Isaac woke to a dull, swimming lightheadedness. Concentration slipped through his fingers like water.
He was sitting upright, naked, wrists locked behind the chair, a strip of black cloth sealing his eyes. The air hung thick and sweet, heavy with something that made every inch of his skin burn and prickle. Strength refused to answer him; it was as if he had been stripped back to an ordinary human body, only far more sensitive, far hotter.
This had to be a dream. Something Catherine had woven. The thought formed slowly through the haze.
"Isaac, how do you like this?"
The voice purred directly against his ear from behind. Heat flooded him. His shaft was already rigid, straining upward in the open air.
Aphrodisiacs. Catherine's work. He was certain of it now.
"What are you doing?" His own voice came out rough.
He remembered nothing of dinner, nothing of who should have been sharing his bed. Catherine had clearly scrambled more than just the room.
