by Vanessa Vale
Like the fact that our woman wanted it wild. She didn’t want mild, like we’d been with her. That was fucking obvious now. She was fucking wearing an open-cupped bra.
“But—”
I cut her off. She’d led us about until now. It was time to change that.
“Are you afraid of us?”
She frowned. “You and King? I’ve known you forever. Of course not.”
“Do you trust us?” King added.
Her dark gaze shifted to his.
“Yes.” Her answer was immediate, no waffling or second guessing.
“Micah, did you hear that?” I asked, watching Sarah.
“I did,” he replied.
“Good.” Micah had heard Sarah’s confidence in us, that she would be safe with us. While we wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head, we’d stepped into BDSM without expecting it and needed to follow some protocol. Micah knew Sarah was with us, that she’d verbally shared with him and Rachel that she trusted us, that she wasn’t afraid to be with us.
Done.
So I did what I’d wanted to do for…forever, leaned down and tossed her over my shoulder. I turned, headed toward the central stairway leading to the guest rooms on the second floor. Her hands pounded on my lower back as I cupped her thighs to keep her in place. “Wilder!”
I stopped halfway across the large room. “What’s your safe word, princess?”
She stilled and went silent. I waited. Waited some more. I wasn’t doing anything until she knew she was consenting to this, that we would give her exactly what she wanted, what she needed and nothing more.
“Red.”
Relief coursed through me at that one word. Continuing toward my room, King on our heels, I knew that nothing was going to be the same again. I had Sarah in my arms and I was never letting her go. She could say red and everything would stop, but for once, we’d talk shit out. And until she said that one safe word, she belonged to us. She would do what we said or get her ass spanked. We’d make her ours, however kinky she wanted it.
2
SARAH
* * *
Red. Red. I’d never had a safe word before. Never imagined being asked that question. Never imagined being asked that question by Wilder. Sweet, thoughtful, intense, broody Wilder. But he had.
I was dressed like I was headed into a party with a bunch of BDSM experts. Which I had been until Wilder tossed me over his shoulder and headed the opposite direction.
While I might look ready to drop to my knees for a dominant in the party, looks were deceiving. I was into kink. I was interested in BDSM. I was interested in learning more about it, whether there was anything that might happen in the party that made me hot, that made me want a guy to do whatever I saw to me. I might not have had sex before, but I knew what I wanted.
I wanted it wild. Rough. I wanted to be pinned down, tied up, bent over, on my knees. I wanted all of that not because I read a bunch of romance novels or watched porn.
No, I wanted it because…I wanted it. I’d known pretty much forever that I was a little different. I never played wedding with my Barbie dolls. I would bind her hands together behind her back with a rubber band. I didn’t put fancy outfits on her. I kept her naked. I’d thought darker thoughts even before I really knew what sex was. I couldn’t explain it, still couldn’t, but I just knew I was wired slightly differently. There wasn’t any other way I could think of to explain it. It wasn’t as if I could chat with my girlfriends about it. Why did I want to be pinned down and fucked? Yeah, that wouldn’t have gone over well at a slumber party.
Missionary wasn’t enough, even for my first time. And that was why I hadn’t ever had a first time. I hadn’t found the right guy to know what I needed, or for me to be comfortable enough with him to tell him what I needed.
And that included Wilder and King. I’d been in love with both of them since I was thirteen, the summer before seventh grade. The first time I saw them was at my mother’s third wedding reception. This was the marriage to a rich rancher, King’s family’s neighbor. Since my mother had married a local—that time—everyone from Barlow had been invited. Pretty much everyone had gone too, including Wilder and King.
The only reason I could think that two nineteen-year-olds would want to go to a wedding reception was easy access to alcohol. It had been when Danny Sayers had gotten me behind a tree and put his hand on my barely developed chest over my top, and I’d pushed him off that they’d appeared and scared the crap out of him. While they hadn’t laid a finger on poor Danny, he’d gotten a lesson on how to treat a lady—even a thirteen-year-old one—and when no meant no. He’d been in my class all the way through graduation, but he hadn’t spoken to me once after that day. Barely even looked at me.
