by Amber Bardan
“Look.” He squeezes again.
Luke’s whole body ripples, every muscle and vein in his torso bulging to the surface. He pulls out of me, cock in his hand, fingers jerking over his saturated shaft. Our gazes collide. His features fill with tension that pulls his skin taut over his cheekbones. He looks me right in the eye and comes on me with a growl.
His heat lashes me, and all I can do is gasp and watch him ejaculate all over my pussy just like they promised.
The hand Luke holds behind my knee tenses, and I feel every finger on my flesh and know that each one is going to leave a mark.
I quiver from the inside out.
I’ve spent all my life never feeling wanted, but in this moment I’m claimed.
Clarke eases me all the way up to sitting. “Aren’t you going to thank him?”
I don’t ask what for. The way his mind works is already becoming clear. He wants me to thank Luke for doing what I asked of them even though it wasn’t in the way I meant.
I stare at Luke. He stares right back and it’s so fucking intense my heart almost lurches out of my chest.
“Thank you, Luke.”
His dark lashes lower, his shoulders droop, then he’s the one making a move, taking the lead. He draws me forward onto my knees, pulls me right up to his chest and kisses me.
His mouth is warm and soft, his beard rough on my chin. My own scent lingers on him. The quiver inside me turns to a tremble. His tongue moves into my mouth, soft and so sensual it’s like there’s a bowling ball of emotion smashing apart my thoughts, telling me to forget everything I want to think.
He clasps me behind my ears and kisses me like he can’t bear to stop. My eyes drift closed. I wrap my arms around his neck, shivering at the way his chest hair scrapes my nipples. Steely fingers take my hips and draw them back. My eyes fly open. Luke stares at me, but his grip on my face remains firm.
He continues to kiss me as my knees are knocked wider on the rug, and a long cock bumps over my flesh. Clarke drives into me, hauling my ass backward to him.
I whimper, my fingers tugging at the back of Luke’s hair, but he shows me no more mercy than his brother, taking the opportunity to plunge his tongue deeper into my mouth.
Clarke withdraws, then slams back in, driving my whole body up. It’s only Luke’s grip on my face that stops our teeth from smashing together. Clarke groans and then he’s moving harder and faster, and it’s all starting again inside me.
Pleasure building tight and hot.
I pull Luke’s hair, but it’s not for mercy. Clarke has special moves. Where Luke was unrestrained, he is so fucking controlled. He rolls his hips in a rocking motion, down then up.
His cock hits me just so, every goddamn time.
I clutch at Luke’s shoulders, trying to keep myself from coming apart. He kisses me harder, more passionately, driving his tongue into my mouth like it’s a contest. If it is I have no fucking clue who’s winning—the man kissing me into what feels like a coma, or the one fucking me senseless.
I can’t breathe, can’t get in enough air. There’s too much in and around me, overwhelming my body and my mind. Turning the world into a haze of burning lust.
I incinerate.
Clarke glides into me and rocks for a moment, buried deep. Bliss breaks over me, orgasm hitting me like a lash of electricity, jerking my whole body. Luke sucks my tongue, absorbing the moans I can only attempt to make. Clarke groans behind me, slamming in one more time before joining me over the edge.
He spurts hotly inside me. My contracting cunt squeezes around him, like my body was desperate for this all along. He clutches my hips harder.
There’re going to be bruises on my hips too.
We fall down together on the fur rug. Sweat-soaked and sex-slick.
In that moment I feel like that animal skin—hollowed out and taken apart.
Chapter Seven
A hand slides over my hip, drawing down the covers I’ve been generously draped in. My eyes fly open in the semi-darkness. Clarke sits on the bed by my side.
“You must be hungry.” He smooths the hair off my face.
I swallow. Yes, I’m hungry. Hungry for things that should make me want to recoil. He turns his hand over and trails the underside of my arm right down to my armpit with his knuckles. My handcuffs rattle against the headboard.
He stops and stares at me. “Are you hungry, Gabby?”
I suck in a long breath. I’ve already learned to ask for what I want. “Yes, Clarke.”
His teeth flash in the half light.
My heart throbs. He likes it when I call him by name.
He likes it even more when I talk to him respectfully. Like he’s my boss, or my school teacher, or my daddy. “Then let’s feed you.”
The headboard rattles again. I hadn’t realized I’d shivered. Feed me. Like I’m their pet. I guess that’s what I am.
Their pet girl.
Luke washed me in the bath while Clarke watched. He shampooed my hair twice. Then covered me in scented moisturizer, dressed me up in a lacy white nightgown like a bride, and put me to bed. Clarke moves to my hands and unlocks the handcuffs. Relief floods me. He seizes my wrists before I can so much as roll my aching shoulders. My eyes flare. He rolls me over and refastens the cuffs on my wrists at the small of my back.
My face presses to the sheets and I gasp in a lungful of linen scent. “Why are you doing this?”
They didn’t cuff me before? The lock clicks. My heart thuds with it. I yank my arms. He used padded cuffs at least, but I can’t break free.
He takes my elbow without answering, eases me up to sitting and then off the bed to my feet. We walk out of the bedroom back into the living area.
