The Game Maker

by Kitty Thomas

  There is a solarium and an indoor pool. A library that extends up two stories. A fitness room. A fucking ballroom. Is there any reason to ever leave a house like this and go out into the world? I half expect to come across a restaurant or a gift shop, but of course I don't. There are a few smaller, cozier rooms that most people would call things like “living room”. At the end of the hallway is a nice large office, but when I push the door open to one, a maid says, “I wouldn't, Ms. Mitchell, that's Mr. Kelly's private office.”

  I'm a bit troubled that I don't know which one of my masters Mr. Kelly is. I think it's probably Seven, but I don't know for sure, and I feel confident Seven and Declan won't submit to an interrogation about the matter, so I quietly shut the door.

  “Sorry, I was just exploring.”

  She smiles, not unkindly, and goes on about her business.

  I'm also a little weirded out that every single bit of staff knows my name. The second floor has several large nice bedrooms with balconies, several of which have their own bathrooms, like mine. None of the rooms are Declan's or Seven's. It's the third floor where I find their rooms. They look different in the day. Both are understated and masculine.

  Having seen just about everything there is to see, I go back outside and get in my car. I don't remember the way here, so I program the address of my penthouse into the GPS.

  It only takes about thirty minutes to get back to the city. It seemed farther away, but I guess every drive feels long when you're drunk, scared, and about to lose all your freedom to people you know you can't truly trust.

  I go back to my penthouse and just sit on the sofa, staring out at the view of the city. I'm still processing all of this. I order in pizza and watch TV and take a bubble bath trying to feel normal. I'm still not sure if that drunk phone call was my worst idea or my best.

  I get back home ten minutes before six to find Seven standing in the main entryway, still wearing the suit. My mouth goes dry. That look really works for him. “We're having dinner in the formal dining room. I'm told you've snooped around so you know where it is.”

  I'm not sure if he's upset about that. They didn't say I couldn't look around. They never said any area of the house was off limits.

  “I'm sorry, Master,” I say even though I don't really feel I owe him an apology.

  He smirks. “For knowing where the dining room is? Yes, you should surely be punished for that high crime. Go upstairs. There's a dress for you on the bed. Put it on and come down. Dinner's almost ready.”

  Upstairs, draped across the bed is the most sophisticated black evening gown I've ever seen, and a pair of silver heels. I dress and fix my hair and makeup then stand for a few minutes admiring myself in the leaner mirror. The pink gemstones glitter in the light. The band isn't too thick and clunky, so it doesn't seem out of place.

  “You really are a pretty toy.”

  I spin around to find Declan—also still in a suit—leaning against the door frame.

  “Dinner's ready; come down now.”

  “Yes, Master,” I say, but he's already disappeared down the hallway.

  I move slower than him in heels, so I never quite catch up. When I reach the formal dining room, fine bone china and crystal has been laid out. The silverware is actual silver. Servants are serving some type of soup in shallow elegant bowls.

  Seven sits at the head of the table. Declan is seated to his right. There’s another place setting across from Declan. One of the servants pulls out that chair for me, and I sit.

  “You look beautiful, Kitten,” Seven says.

  “Thank you.”

  “I'm sorry, what?”

  “Thank you, Sir,” I attempt, hoping he'll take that because we aren't alone in this room.

  “No,” he says flatly, even as his hazel eyes flash with emotion. “That will not work for me. Try again, Kitten.”

  “Thank you, Master,” I murmur as I feel the flush crawl over my skin.

  “Good girl.”

  We've just finished dinner in the formal dining room when the doorbell rings. Seven and Declan remain seated. I hear the front door open, some murmured words, and then a moment later a dangerous-looking man with dark hair and coal black eyes steps into the room. He, too, wears a suit, but even dressed nice, he looks rough and hardened, which makes the suit seem ill-fitted, even though it's as well-tailored as Seven’s and Declan's.

