Page 63 of Obey

Nate’s expression doesn’t flicker. But his hand moves from Jace’s jaw to the nape of his neck, fingers threading deep into those dark curls. He pulls, not hard, but with absolute authority, tilting Jace’s head back to expose the long line of his throat.

“You’ve been baiting me for three days,” Nate says. “That little stunt during the design call cost us forty minutes.”

Jace’s eyes gleam with defiance even from his knees. “You looked stressed. I was offering relief, Sir.”

The corner of Nate’s mouth twitches. Just once. “Brat.”

Nate gestures toward the far wall, and my gaze follows, finally taking in the room’s purpose. A low, padded bench. A stark wooden cross fitted with cuffs of brushed gold. Glass-fronted cases displaying rows of floggers, crops, and restraints, all arranged with chilling precision.

“Go choose,” Nate says, voice even. “But only from the left.”

Jace rises, fluid and eager, and crosses the space like he’s been waiting for this. His tattooed fingers trail over polished handles and loops of black leather as if selecting wine, not punishment. He pauses at a thin black cane, lifting it with a reverence that feels indecent.

Elias's thumb strokes a slow, deliberate line along my hip just as Jace turns back toward Nate,and hands him the cane. Elias’s touch dips lower, pressing into the ache building there.

“What’s your safe word?” Nate asks, not looking away from Jace.

“Harvard.”

Nate snorts softly as he takes the cane and draws the leather-wrapped tip slowly down Jace’s forearm, then lifts it to tilt his chin up. “Cross or bench?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

Nate guides him to the cross, and Jace is all too willing as the cuffs click shut around his wrists, the gold gleaming against his skin. He doesn’t pull at them. Doesn’t tense. It’s almost like he relaxes into it, as if he’s found his place.

That’s what undoes me.

Not the equipment. Not the power.

The trust.

What would it feel like to let go like that? To know the hands holding you down would never truly harm you?

My nipples tighten sharply against my bra as my hips shift restlessly against Elias’s hold.

“Don’t,” I whisper, but it comes out thin, unconvincing.

“Don’t what, Doe?” His voice is rougher now, and my body answers before my mind can, pressing back against him as his palm spreads possessively over my lower abdomen.

Inside the room, the cane lands with a sharp, crisp crack. The sound alone unspools something deep in my belly.

Jace doesn’t even try to stifle his reaction. His moan is loud and dripping with want. Sweet Lord, the rush of wetness between my legs is mortifying. Behind me, Elias’s breathing hitches almost imperceptibly.

He knows.

Another strike and Jace arches forward into the cuffs, a breathless laugh tangled in his groan. “Fuck, Sir.” The words are rough, pleased. “More.”

Nate doesn’t make him ask twice. The next three land clean, and the sound Jace makes vibrates straight through me, settling low and hot between my thighs.

Elias’s lips brush the shell of my ear. “You like watching him take it.”

It isn’t a question.

His fingers find the bare skin between my crop top and the waistband of my jeans, lingering there for a heartbeat. I could stop him. Instead, I shift my arm just enough to give him room. His palm settles against my stomach, warm and possessive, before sliding beneath the hem of my top.

“That’s not all you’re thinking about, though.”

Across the room, Nate steps back from the cross, his gaze sweeping over Jace with quiet ownership. And suddenly it isn’t Jace bound there.