I can’t look at that rug. My mind swarms with memories that threaten to send me into a quivering mess. Luke enters the room, two bowls of food dwarfed in his big hands. The smell hits me. My stomach gurgles. Whatever it is, it’s something wonderfully savory and I’m famished.
He sets the dishes on the coffee table beside cutlery and a wineglass then sits down on the leather couch. Clarke leads me to stand in front of Luke, then presses on my shoulder. There’s no option but to go to my knees on the hardwood floor.
Clarke sits beside Luke, and pours dark red wine into a glass. A scant amount, hardly enough to bother with, but that doesn’t change the way the scent hits my lungs. Intoxicating. My mouth waters.
Luke collects a fork and a bowl, and scoops up a chunk of meat in dark gravy. My heart beats harder. I know why they’re doing this. Making me kneel handcuffed and wait to be fed. They’re proving they’re in charge. Proving I have to depend on them.
Most of all they’re making me prove that I will behave.
I’m getting this game and I’m almost as good at following rules as I am at playing a part. But right now it takes everything in me to control myself, to not launch myself on the fork. He guides it closer. I open my mouth and eat the food he feeds to me.
The meat falls apart on my tongue, soft and so rich ripples of delight streak through me. I swallow and open my mouth for more. He feeds me another bite. The next one is even better. I make a sound, just a little hum.
“It’s beef bourguignon.” Clarke sets down the wine bottle. “Luke made it himself...”
It’s the pause that has my gaze locked back on Clarke.
“Especially for you.” His eyes sparkle.
I see the challenge, the dare there. But I get this. “Thank you, Luke.”
Luke smirks just a little. He’s not like Clarke with the rules, but I’ve already found out that he gets off on providing for me. Worked that one out while he bathed me like a little doll, shoving my hands away, or giving my thigh a slap, if I tried to do the smallest thing for myself. I open my mouth and another forkful slides between m
y lips. Clarke picks up the wineglass and holds it to me. I swallow. The deep heady scent of Merlot makes my head spin. I tilt my face away. My tongue slides between my lips.
“Something wrong?” He holds the glass, keen gaze absorbing my every reaction. I need a glass of water.
What happens if I ask for something? Will I have to earn it?
“I’m thirsty.”
His attention flicks to my mouth. “Are you?”
My heart flips over. “May I have a glass of water, please?”
He smiles all to one side, then sets the wine down and disappears into the other room.
Luke offers me another fork of beef. This time there’s also a little shallot on the fork. My eyes almost roll back. It’s been too long since I last ate. His mouth curves beneath his beard. I lean toward him. His gaze pins on me. He still hasn’t uttered a single word.
He’s the one I can seduce to his knees if I play it right, I feel it.
“This really is very good,” I whisper, focused on him like he’s the only man in the whole wide world.
His eyes flash. He leans closer.
Clarke reenters with a tall glass of water. A bark rings out. My attention snaps to the other room. Pippa must be just outside. So close she saw Clarke when he got my water.
Clarke sits back down. I peer in the direction he came from.
“She’s begging for another game of fetch, greedy pup.” He holds the glass to my mouth. I gulp only a mouthful before he eases the water away. “She’s a good dog, but don’t worry, we won’t spoil her.”
I believe them that Pip is safe with them. Cared for and unspoiled. But will they spoil me?
He sets down the glass and collects a different bowl, and scoops the contents with a spoon. Cinnamon and apple scents reach me. I stare at the spoon. Apple crumble smothered in cream. I want more of that stew, but this smells good and I’m in no position to be fussy.
I wrap my lips around the spoon and slide off the contents. Tartness, creaminess and spice roll through my mouth. He sets the bowl down.
Luke gathers up the dishes, taking them out the way Clarke came in.
I chew quickly and swallow. “Wait, I’m not finished.”
Luke doesn’t even slow.
“Greedy girl.” Clarke leans back on the couch. “That’s enough for now.”
His eyelids sink as he stares down at me.
I glance in the direction Luke had gone. “I’m still hungry.”
“You’re not hungry, Gabby.”
I frown at him.
“You’re just not as satisfied as you’re used to being.” He bends forward again, leaning his elbows on his knees, and looks me right in the eye. “Feel your body, are you really hungry?”
My focus shifts to my stomach. I want more, yes, but his command has made it impossible not to notice the truth. I’m no longer hungry the way I was.
“Well?” His eyes narrow.
Maybe he’s right, but why do this? “I don’t understand why I’m being punished.”
“Honey.” He slides a hand into the hair above my ear. “There will be no confusion when you’re being punished.” His thumb moves on my cheek. “We will always be very clear about that.”
“Then why can’t I have more?”
His sigh fans my lips. “This is us taking care of you.”
“How?” Now I’m annoyed, and can’t conceal that any more than I could conceal what a reprehensible little hussy I am deep down.
Luke joins him on the couch.
Clarke releases my face. “Have you ever run so hard you’ve made yourself sick?”
I lean back. Just yesterday I’d ran up the mountain and wanted to vomit at the end of it. There’d been other times when I’d pushed myself harder on runs and really thrown up.