  I tense as his gaze sweeps appreciatively over me. There’s something slimy and oily about the way he looks at me. He lingers on my cleavage before moving up, but not to my face. To my collar.

  He knows. Then he looks me straight in the eyes and smiles.

  His attention shifts to Seven.

  “I thought I'd never get a meeting. I heard you were gone for a few weeks.”

  Seven's gaze cuts to me for the barest second, then back to his visitor. He seems unruffled by the man standing in the dining room.

  “International business. It couldn't be helped. You could always have met with Declan. I've been back for a while, but I've been busy.”

  I realize this international business was when he was in the cell with me, playing his game while Declan handled all his outside affairs.

  “I didn't want Declan. I wanted you,” he says.

  Declan pretends to be offended by this, but I know he doesn't care.

  The stranger's attention shifts back to me again. “I see you have a new pet. I know you'll want to share her. Same price as always?” He comes around the table, and stands behind me.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as his fingertips brush against my throat. I want to beg. I'm not even opposed to calling him master right now, even with an audience because this man knows anyway, and I'll do anything to keep his hands off me, but I'm too afraid to beg. It could make Seven look weak. And I know he'd never forgive that.

  “Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Seven says. His voice is cold and boiling all at once, both dead and the most alive he's ever been.

  Declan stands, his hand going to his waist, and I realize suddenly he has a gun.

  The stranger immediately pulls his hand back, and I let out a relieved sigh.

  “You usually share.”

  “Not this one,” Seven says.

  “What's so special about her?” he asks, still pushing.

  “Do you want to walk out of this room tonight?” Seven challenges.

  The man's tone shifts sharply as he becomes aware of the threat and finally reads the room properly. “Yes, Mr. Kelly. I apologize. I won't ask again.”

  “Good. Spread the word. No one asks. Ever.”

  “Yes, Mr. Kelly. Of course.”

  Seven drops his napkin on his plate and stands. “Let's go to my study and talk business.”

  The stranger leaves the dining room, followed by Seven. Declan rises also.

  “Go to your room and wait for us, Pretty Toy.” He gives me a once-over. “And don't take the dress off.”

  ***

  It's a while before Seven and Declan come to my room. I worry briefly that something bad happened, that one or both of them is hurt, or worse. But of course this is silly. The house has too much electronic security. Besides, there are other people here tonight. And Declan, at least, is armed. Maybe Seven, too.

  Seven is already loosening his tie when he steps into the room. His intense predatory gaze locks on mine, and for a moment, I think he's angry with me.

  I'm standing. Declan said to leave the dress on, and I can't kneel in it. It's too tight in the wrong places. Plus, it's silk. I don't want to damage it.

  They prowl around me, taking a good look at the dress. Then both of them are running their hands over my body encased in this exquisite fabric. Finally, they stop circling me like I'm prey. Declan is in front and Seven at my back. They begin to kiss my exposed skin as Seven pulls down the zipper of the gown. They work together undressing me.

  I'm surprised when Seven is tying a blindfold around my eyes. Then one of them takes my hands in his.

  “I'm taking your
ass tonight,” Seven growls in my ear. Besides punishing me, this is the other thing he wasn't able to do while he was getting the thrill of pretending to be my protector. And I find myself wanting it as much as he does.

  “Thank you, Master.” These words just come to me, and I say them because I know he'll get off on it.

  He chuckles. “We trained you so well. Such a natural. I knew when I first saw you the day we started watching you that you were the one for us.”

  In other circumstances, some of those words might have passed for romantic.

  Both men help me onto the bed. Declan guides me to straddle him. I know which of them is which by the way they touch me. I'm already wet, so hungry for the fucking I've been denied since my return as if I were being punished for playing their game the way they designed it.

  He lets out a hiss of pleasure as I lower myself onto him. A mouth latches onto my breast and I know from the angles, that it's Declan's. He bites my nipple hard enough to elicit a cry from me, and his answering chuckle reverberates against my skin.

