Page 9 of The Last Crimes of Peregrine Hind
He wouldn’t be there to be killed, of course, having weaseled or fucked his way free, but he did wonder how Peregrine felt about killing him.
Would he feel reluctant, maybe? Remorseful but resigned?
It was a shame they’d met like this because Sandy would’ve very much enjoyed being tied to a bed by Peregrine Hind on a regular basis. But after Sandy escaped, it would probably be best if he never ran into Peregrine or his eerie eyes again, for the obvious not-being-murdered-for-revenge reasons.
A tragic thought.
Sandy tried to make himself focus on possible avenues of escape while he waited for the thieves to finish talking. He’d peered through the privy hole earlier, and it had indeed led to a steep drop, and the sacristy window was too narrow to be of any use. His only way out was through the door, which was possibly guarded, and he already knew he’d be no good at fighting off a guard.
No, he’d need to stick to his strengths. Seduction, lying . . . bravado and charm.
The woman thief might be the ripest possibility. If only he could remember where he knew her from. Was she a former lover? A friend of a lover? Someone connected to the Second Kingdom?
But Sandy’s mind didn’t stay on escape for very long. It was impossible to think clearly while tied up like this, smelling rain and leather and knowing Peregrine would walk in eventually and see that Sandy had spilled all over himself. What would Peregrine do when he did? Would he fix Sandy with that look, that hot, hungry look? Would he get hard? Would he reach out and touch Sandy with one of those big, rough hands . . . ?
Lost in his imaginings, Sandy didn’t notice the door opening until it was shutting again and Peregrine was inside. Peregrine’s legs were long enough and the room was small enough that it only took him three good strides to make it to the side of the bed, and even in his lust-induced haze, Sandy noticed how quick and silent those strides were. Peregrine could move like a ghost when he wanted.
The highwayman seemed to take in Sandy’s half-lidded eyes, his quivering limbs, the spatter of semen on his belly. His eyes dropped to Sandy’s renewed erection, which surged happily at the attention.
“You’ve already spent,” Peregrine said after a moment. “And you’re still like this?”
“I told you,” Sandy said, meaning to sound indignant but sounding breathless instead. “I like being tied up.”
Peregrine’s hand stretched out, and then they both watched as he dropped his fingertips to the top of Sandy’s knee, right above the hem of the breeches. His fingertips rested there, over the woolen broadcloth, pressing lightly against the place where the muscles of Sandy’s thigh anchored to his femur. And then, agonizingly, Peregrine trailed his fingers up, up, up to Sandy’s hip.
Peregrine looked as if even he didn’t know what he was doing, like he was encountering a treasure he had no idea how to steal, and Sandy was too drunk with desire to tell him this wasn’t stealing. This wasn’t even seduction, if he was being honest.
It was desperation.
“Please,” Sandy whispered. “Please.”
Peregrine gave him a sharp look, and Sandy realized that he must sound like he had earlier, in the middle of the road, when he was pleading for his life.
But this was something much, much more important.
Sandy lifted his hips as much as the restraints would allow, trying to twist into Peregrine’s hand, which stayed resolutely unmoving against Sandy’s hip. “Please.”
Peregrine’s mouth was a straight line. But his eyes—he couldn’t hide those hungry, blown-pupil eyes. He couldn’t hide the way he swallowed over and over, as if searching for control.
“Why should I?” the highwayman finally asked.
Good question. Why should he pleasure a captive—a captive he planned on killing, and who was the brother of someone he clearly hated? Sandy blurted the first thing he could think of.
“Revenge?”
Peregrine’s fingers lifted and then ghosted lightly over the inseam of the breeches, running over the place where Sandy’s testicles had drawn up tight to his body. “How is this revenge for me?”
“Umm,” Sandy said, and then added an “Ohhhhh” when Peregrine’s fingers moved up to wander around the base of his cock. Sandy’s erection bobbed, the crown dripping clear seed and burning like hot iron in the cool air.
“Well, it’s humiliating,” Sandy mumbled. “I’m so humiliated right now. Please, Peregrine. Please.”
Peregrine’s eyes flashed with some indecipherable emotion, but whatever it was had him bracing one knee on the bed as he tore at the buttons holding the breeches closed. In an instant, Sandy’s prick was completely naked and then there was the hand of his abductor wrapping tight around him and stroking hard.
Sandy’s back nearly bowed off the bed, even with his limbs tied, and never had he felt so helpless, so depraved, as when the man who was going to kill him was pumping his prick with a hard and vicious fist. When the release came, it felt like it was pulled right from his spine, right from the very marrow of his bones. He spurted seed all over the highwayman’s fingers, all over his stomach again, and the highwayman didn’t seem to mind at all, seemed to like it, in fact, because by the time Sandy’s body was drained totally dry, Peregrine’s cheeks were flushed and his shaft was very visibly thickened in his breeches.
His eyes met Sandy’s, and Sandy saw shock there, and lust, and several other things besides. Peregrine staggered back from the bed, his hand still covered in the milky proof of Sandy’s release, and he stared at that hand as if he wasn’t sure how he’d ended up like this.
“I can return the favor,” Sandy murmured. “You don’t even have to untie me. You could use my mouth.”