All through school, I’d never thought about him, or any boy. All I saw, with teenage stars in my eyes, were Wilder and King. Yes, both of them. Perhaps that was the first sign that I knew I was different. I’d crushed after two men. And they had been men. Tall, muscled, intensely focused. One dark, the other fair. One lean, the other broad. Gorgeous. For years I would touch myself, make myself come to fantasies of them taking me, touching me. Hell, fucking me.
When it came to my orgasms, no one else would do, it seemed.
My youthful crush shifted to adult love. By the time I’d returned home from college and settled in at my job at the town library, I saw them frequently. Wilder was a particularly avid reader and checked books out several times a week.
The town was small and it was hard to miss them, or anyone else. Besides the library, I saw King often at the grocery store, one time at the gas station and even at the dentist—Wilder’s dad used to be my dentist, but a woman had bought his practice when he’d retired.
I may have been off-limits for a long time, but the age difference wasn’t so important any longer. I was twenty-three. A woman and well past legal. Fortunately, they didn’t look at me as if I were a child any longer. Their gazes were always dark, heated. Interested. I had no doubt of that.
I’d dated, but no one had been of interest and they’d never become a boyfriend. Then, I’d dated them.
First, Wilder had asked me out, and I’d been so excited. Nervous and thrilled, hoping he’d do everything I’d imagined. But he’d been…tame. Gentlemanly, but mild. I hadn’t seen the look of a man who wanted to devour a woman. We’d had fun, one time we’d gone bowling and another time on a picnic by the river. I liked his conversation, his personality. He’d made me laugh. I’d liked…no, loved everything about him, except there had been no chemistry.
It was the exact same thing with King when he’d asked me out the following month. We’d gone on a few dates. He’d shown me kindness. He’d been...sweet. Blah.
Their kisses had been chaste. No tongue, no feeling. No ravishing. While it hadn’t been brotherly, it hadn’t been hot either. I hadn’t gotten wet. My nipples hadn’t gotten hard. There hadn’t been any kind of zing.
While my heart and pussy might pine for them, my head told me no. I wasn’t going to be stuck with a man who didn’t excite me sexually, who wouldn’t give me what I needed, even though I didn’t know exactly what that was.
Because of this, I’d turned them down for future dates. That had been hard. Very hard, the winter so far long and boring. There’d been crying involved, lots of donuts and wine. Lots of heartache every time I saw them in town, every time Wilder came to the library. But Rachel—my friend from college—had invited me to come to the BDSM weekend at the resort she ran with her husbands to try the party and have fun. She’d said I didn’t have to do anything, that no one would touch me without my permission. That had comforted me and I’d needed to look beyond Barlow to possibly find a man who could get me wet, get me wild. Bridgewater wasn’t too far and if I were ever going to find someone, I had to get out there. Staying in my PJs with a book and hot cocoa wasn’t going to do it.
While Rachel and her husbands weren’t into BDSM, or at least not in a group setting, she did have two husbands. Two. So
Still, Rachel had told me I couldn’t show up in my usual attire of jeans and blouses and had offered to order clothes for me online, just for the party. Clothes wasn’t the right word for what she’d had delivered. Scraps of fabric, that’s what my seventy dollars had paid for. While the flared skirt made of latex swirled down to mid-thigh, it had been the bustier she’d gotten me that I’d freaked about. The bra was only half-cups and it must have been at a bargain price since half the material was missing. My nipples weren’t even covered! When I’d put it on and gotten a good look at myself, I’d questioned our friendship. Why would Rachel think I’d be okay with something so revealing in front of a roomful of strangers? And her husbands? God, I’d almost died thinking of Matt and Ethan seeing me like that. I’d never be able to look them in the eye again.
