Yet.
Emma pulled herself back from the brink of temptation, jumped in the shower, and soaped her body, taking great pains to ignore the thrill of touching her erogenous zones.
A sound echoed down the hallway, and she frowned, cut the shower, and poked her head out, listening intently.
Nothing.
She shrugged, grabbed a towel, and wrapped herself in it before running into her bedroom. A glance at the bedside clock had her gasping.
“Crap. Crap. Crap.” Twenty minutes remained, and ten of that included driving. From her dresser, she grabbed a bottle of lotion, slathering herself as she stood in front of her closet.
It only took a few seconds to decide on a chic blue pencil skirt and a white, feminine button-down shirt edged in lace and just this side of sheer. With no bra beneath, her nipples would definitely show.
Could she do it?
Emma wiped her hands on a towel and reached in for the clothes.
The real question was, could she not do it?
The answer was an emphatic, pussy-throbbing no.
She dressed with swift, efficient motions, plucked a pair of comfortable high-heeled sandals out, and dashed back to the bathroom. She had no time to apply a lot of makeup, so she gave her lashes a quick coat of mascara and a stroke of blush to her cheeks. She ran the brush through her hair, fluffed it with her fingers, and took a long, amazed look at herself in the mirror.
A sparkle lit her eyes, and she practically glowed with excitement. The outfit she’d picked was sleek and formfitting and elegant, unless one looked a bit closer.
God, she hoped she didn’t run into any of her neighbors.
She slid into her shoes, grabbed her purse and keys, and headed for the door, dialing Joel.
“All right, they’re clean,” he said, relief and annoyance still in his voice. “Ryan ran them both all the way back to the womb.”
She felt a surge of relief. “Good. Now quit worrying, okay?” She locked the door and descended the stairs, conscious of her unbound breasts swaying with each step. The chilly night air swept up her skirt, tickling her bare pussy, and she bit back a moan.
“What was that?” Joel demanded.
She pulled her mind back from the erotic zone it wanted to traverse. “Nothing, Joel. Look, I’m getting in my car. I’ll call you in two hours at ten, okay?”
“Don’t be one second late, Emma.”
She sighed. “I won’t.” The car chirped, and she tugged open the door.
“Hey,” Joel said.
Emma settled into the car, shoved the key in the ignition, and cranked. The engine roared to life with a satisfying growl. Mindful of Griffin’s orders, she lifted her hips and tugged her skirt all the way up, baring her needy pussy to all and sundry. The chilled leather lapped at her nakedness.
God, it felt dirty. She loved it.
“Emma?” His voice was loud, insistent.
Crap, she’d nearly forgotten Joel. “Sorry. What?”
“Have fun.”
Her tension faded, and her grin returned. “You can bet your sweet ass I will.”
He chuckled in her ear. “You think I have a sweet ass?”
Emma cradled the phone between her head and shoulder, threw the car into reverse, twisted to look behind her, and gasped. The phone dropped into her lap, then skidded to the floorboard as she stomped on the brake.
“Emma?” Joel’s faint, tinny voice echoed from her feet.
Heart pounding, she put the car into park and scanned the apartment’s lot, searching for the dark figure that had been standing behind her car.
She slammed her hand down on the lock button then scrambled for the phone.
“…you okay? What the hell is going on?”
“I’m fine,” she breathed, still looking around. “Just a guy behind my car. I could have hit him.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No,” she replied, pulse calming. “No, he’s gone.”
“Jeez, you really need a good release after that scare. Hang up the phone, get your butt over to their house, and have a damn good time. And don’t forget to call me at ten. And I want details!”
She promised, clicked off the phone, and set it in her console. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and carefully eased out of her space.
Though she kept a vigilant eye out, Emma did not see the man again. Just as well. She had no time for either explanations or apologies.
Her excitement built again as she put the incident from her mind and headed toward Griff and Mason.
The seat beneath her bare ass gradually warmed with her body heat, but the leather pushed against her skin, reminding her with every mile what she was getting herself into.
She exited the freeway and continued on the frontage road, coasting to a stop as the light turned red. Emma looked around and saw the busy, crowded gas station on the far right corner. Several cars moved in and out of the parking lot. She gulped and wiggled, hoping none of the taller trucks left as she passed by. The light from the gas station’s roof would show everything.
That thought induced another pulse and wiggle.
A horn beeped and she looked up, but the light was still red. Then a loud whistle cracked the night air, seeping through her closed window, and she cringed, head slowly turning to the left.
