The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

could taste it. I felt it in shimmers across my skin, prickling up my spine, and blood rushed warmly to my face.

Clay’s word was an order for both of us. “Now.”

And as soon as the command had been given, E snatched up the handle to his bag, was up on his feet beside the couch, and had his hand extended to me in invitation. Hopefully, he didn’t see the subtle tremble of mine as I set my hand in his. His grasp was gentle but firm as he pulled me up.

I couldn’t imagine what I looked like to him as I stared up wide-eyed, clutching both my phone and his hand. This couldn’t be real. It was too much like a perfect fantasy to be happening.

Yet, it was.

Clay didn’t tell his stand-in where to lead me, but I suspected it was because he’d done it earlier. I tried not to rush as we made our way toward the basement door. Every step we descended pumped more desire inside me, and by the time we reached the bottom of the stairs and I set my gaze on the St. Andrew’s cross, I was ready to burst.

E surveyed the room, and when his focus landed on the gorgeous piece of furniture, his let go of me and stepped forward to admire it better. I lifted the phone and turned it so Clay could see then turned it back to face me.

“I’d forgotten how beautiful it is,” I said softly.

Clay’s Adam’s apple bobbed in a thick swallow and his shoulders lifted. My compliment had caught him off-guard and he struggled not to look affected. “Thank you.” His tone evened out. “Hand the phone to him. I’d like everything off, please.”

Him telling me what to do was sexy, but the way he did? Fuck, it was seriously hot. His please was so proper and polite, making it sound like I was doing him a favor, when as far as I was concerned, it was the other way around.

When I held my phone out to E, he set his bag on the nearby workbench and took it, tapping the screen to reverse the camera. And then both men waited to watch me undress, making the air in the room go thin.

Clay had seen me nude, but the man in front of me hadn’t, and although his focus was pointed down at the screen he held out in front of himself, I was acutely aware of how I had his attention.

My black tank top went first, my dark brown hair swishing as it was pulled off, revealing my black bralette. I cast my shirt aside and gave the sexiest smirk I could manage, and then my fingers went to the button of my jean cutoffs. I bent at the waist, keeping my gaze locked onto the phone while I pushed my shorts down my legs. It exposed my green panties trimmed with black lace, and thank fuck I’d decided to change into them before coming over to Clay’s tonight. They were one of the sexiest pairs I owned.

I wasn’t shy, and I didn’t waste time teasing the men. The faster I got naked, the quicker E could strap me to the St. Andrew’s cross and carry out Clay’s orders. I crossed my arms, gripped the bottom of my bralette, and lifted, freeing myself from the lace until my breasts tumbled into view.

There was a joint deep breath from the men, almost as if they were the same person. Wasn’t I supposed to think of them like that? The muscle along E’s strong jaw flexed, and his gaze flicked to mine. He wasn’t allowed to speak, but he didn’t have to say anything to communicate. He liked how I looked.

When I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my underwear, Clay’s voice was abrupt. “Wait,” he said. “I like those. Leave them on.”

“Okay.” I withdrew, letting my hands hang at my sides, and turned my head toward the cross. But Clay’s instructions weren’t to step up to it. They weren’t even for me at all.

“There’s a mount for the phone on the shelf,” he said to E.

The phone screen was tapped, turning the camera around again, and I stood motionless as E found the stand, clipped my phone into it, and positioned the camera so I could see Clay. The stand rested on the workbench, and now that his hands were free, E turned his attention to his bag.

The zipper was pulled in an unhurried, steady stoke, mirroring the slow reveal when I’d undressed, and a fist reached inside my chest at the same time E reached inside the bag. A coil of black rope was pulled from inside, and the invisible fist tightened.

Clay’s question was echoed in E’s eyes. “Yes?”

Like I’d been with the scale ruler, I should have been nervous, but I wasn’t. I only had eagerness to see how he’d use it, and so I nodded slowly.

“Good. Hold your hands out in front of you.”

I did, and when E began his approach, I wasn’t sure where to look. Was I supposed to keep my eyes on Clay? It was impossible because he was on a tiny screen resting on the workbench, and E was right in front of me, seeming larger than life.

He dropped one end of the long rope, and the coil unfurled, landing with a quiet thud in a pile at my feet. There was a pause, only for a second, as if he were giving me a chance to change my mind . . . or maybe he was deciding to truly commit to whatever he was about to do. I stared up at him, searching his face, but his gaze fell to my wrists and the end of black rope stretched in his hands.

My arms were bent so my elbows were at my sides, and I laced my fingers together. Was this what he’d been waiting for?

He wound the rope around my wrists several times before knotting the end off, and then began