That was why I’d put my own white blouse back on and covered up, even though I looked like a petite, curvy Britney Spears. I might want to watch the party from the sidelines, but I had no plans to do so with my nipples on display.
To make matters worse, Rachel didn’t have a special outfit. No, she wore jeans and a Hawk’s Landing shirt, telling me her men wouldn’t let her expose her body to anyone but them. I seriously questioned our friendship.
I’d expected to see some interesting things at the party. I’d prepared myself not to show surprise or horror or too much curiosity, depending on what the couples did. It wasn’t my place to judge or question what consenting adults chose to do, especially since they were in solid relationships, trusting each other enough to participate in a BDSM event. I didn’t even have a relationship.
So when I saw the guy with his dick in a cage crawling toward the party following behind his mistress, I wasn’t too surprised. But I hadn’t expected to see Wilder and King. They were a total shock. I swore my heart skipped a beat when I heard Wilder’s voice call out my name in a deep, dark tone.
I’d practically hyperventilated watching as they crossed the great room, eyes focused squarely and solely on me. My heart began beating double-time, my palms became damp, my nipples hardened and my pussy got wet between one quick breath and the next.
They’d been surprised to see me, yes. Stunned, even. I’d expected revulsion, shame, even embarrassment on their expressions as they studied me in my slutty outfit, but no.
No. The banked heat I used to see in their eyes when they looked at me had returned. Only hotter. Brighter. More obvious.
They wanted me. It was blatant, even to me.
And now I was tossed over Wilder’s shoulder and all I could see was his gorgeous ass, his worn jeans molding it perfectly.
“Wilder,” I said again.
I saw King’s lower legs, his boots, as he walked behind us. Wilder stopped, moved to the side and it was when a couple’s legs came and went from my upside-down view that I knew we hadn’t been alone in the upstairs hallway. Since the resort was filled solely with guests participating in the BDSM activities this weekend, they probably hadn’t thought anything of a woman tossed over a man’s shoulder. This was tame.
Wilder started walking again. “Here’s what’s going to happen, princess,” he began.
God, I’d always loved it when they’d called me that.
“We’re going to my room and you’re going to tell us what the hell is going on. You have your safe word. Use it. Otherwise you do what we say. Understand?”
I was quiet as I processed his words, bumping along over his shoulder.
“Princess, answer me.” A light swat fell on my upper thigh. Nothing painful, but it tingled. And was really hot.
“Yes, I understand,” I replied, speaking the words to his lower back.
He paused and I heard a door opening. He went into a room, the light came on, King closing the door behind us. I heard the snick of the deadbolt as I was lowered back to my feet. My hands went immediately to my skirt, smoothing it back down over my thighs. Wilder’s big hand remained on my waist as I adjusted to being upright again. I could feel the callouses against the bare strip of my belly.
While I had often fantasized what it would be like being alone in a hotel room with Wilder and King, I’d never thought it would actually happen.
There was a king-sized bed, a small table and chair, and a low dresser with a flat-screen TV on top. The motif was western with lots of wood, including the log headboard. The carpet and curtains were a dark navy, a large-print western landscape was on the wall by the bathroom. It was just like mine, although I had a smaller bed.
King moved to stand beside Wilder, shoulder to shoulder once again. But in this space, instead of the two-story great room, I felt small. Tiny, in fact. I took a step back and King sighed at my retreat. He moved to the bed, sat on the edge. Wilder followed, sat a few feet away. I had to turn around to continue to face them, but they were my height now and not as imposing.
“You’re into BDSM?” King asked, his gaze raking over every inch of me, then settling on mine. Held.
I licked my lips. “Maybe.”
“Good girl, I like the truth.”
“Why would I lie?” I asked King, tilting my head to the side.
“Why would you hide the truth from us?” he returned.
My eyes narrowed, studying them. King was fair, his hair the color of wheat. In the summer, it lightened from the sun. His whiskers were a touch darker, and while he wasn’t close-shaven, I wouldn’t call the scruff on his square jaw a beard either. It only made him look rugged. It was his eyes, so pale as to be almost the color of ice, which had caught me all those years ago. And still did.
