Elle POV
Blake didn’t pause. His hand was still wrapped around my wrist, a brand of heat and possession, as he guided me toward the far corner, where shadows clung thickest.
My breath hitched as I saw it.
A chair.
It was all sleek, polished dark wood and supple black leather, its design both elegant and severe. It wasn’t a throne; it was a device. Restraints of soft-looking, padded cuffs dangled from its arms and the sturdy front legs.
“Blake,” I breathed, the name a question and an answer all at once.
He turned to face me, his eyes molten in the low light. The playful tension from the balcony was gone, replaced by something deeper, more focused. A predator’s calm. “You offered,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the bond straight to my core. “Now you understand t
