Stepping into the bedchamber, he found himself brought up short. Laid out atop the comforter was his guild leader in the shortest, sheerest negligee he'd ever seen. Her body was taut, her back arched as she twisted against something unseen. Her hands were bound above her head, tied to the headboard, and her legs were spread, ropes tied loosely to her ankles. Her heels drove deep into the mattress as she arched off the bed, panting and sobbing. If he didn't know better, he'd think that she was being fucked by something, though nothing was in view and he heard no sign of anyone in the house other than his Guild leader. He stepped closer.

"Lass?" he called again.

Katrin's eyes shot open, her sapphire blue eyes dazed. "Bryn?" she whispered. "Help me," she pleaded. "You have to—make it stop!"

Brynjolf nodded, moving to the ropes and beginning to slice through them with his dagger. He frowned as the blade of his dagger passed through the rope but left the rope fully intact. "What sorcery is this?" he muttered, grabbing the rope with his hand to make sure that it was really there. Yup, solid as Delvin's head.

Katrin shook her head. "Winterhold. Mage's College. Think the mark got mad about his cup." She managed all the words in one whooshing breath before arching off the bed once again with a cry.

Brynjolf sighed. Mages. Fuck. "So how do we get you free?" he asked, raking his hand through his blood-red mane as he dropped onto the edge of the feather mattress. His eyes swept the interior of Katrin's bedroom in distraction—it was actually a pretty room. Needed to have a door, but other than that, not bad. Not exactly what he would have pictured for Katrin, but she usually managed to surprise him.

Katrin swallowed, eyes squeezed shut as her blush started again. She rarely if ever asked Brynjolf for a favor—and this one would be a doozy of one. "You have to get it out of me."

Brynjolf growled. "Get what out of where?"

Katrin felt the blush heating her cheeks even more. Bad enough that it had been Brynjolf, a man who made her toes curl with his sultry accent, to come and find her like this but for her to have no alternative than ask him to help her—the gods hated her. Damned mages and their bizarre revenge tactics. "Bryn, there's something inside me. I need you to take it out of me. It's…" she swallowed, closing her eyes against another wave of sensation. Whatever cursed object was between her legs had kept her on the verge of orgasm for the last three days. Just when she thought she was going to have blessed release, it eased off. "I can't take this for another three days," she panted, eyes snapping open to meet the red-haired Nord.

Brynjolf moved closer to her. The heat coming off her body reminded him of his gran's hearth. Warm. Comforting. Home. "Lass, you realize what you're asking," he groaned, pushing her damp hair from her brow. He would be blind and stupid not to have realized that his guild leader was a beauty. Not to mention that she fair oozed sensuality in her every move. And, aside from his blind trust in Mercer, no one had ever called him stupid or blind. Well, no one except for Vex and Delvin, he allowed, but they didn't count. And now she was begging him to delve into her womanhood as a mission of mercy. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

Katrin nodded. "Please, Bryn."

Brynjolf breathed out slowly. "Alright, lass. I'll do what I can," he promised.