Heartbreaker (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Simone Sinna

  It was only after he’d hung up that Corey thought to wonder what the hell his uncle was referring to.

  Chapter Eleven

  Zac’s apartment was in the heart of DC, so the drive there left Savannah feeling she had already had the full tour. At night the Capitol Dome, the Memorials and the White House looked like pieces out of a doll’s set. Or rather, a film set, because that was why they seemed so familiar. Zac took two calls before dinner, which they called out for. Pizza and beer with a view over the heart of American politics were fine by Savannah.

  So was the after-dinner entertainment.

  From the look the men exchanged, she could tell that they had something planned. She welcomed the idea though Zac managed to keep her enough on edge that her stomach had butterflies. She was on his home territory, and when he gave her a box and told her to wear only what was in it she knew he was going to stretch her. How far was she prepared to go?

  The box had several beautifully wrapped presents all in black-and-red tissue paper, tied with ribbons, and sealed with the shop’s label Deadly Doms. She wondered about taking presents. In her past she had been so determined not to owe anyone anything that she hadn’t even let men pay for dinner. But Zac was the Master and he wanted her to play a game. It seemed only reasonable. Ben and she would be definite beneficiaries.

  Savannah started with the smallest parcel. It was the sheerest silk G-string she had ever seen, black, with trimmings of red fur that tied on each side. In the next parcel were sheer black stockings with a line of red fur up the back. Another parcel contained a matching garter belt. She had never worn real stockings before, and placed them carefully on the bed. Since meeting Ben and Zac there were a lot of things she was doing for the first time. Taking care not to ladder the stockings she put on the black and red ensemble and, wearing nothing else, looked at herself in the mirror. Her green eyes seemed wider and deeper green than ever. She hadn’t had time to do anything sensible with her hair, and with it hanging wildly over her shoulders she looked just a little dangerous.

  There were more parcels. She felt like it was Christmas. The last years she had spent alone or with friends, only seeing her mother before or after. This felt like she was with family, even if it was only going to be a short-term one.

  She carefully unwrapped the next package to reveal a black dress made out of what had to be rubber. She had to virtually peel it on. The back barely covered her butt and in the front there were only the thinnest of strips going from the neck to a waist band, just covering her nipples but leaving her breasts fully exposed.

  The final present she had already guessed from their size and weight. Black, over-the-knee boots with a silver, fuck-me heel. They fit perfectly. Now looking in the mirror she saw that she looked more than a little dangerous. She looked positively wicked.

  Venturing out of the room tentatively, the looks from Zac and Ben left no doubt about the level of approval.

  “Turn around,” Zac commanded. He was wearing black leather trousers and boots and a loose white shirt. He looked totally delectable.

  Savannah twirled around, her eyes only leaving him briefly when she caught sight of Ben, whose trouser line suggested enthusiastic reception. In jeans and a black T-shirt he looked less dangerous than Zac, but the muscles and the grin made for a hard-to-resist combination.

  “Excellent,” said Zac. He stood up and it was only when he was next to her that she saw he had something in his hand. He slipped it underneath her mane of unruly black curls and fastened it around her neck. “Your collar,” he whispered in her ear as a hand ran down proprietorially over her breast. “Tonight we are showing you off, but don’t forget you belong to me.”

  Showing her off? Savannah gulped. What did Zac mean?

  “Grab your coat,” said Zac. He paused as he let her watch him and Ben curl up chains into their pockets. “We’re going out.”

  “Out?” Savannah’s voice ended in a squeak. She couldn’t go out wearing next to nothing!

  “You will obey.”

  Savannah stared at Zac then looked at Ben. Ben wasn’t as good an actor. He winked. She wanted to give him a hug but didn’t dare. “Yes, Master.”

  It was only a short walk. Savannah hugged the coat to her, figuring no one but she and her men knew what was or rather wasn’t beneath it. Zac stopped at what looked an unremarkable building, punched a code in on the metal plaque in the doorway and when it clicked open ushered Ben and Savannah through and down some stairs.