As for Wilder, he was the romance novel’s tall, dark and handsome hero. His hair was longer, unruly but not messy. His eyes were dark, his gaze intense. He was the serious one while King was more lighthearted, but the way the two of them eyed me now, they were equally focused.
They were big. So big. Wide shoulders, but King was broader like the football player he’d once been. Wilder was leaner, but no less muscled. He reminded me of a runner with his trim physique. Both were well over a head taller than me; I only came up to their chins, and that had been while wearing these ridiculously high heels. I wanted to run my hands over both of them, feel those muscles shift and bunch, hear the beating of their hearts, their deep breaths. I wanted to get close enough to breathe in their scents; King liked a soap that smelled like the woods while Wilder didn’t use any kind of scent. I wanted to put my nose at the crook of his neck and breathe him in.
And their lips…I’d felt them. Soft, warm, but gentle. Too damned gentle. I wanted all their power. No restraint.
I just wanted…them. I loved them, always had and now that they were sitting before me, knew I always would.
“The truth?” I asked. “I wasn’t hiding it from you specifically, but it’s private, something I only want to share with my—” I stumbled then, looking away. Embarrassed.
“Who, princess? Your lover?” Wilder asked.
I nodded, thankful he said the word for me. But I didn’t have a lover. While the room wasn’t cold, it was chillier than the great room with the wonderful fireplace. Goosebumps rose on my arms.
“What do you like? Bondage? Whips? Spanking? Floggers?” he questioned.
King added to the list. “Anal? Nipple clamps? Deep submission like master/slave?”
My eyes whipped to his at the last. Slave?
“No!” I replied quickly. I didn’t want to be anyone’s slave, under anyone’s thumb. I’d had enough of that with my mother. I just ached for someone to…make me forget. To clear my thoughts like cobwebs from my mind and fill my head with nothing but him. Them.
“No?” King asked, his eyes lowering to my chest again. His gaze heated, the blue darkening. “Your outfit definitely says something.”
I tilted my chin up in defiance. “My outfit doesn’t say slave. Besides, I can wear whatever I want.” Not that I’d be caught dead in this outfit again. God, it was humiliating enough with these two seeing me like this. Coming to Hawk’s Landing was supposed to be anonymous. So much for that.
“That’s right, you can. Your outfit doesn’t say slave, because a slave would be naked.”
My eyes widened at that clarification.
“But if you’re offering what that outfit shows, then you didn’t have to come all the way to Bridgewater, princess,” King told her, pointing at my clothing. “As Wilder said, all you had to do was ask and we’d take care of you.”
I tugged my shirt closed, then realized I could do up the buttons now. Rachel wasn’t going to scoff at me for being a prude at a BDSM event. She wasn’t one to talk in her unisex golf shirt and pants though. We so weren’t friends anymore.
Fumbling with the buttons, I got them done so that I was covered in white cotton from neck to knotted hem. I tugged at that, pulled the tails loose and let the blouse drop so that it fell over the waistband of my skirt, and now at least my midriff was covered.
The men were quiet and watched me do this. Only when I dropped my hands to my sides did they say more. “We can still see your nipples, princess. That thin fabric is practically transparent and the bra does nothing to hide them,” Wilder said.
I crossed my arms over my chest, felt the hard points that they’d seen. I usually wore my nude colored bra, the one that had padding. But a black half-cup? God, where was the hole to drop into?
“You’re beautiful, princess,” King added. “We like seeing you dressed like this. It’s sexy as hell. We just don’t like seeing you dressed like this in front of others.”
“Possessive much?” I asked, tapping my toe again.
King grinned. “Fuck, yes. Those berry-tipped breasts are just for us. That pale skin by your navel? Just for us to lick and kiss.” His eyes dropped lower, his smile slipped. “And those hips—”
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