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The Taking of the Shield
Sheila:
I was excited, almost too much for my own good. It was a dangerous feeling. Excitement and anything clouding my judgment was too risky. But I let her lead me away.
She stood me in front of Keith, now shackled and sitting helpless on a lunge chair, twisting his body to comfort himself. I could still smell him, hear him, feel him.
But my body was like ice. No feeling came to me, watching him lie there, writhing in pain under the irons.
The Countess stood behind me, her breath heated against my neck and my ear. “You can smell him.”
I nodded, standing above him. I was suddenly a dominatrix, ready to make him do my bidding, or beat it out of him. My knuckles flinched, familiarizing themselves with the temperature around them, expecting the punch to be gratifying.
“Can you taste him?” she asked, her voice slithering into my mind.
“No,” I said, begrudgingly.
She brough
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