of bagel. I scrambled for potholders to free the bagel from its fiery prison and open a window, but I was too late. The smoke alarm started shrieking as if I’d personally offended it.
Well, if Cal had been napping, he likely wasn’t now. I made it to the mud room as quickly as possible, grabbed my crutches, returned to the kitchen, and stood long enough to use the tip of the right crutch to reset the blasted smoke detector.
But no Cal.
Not even a peep or a crack of a door or muffled curse. Nothing. And the stupid alarm had blasted for a good twenty seconds at least, plus the whole place now smelled like burned onions and poppy seeds. Even the most chill of roommates would have come to investigate. Further, given Cal’s awkward-yet-heartfelt speech about wanting to help me without overstepping, I would have expected Chief Hypervigilant to spring into action.
Something was wrong.
“Cal?” I called out, but there was no response, so I tried louder, rolling toward the hallways that led to the bedrooms. “Cal? You home?”
All my investigator instincts prickled. He was in a bad spot with the lack of funds, probably feeling trapped in Safe Harbor, dealing with PTSD, and injured to boot.
Please don’t let him have done something, I prayed at his door. I’d never forgive myself if I’d left him alone and feeling desperate. Taking a deep breath, I rapped hard on the door, a knock honed during my years on the police force.
“Cal?” No answer, so I didn’t bother knocking a second time. Opening the door, I couldn’t hold back my gasp. Cal was nude, lying in the center of the bed on his stomach, very much alive given the rise and fall of his back muscles, but his hands were stretched above his head, tied to the headboard with some kind of elaborate restraint system that involved black rope. “Cal? What the hell?”