  It was dark and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. Zac pulled back a deep-red, velvet curtain and they were stopped by a woman who greeted Zac warmly as she took his coat. She was maybe in her forties, with deep-red, full lips, ample-sized breasts and wide hips, wearing an elegant black-and-gold dress with a slit up one side. Zac introduced her as the appropriately named Voluptua but without giving Savannah’s name.

  “Are you busy tonight?” Zac asked.

  “We are always busy,” said Voluptua, stealing a glance at Savannah. “You are looking to initiate your sub?”

  “Would it be a good time?”

  “That would depend on whether the Master was in control.” Voluptua looked appraisingly at Savannah and put her hands out for her coat. Savannah looked first at her then at Zac.

  Zac smiled, but there was no softness in it. “Give her your coat, sub.”

  Savannah thought she might turn and run, but in the moment of hesitation Ben was easing her coat off her shoulder and whispering in her ear “The word works here with us, and you can use it and we will intervene with anyone else.”

  Voluptua looked her up and down. “You have good taste, I see.”

  “You are to go into the next room,” said Zac coolly, “and sit at the bar and order a drink.”

  Savannah took a breath. “Where will you be?”

  “Watching.”

  Voluptua’s expression was inscrutable as she opened the door, and, so nervous she thought she would fall over, Savannah stepped forward.

  The room wasn’t large. Dim lamps hugged the corners, illuminating deep-red walls. On one side were several dark-blue sofas. On the other was a long, wooden bar with hanging glasses over it and shelves lined with bottles behind. In all there were maybe ten people there. Two men with a woman on one sofa, two women with a man on another. At the bar was one woman talking to a man. She looked upset. The other two men were alone. She tried to reassure herself, told herself it was too dark for anyone to notice her. She was struggling to see what the other women were wearing and though it seemed more than her, perhaps they couldn’t really see just how much she was revealing. But as she walked towards the bar she was very aware of all the men staring at her, the two sitting alone without any attempt to conceal their approval.

  Savannah picked a seat that was between the two of them but not next to either and sat down, relieved to not have to walk any further given how much she was shaking. She glanced back at the door and saw that Ben and Zac were seated together in armchairs in the corner. The barman, wearing only leather trousers and suspenders over a muscular, hairy chest, leaned across the bar towards her. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Savannah wanted to say yes, quickly and make it strong. “Martini, please.”

  “Twist or an olive?”

  She had no idea given she’d never had a martini before. She resisted the temptation to order it Bond-style.

  “Olive.”

  Until it arrived she avoided eye contact with anyone, but she could sense the men on either side calculating their moves. Though her stomach was in knots another part of her she found she was enjoying herself. No doubt she had created a reaction, and the knowledge of her power filled her with a self-confidence she hadn’t ever felt before. She felt eyes on her, remembered her reflection in the mirror and smiled wickedly.

  To her left was a man in a suit, tie dispensed with but she imagined straight from work. Thirty, blond hair swept back, carrying a little weight and looking self-important. To her
right was a body-builder type. Thickset, dark, leaning back into the shadows. She fancied he had a stubble and though she couldn’t see his eyes she could feel them burning into her breasts. She shivered as she imagined them fighting over her. She had no idea of the rules or ethics of these types of clubs.

  The barman returned with the Martini and she gulped half of it down in one take. The barman gave a low chuckle and leant into her. “Sweetheart, chill. With your looks they are all yours to command. But as my guess is you’re Zac’s woman, tease him a bit. The blond guy is a complete asshole, just behaved like a pig to his ex-sub, woman further down, so do me a favor and take him down a peg at the same time.”

  Savannah stole a look at the woman at the end of the bar. She and the man with her glared at the blond man’s back as they both stood up and headed out towards a door at the back.

  “Now that woman has a fat ass,” said the blond man to no one in particular. His accent had a slight nasal tone. South African, maybe.

  Savannah turned to look at him. He smiled at her lazily. “Now your ass is quite another matter.”