  Seven is busy placing open-mouthed kisses against my throat. I'm still adjusting to Declan inside me. I'd forgotten how big he was. My body has had too much rest from them.

  “Fuck me,” Declan orders.

  I begin to move.

  Seven is kissing my back, pressing a kiss against the small of it—something I had thought was only a Declan thing. I like it. It's strangely tender and intimate. A drawer opens and closes. And then a lubed toy is being worked inside my ass. Tears stream down my face. Not pain—relief that this is finally happening again.

  “Shhhh, Kitten,” Seven says, misunderstanding the cause of my tears. He strokes my back as the toy slides in and out of me. Declan's fingers dig into my hips arching and thrusting upward.

  Then the toy is gone, and it's Seven. I gasp when he pushes himself inside me. He grabs my throat and pulls me back against him. His mouth is at my ear.

  “This is the best place my dick has ever been,” he growls, which sends another jolt of arousal between my legs.

  One of Declan's hands leaves my hip as his thumb moves against my clit. I'm lost in a sea of darkness behind the blindfold unable to do anything but feel them both as they fill me, stretching me, claiming me in the most complete and carnal way I've ever experienced.

  Now that the mask is off, Seven is the rougher lover. But the force with which he takes me only drives me higher and faster toward my peak.

  Then, in the most unlikely of sexual lotteries, all three of us come at the same time. We are a symphonic mix of my whimpers and their animalistic growls. Seven pulls out of me, pushing me forward over Declan, spilling himself onto my back as my pussy clenches around and milks the rest of Declan's release, greedily sucking it inside me.

  I rise off of Declan. He removes the blindfold and pulls me down to lie against his chest, stroking my hair. I expect that now all three of us will cuddle together in this bed. It feels like what should come next. But it isn't what comes next.

  “You can have her in your bed tonight,” Seven says, getting dressed. Then he leaves the room without another word.

  I stare after him, wondering if I've done something wrong, wondering if now that he's scratched these twin itches of punishment and fucking my ass if he finds it wasn't truly worth the wait after all. Is he bored now? Declan notices my distress.

  “It's not you, Kate. He's got some business to take care of. It's fine.”

  I nod, not feeling reassured.

  Declan doesn't fuck me again tonight. Instead, he takes me up to his room on the third floor and pulls me into the shower with him. He silently washes me, and I wash him. It's intimate, but not sexual in the way one would expect. Then we lie down together in his bed. He pulls me into him—always and forever his little spoon. It's the first time I’m able to fully relax into this moment where we are wrapped in a tender embrace inside his bed. It's the first time I don't warn myself that it isn't real.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Months go by in this new normal. Declan was right, it wasn't me. Seven grows distant at times, but he always comes back to me, giving me that glimmer of the man I first knew.

  Each morning passes much as any ordinary couple might pass it—except that it's three instead of two. Every day we have breakfast in a strangely comfortable silence at the kitchen table, they kiss me, and they leave. Then I go about my day.

  I've gotten to know the names of most of the staff as they come and go. I still don't know what Seven and Declan do, though I'm certain it's some kind of organized crime. On the second day of our new arrangement, I learned they have security that goes well beyond electronic. Guards. And it's really a full-on security team. No wonder they weren't afraid I'd ask the staff for help. The guards stay outside and work in shifts. There are two security buildings, one at the front near the gate and one at the back end of the property.

  That, combined with the occasional unsavory visitors who come to the house, retreating always to a private study to talk business with Seven, and it's not as though I need a diagram. Many of these men look at me with clear lust in their gaze, knowing exactly what I am to my masters, and also knowing they will never be allowed to touch me no matter what they did with the others.

  I wonder what happened to the others? And did Seven and Declan start with the same game they did with me? Or did they go a different route? Did they use their money from the very beginning to simply buy what they wanted? Did they want my submission to come from a different place? After all, when they first offered me my freedom, I only took it because it seemed I didn't have the option to stay. And when I came back, I thought I was going back to the cell. So it wasn't for their money.

