"Yep. Restraints."
That's all the warning I get before I'm airborne. The mattress catches me with a soft bounce, and a high-pitched sound escapes my throat—something between a yelp and a gasp.
I scramble to get my bearings, heart racing in my chest. "Um, Logan, I don't think restraints are really necessary right no—w?!"
The cold snap of leather around my left wrist cuts my protest short. My eyes widen as I register what's happening. The restraint is already secured to the bedpost—butter-soft leather with satin lining and what looks like silver threading along the seams.
Holy shit. These aren't cheap novelty cuffs. These are the real deal—magical and custom-made, with craftsmanship screaming expensive.
When the hell did he even get these? Our conversation wasn't that long ago!
Before I can wrap my mind around it, he's moving to my right side. Another snap, and my other wrist is caught.