  “Really?” Savannah tried not to sound like she felt that she’d rather watch grass grow than talk to him.

  “I’m Peyton Foster.” He said it like it was meant to mean something. The name did sound familiar. But in case she hadn’t put it together he made sure. “I’m a public intellectual.”

  Savannah nearly choked on her sip of martini. She’d never heard a journalist describe themselves quite like this.

  “You reported on the Odeh case, right?” Savannah stole a look at Zac. He had to know this guy frequented the club. If so his look gave nothing away.

  Peyton looked smug. “I certainly did. An exclusive. More coming, I can tell you!” He leant in conspiratorially. Savannah saw stubble-man shift on his seat.

  “Really?”

  Peyton took a slug of what looked like whisky. He put a finger to his nose and winked. “Military contacts.”

  Savannah was more interested than she wanted to be. She wondered if Peyton was why Zac had come here. He could have warned her! Stubble-man had lost interest and was busy texting.

  “Do you mean in opening the enquiry or in the original bombing?”

  Peyton grinned. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

  “Ever heard of Sal Mazzola?”

  “Should I have?”

  Savannah decided Mata Hari she was not. Zac could haul Peyton in and ask questions if he was that interested. “Come here often, do you?”

  “I’m in the market for a new sub.” Peyton’s frank leer made him look even less attractive than when he had started.

  “Would I be on the list of possible options?” Savannah saw her men watching out of the corner of her eye. She decided as she’d bombed as a spy she may as well do her best by them as well as the ex-sub. She crossed her legs and leant closer to him. In doing so the thin strips of leather loosened and her entire breasts were visible to him.

  Peyton’s eyes went to her breasts and he mopped the sweat from his brow. “I’d certainly be prepared to try you out.”

  “Well there’s just a couple of problems with that.”

  Peyton looked unperturbed. “Like what?”

  Savannah drank the last of her martini and looked over to Zac and Ben as she sidled off her stool. “Well to begin with, I’m spoken for.”

  She waited until Zac and Ben were behind her before she added, “And the other thing is, that your ex explained to me that she’s seen larger penises in the premature baby nursery.”

  Zac clicked his lead onto her collar and his other hand went over her breast. “Ours I believe.”

  Savannah saw Peyton’s startled look and the barman grinning as she followed Zac out the side door. The others in the room seemed all to be watching gleefully, and it was only the expression of the man in the corner of the bar with the dark stubble that she couldn’t see.

  Zac led her along a narrow corridor that had several doors off it. They went right to the end, and took the final door. On the other side was what looked to be a full-scale dungeon. Savannah’s eyes widened, barely aware of Ben shutting and locking the door behind him.

  “You are full of surprises, big brother.”

  “The fun room.” Zac pulled the lead gently until Savannah was in the center beneath a dangling pair of handcuffs. “Hands above your head.”

  Zac unclipped the lead and then grasped her hands, locking them above her. “Did you enjoy displaying yourself, my little sub? Enjoy knowing all those men wanted you, that anyone of them would have taken you had I commanded it?”

  Savannah knew it was part of the game but Zac did dangerous convincingly well. Truth was she had enjoyed the looks, however outrageously she was dressed. But she was also very happy to be back with Zac and Ben.

  “Perhaps your sub might have taken one of them without your permission,” she said, using her wickedest smile. “The barman was rather cute.”

  Zac chuckled. “Seems that having unleashed you both literally and metaphorically, you are becoming uncontrollable. You know what we will have to do about that, don’t you?”

  Savannah didn’t trust herself to speak. Her eyes followed him as he went over to the bench and selected a riding crop. Better, she supposed, than the whip. He circled her while Ben sat to the side in an armchair, finishing his drink.

  Zac used the crop to trace down the leather straps covering her nipples and pushed them aside. Her breasts were small and firm and both nipples hard. He moved behind her, the crop now coming up the inside of her legs and over the thin slip of material between her legs. He pushed a little harder, the knob of the crop against her clit.

  “How turned on are you, my naughty little sub?”