  For the first few weeks, I used my outdoor kitty time to shop and take in some movies, and of course, the spa. But it got boring. I missed work. So I started working on setting up my own ad agency.

  It's not a traditional agency. I don't have the necessary freedom to do that. I redid the penthouse to function as a place to meet clients. I'll only take a few at a time, and my availability is by appointment only. But it seems to be working out.

  When I get home in the evenings, we eat. I've since learned that actually they do have a cook who comes in several days a week to prepare meals. Though they also like to cook part of the time and always for breakfast.

  After dinner, things stop being quite so benign. They torment me endlessly with pleasure while demanding the same from me along with my absolute obedience. They use me in whatever way pleases them, but no matter what they do, my body always hungers for more. Sometimes I sleep in my own bed, but more often than not, I'm invited into either Declan's or Seven's bed for the night.

  I look down at my phone to check the time and am filled with horror. It's almost six. I've never been late coming home. Will they think I ran? Will they come after me? I'm so scared of how they might punish me for this infraction that I can't think straight. I've come to trust over time that as fucked-up as they are, they really do seem to feel something for me and to not want to cause me actual harm.

  At the same time, that doesn't stop the fact that they are terrifying, and I've disobeyed their orders. I try to think of an appropriate lie, even though I know I'm not a good liar and that will probably only make things worse.

  Hell, maybe I should wreck the car so I have an excuse. The fact that I'm even thinking such crazy thoughts is a testament to how wrong I am now. I'm so... wrong. But if they took the collar off my throat and told me to leave, I would beg them to let me stay. There's no saving me anymore. My body, mind, and soul, have long been theirs.

  And when I don't judge myself or think about how society would feel about this, how they might judge or pity me, I think I'm actually happy. But if I'm so happy, why am I so scared to go home so late?

  Aside from what they've done to twist my mind, they truly have never harmed me. They've never lost their tempers with me. The only reason I've ever felt my life was in danger at their hands was because of wha
t I know about their lack of remorse. They don't have the same leash on them that other people have.

  It's not so much that they’re evil—at least not to me—it's that they’re wild. They’re like wild animals. You can work with a wild predatory animal every day for years... You can believe you've built trust, that the animal sees you as a friend. And then one day, out of nowhere, the tiger mauls you to death. This is what I worry about. That they'll get bored with me, and that one day that switch inside them will flip, and their predatory gaze will settle on me, and my number's up.

  But I'm too fucked-up now to live outside their cage. I tried. I do believe they care for me, probably more than they've ever cared for anything besides each other. But am I fooling myself? Is it a false sense of security that every time I walk inside the tiger's cage, I'm certain I'm getting out alive?

  Yet I’m sure I’m the equivalent of the serial killer's wife of two decades. He will never ever harm her. He will wear that mask and make her feel loved, and maybe she’s the one person who can make him feel anything. I like that feeling. Being that one person that someone cares about. There’s no other human being who can turn their gaze or hold their attention, and there’s a rush of power in that which I'm ashamed I like.

  Even if they ever let me go, even if I somehow could go on without them, I would be lonely for the rest of my life. They have ruined me for any other relationship, no matter how healthy and good and true it might be. I've become twisted in the tangled vines of their darkness, and there’s nowhere left to go but down.

  Maybe I should call and apologize, explain to them that I just lost track of time. I left my cell phone in the car and wonder if they've already tried to call or text. My hands shake as I fumble with the key fob to get into the Porsche. I stumble back as a hand with a foul smelling cloth goes over my mouth.

  ***

  When I come to, a blindfold covers my eyes, and my hands are tied together over my head. I'm still wearing my sundress, but my shoes are gone. My bare feet are cold under the hard floor. I still feel foggy from the drugs. Why the fuck did they drug me? Did they really think that was necessary?