I hold my breath, an itching warning blossoming under my skin. “Yes.”
“A natural physical response to extreme stress or emotion.” He continues staring at me, but now Luke does too, and I feel both their energy hot and hungry and thrilling, all on me.
“We went easy on you earlier.” He takes me by the arm, and pulls me forward, so his knee presses right between my breasts on my sternum. “We wanted to give you a chance to adjust, but now we’re going to push you, Gabby.”
My head swims.
“We’re going to push you hard. Take everything we’ve ever wanted.” His voice is a low husky promise. “We’re going to fill you up.”
My stomach flutters. I get it now. They’re going to do everything.
All the wicked, wicked unmentionable things.
He draws me onto the couch between them. “Are you cold?”
I shake my head.
“You’re shivering.”
Luke rises and adds more wood to the fire, as though that has anything to do with my trembling.
“Relax, honey.”
Luke sits again.
Clarke pushes me over until my head lands on Luke’s lap. “Surely you know you must wait twenty minutes after eating before physical activity?”
I work my arms in the cuffs. They don’t budge. My skin prickles. I can’t get free.
He guides my legs onto his lap.
My muscles seize tight.
His palm runs over the back of my calf. “Didn’t we just tell you to relax?”
My breath hitches. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
I look at him over my shoulder, stuck like a turtle on my side with no hands. My heart won’t slow down. His expression demands answers but my truth is a shameful something I can’t even fathom. “My shoulders hurt.”
“Was that so hard?” he whispers, then rolls me over, and in a breath my wrists release. “We’re here to take care of you.”
I pull my arms apart. A groan leaves me.
“Don’t you understand that?”
I roll toward him, but a palm stops me between my shoulder blades.
“You’re ours to care for.”
I feel the way my system wants to give, and relinquish control at his vow. My cheek presses against the denim of Luke’s jeans. The straps of my nightgown tug down. Clarke works the fabric down my body and slides it from my feet.
My nipples harden on the leather. I’m naked, draped between them. Head on Luke’s lap, and legs on Clarke.
A drawer slides. He’s getting something from the coffee table.
Cool liquid slides against my spine.
Luke’s legs shift underneath me. Huge hands squeeze my shoulders. Pain radiates from knotted muscle. More liquid pools on me, dripping down my back.
Another set of hands take my hips, thumbs pressed to the dip of my lower back.
“You’ve been a very good girl.” Tensions relax under his touch. “This is reward, Gabby.”
My stomach flutters at those words. They’re playing to my weakness. I’ve never been much of a good girl where it counts—but being called one does things to me.
A scent wafts over me, subtle, floral and a little earthy. It’s the oil they’re using.
Homeopathic.
A warm comforting memory strikes me. Walking into my best friend Penny’s house and the oils she’d always burn. Lavender, Ylang Ylang and other things I could never remember the names of. I take a giant breath in.
Let them touch me.
Their hands glide—squeezing, stretching, prodding, caressing.
Until I’m soft. Until my body is like a cloud, weightless. There’s more oil, more touch, more stroking. Hands on my back and others on my legs.
A thumb presses on a sensitive place on my thigh. I twitch.
Clarke presses harder. “You haven’t been stretching after your walks have you?”
My cloudy relaxation lifts. How m
any times have they watched me?
“Sometimes,” I whisper.
He tsks. “From now on, if you don’t stretch, we’re going to have to stretch you ourselves.”
A quiver runs through my belly. Does that mean they’ll be letting me out of their house?
He bends the lower half of my right leg until my heel almost touches my backside. The stretch streaks through my quadriceps. The ache burns, then ebbs. He shifts and lowers my leg. A weight presses against my knee.
I shove back. The hands working my shoulders hold me down.
My eyes flare open.
He’s sandwiched my leg between his back and the couch. His body is now between my legs and I’m pinned.
My heart hammers against my squished breast.
“Shh...” He soothes me like a skittish pet. “It’s only been fifteen minutes.”
I stop resisting. There’s no point really. Luke strokes again, fingers now working their way up the back of my neck. My body wants to succumb again, but Clarke’s reassurance is really a reminder. There’s only five minutes until they start whatever they have planned.
The bottle pops on the oil, and Clarke leans heavily on my leg, his hands making a squelching sound as he rubs oil between them. Then his touch returns to the tight spot on my thigh, working the knot in delicious little painful movements that forces discomfort to ease.
Then it’s good, so good, the dig and prod and stroke of hands on me.
A soft moan leaves my lips.
“See how it is?”
My eyelids flutter open at Clarke’s voice.
“Some things hurt before the reward.” His touch gentles, becomes a whispering caress up to my backside. “Certain pleasures must be earned.”
I blink. There seem to be fifteen facets to everything he says, but there’s something unmissable in this one.
Clarke grabs my ass, squeezing my cheeks.
Air floods my lungs. He shifts sideways, dragging my hips into his kneeling knees. Oil seeps between my cheeks.
No. No. No.
I know what he’s doing. Maybe I always knew this was coming.