  “Oh I think you might have to try a little harder actually.” Savannah wasn’t sure she was sounding as airily confident as she was trying to be. Zac rewarded her with a sharp sting from the crop on her butt. She gasped.

  “What did you say, sub?”

  Savannah thought of the looks the men, even the appalling Peyton, had given her, of how much she knew she turned these two men on. She looked straight at Zac and said, “I said I’d like you to try harder. Ben to lick me. You to be…inventive.”

  Zac held her gaze. She saw a flicker of hesitation, then he stepped closer to her, one hand taking her chin and kissing her hard, lips bruising and sucking on hers, tongue thrusting and meeting hers. “On that,” he whispered, “you can rely.”

  It took her a moment to realize he was answering her taunt to be inventive, but she felt her juices start as she knew he was someone who would always rise to the challenge, and that while she didn’t feel towards him as she did Ben, she would always want to send that challenge. Maybe he had been right. They did work well altogether. Ben made her feel safe and secure, while Zac stopped her from either being complacent or getting restless.

  Ben peeled off his shirt and she marveled again at the contours of his arms and chest, the sheer maleness that he embodied. He knelt in front of her, hands on her hips, licking first her navel, then missing her sex and starting again at her inner thighs above the stockings.

  “I think, kid, we need to see even more of her, don’t you?”

  Savannah watched Zac throw a razor to Ben, then walk over to them with a can of what she saw was shaving cream. He untied the G-string at each side of her hip, pulling away the thin material, and then smeared white foam first over her mound and then between the cheeks of her ass. Ben started to work on her mound, deftly removing the hair. It took a few minutes.

  “Now the fun bit,” he said, grinning up at her. Zac got behind her, and tapped her legs, indicating to part them. Savannah’s wider stance allowed Ben to be able to massage the cream into the sides of her pussy before running the razor briskly over left then right. She felt a stray finger brush between her lips and she involuntarily shuddered, closing her eyes and trying not to move her hips towards him.

  Ben took his time. Pulling one lip out
he ran the razor more gently over the edge of her lip, the slight pulling feeling as she was denuded, and his touch sent tiny ripples through her. The swelling of her pussy lips both helped and hindered. More mass but firmer, telling him clearly how much she wanted him to keep touching her.

  Ben then moved over to her ass, parting her cheeks, and again rubbing was followed by the razor. She was quite certain any Brazilian shave she had ever had in the past and any in the future would be inferior to this effort. Certainly she would never return to standard versions if this was an option.

  Zac threw a towel to Ben and he dabbed off the remaining cream. The towel was hot and he pressed it against her clitoris before replacing it with his lips and tongue and teeth. His hands opened her further and beneath her he licked her juices as his fingers worked around her asshole. Savannah closed her eyes, let herself relax as much as she could, sagging a little and letting the ceiling fixture take some of her weight.

  She felt Zac come up behind her. He must have taken his clothes off because his flesh burnt next to hers, hands over her breasts as he buried his head in her curls, nibbling at her neck and then pulling on her ear. His tongue thrust inside her ear at the same time as Ben’s explored her cunt, both pleasuring and owning her simultaneously. All her senses were on fire. Ben pushed his shoulders up gently and let her sit on his shoulders while his hands gripped her butt, and her upper body sagged back against Zac.

  Ben buried his head between her legs, her pussy right in front of him, tongue working in and out. Her hips moved in time with him, her mind craving him deeper and harder. She tipped her head back on Zac’s shoulders and he kissed her hard, hands squeezing her breasts and then nipples as he did.

  “How much can you take, sub?” he whispered in her ear.

  “How much can you keep giving?” she managed to reply.

  If anyone was up for a challenge it was Zac, but Ben looked like he planned to stay in for the long haul as well. Though sensations of pleasure kept coming over her in waves, so too were reminders of the ache in her arms. Zac sensed it before she even thought of pulling out, unclipping her arms before the two men carried her to the table she had noticed when she’d first entered, the one that looked like the stretch rack. She eyed it suspiciously, rubbing her wrists.