sounded genuine, and she felt a glimmer of triumph.
She said, “You won’t fight me.”
“Won’t I?”
Imena grabbed his wrists and, in a few swift movements, lashed them together with a series of hurricane knots.
Maxime stared down at his forearms, now wrapped in hempen line. “I didn’t think you truly would do it.”
Imena grinned at him. Suddenly, she felt much better. She sliced through the long end of the line with her belt knife, knelt and snugly hitched his ankles to the trunk’s deck braces, which were loops of iron embedded in the planking. To do so, she drew his legs even farther apart. As she sat up, her mouth nearly brushed his knee, and she saw his thigh muscle twitch.
“Tying my hands was enough to make your displeasure clear,” he pointed out.
“Not for me,” she said. Her eyes were nearly on a level with his genitals; quickly, she shoved herself to her feet before he could get the wrong idea. “I’ll return in a while, and then I will talk and you will listen.”
“Wait!” Maxime said. “We’re not finished. Why are you leaving me again?”
Imena grabbed a piece of candied lemon peel and popped it into his mouth before she escaped. She didn’t trust herself not to truss him head to foot, just for the pleasure of seeing him at her mercy.
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