A truck was in the left lane next to her, its passenger grinning down at her with obvious appreciation. He was young, a college kid, boyishly handsome and enjoying the show. He cranked his hand, but she shook her head.
No way was she rolling down her window.
He yelled again. He thought she had gorgeous legs. Emma smiled.
The light went green, and she winked, waved, and gunned the car through the light. In her rearview, she watched the truck turn slowly left and disappear under the freeway bridge.
She sighed, settled back into the seat, and concentrated on wending her way through the quiet neighborhood.
With three minutes to spare, she pulled up in front of a large Tudor-style house.
Small, strategically placed spotlights up-lit the brick walls from beneath a row of carefully pruned hedges. The entire property was neat, well groomed, and tastefully expensive.
She grinned, slid from the car, and tugged down her skirt. As she shut the door and headed for the entrance, headlights swept over her. A car passed her slowly then prowled up the road, taillights winking out as it left the street.
Another bubble of sass-tinged amusement rocked her as she wondered what they saw when she pulled down her skirt.
Emma walked up the cobblestone sidewalk, admired the neatly kept flowerbeds lining the entry, and knocked on the door.
No answer. She frowned. Did she have the wrong house? Emma fished into her small purse, pulled out the card, and checked the address against the discreet wrought iron numbers underneath the black torch.
Nope, this was it.
She took a deep breath and knocked again.
The door opened with a slow, long pull.
Mason stood there, honey-blond hair sleek and wet. Bare, broad shoulders glinted with droplets of water. Had he just gotten out of the shower?
As she watched, a single drop glided from his shoulder, down impressive and cut pecs to get lost in the light-brown trail of hair furring his abdomen.
Damn, the man was seriously toned. She wanted to reach out and pull her fingers down along the ripple of his abs and into the unbuttoned fly of his jeans.
Her mouth went stone dry.
“You’re late.”
Chapter Four
Mason watched the smile drop from Emma’s face with satisfaction. She wasn’t late, of course, but she didn’t need to know that. Part of the process was keeping the sub off-guard. Anything to promote tension and fear and adrenaline-driven emotions.
With someone as untried and pure as Emma, they needed to find out just how far and hard they could push her. The power inherent in the position was heady, and he kept a tight rein on his empathic abi
lity. Already her passion thudded in his awareness, roused his cock and all of his senses.
He couldn’t wait to have this little bird under him, around him, astride him.
Her nostrils flared, and her eyes widened. She flattened a palm to her stomach, an instinctive gesture, perhaps, and swayed.
He took her arm and pulled her gently inside. At first, he wasn’t sure what the warmth was or where it came from, but the further into the house she walked, the longer he touched her, the greater the heat.
Mason slanted a look at her, eyeing her with new interest. Their short interlude in her apartment had shown him how desirable she was, but he’d not expected this level of intensity so soon.
Of course, Emma’s desires, as unorganized as they were, pounded relentlessly at both of them. He dropped her arm.
“I’m not late,” she said.
He cocked his head. “First you’re late, now you’re going to argue? A sub who likes to live dangerously, I see.”
Her pretty green eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically. “No, no, that’s not it at all. Well, it is a little bit, but not intentionally. I didn’t want to be late, you see, so I left myself plenty of time to get here. I just don’t understand.”
He chuckled and decided to let her off the hook. “Nah, you weren’t late. I’m just messing with you.”
Her shoulders slumped for a brief moment before she slammed her hands on her hips. “Well, that’s a rotten trick.”
“But fun.”
As she started to relax, her eyes took in their house, much as they’d cataloged hers. He knew with her artistic eye, she’d pick up on the understated renaissance theme. Both men preferred the masculine tones of the time period, and it suited their often darker sexual desires.
Domming someone was a bit difficult with splashes of sunshine yellow and dots of sweet pink littering the place.
“You have a lovely home,” she said, eyes returning to him.
Mason inclined his head, probing her lightly. Her pulse, while still a little too fast, was strong and acute. Her breathing had evened out, as well. About the only thing that continued to rise was her lust.
Perfect.
In the hour since they’d discovered some of her triggers, Griff had spent his time carefully selecting toys and preparing the play room. Mason took the liberty of downloading the movie trailers she’d shown them. They would play on the large television in the room while they, in turn, played with her.
Emma shifted on the carpet. She was nervous, excited, and scared.
Those were all very good emotions as far as he was concerned.
A door closed behind him, and Griff’s strong presence skittered along his senses just before he entered the living room.
“You’re on time, Miss Haskins. A good start. Mason, have you shown her the contract?”
“Not yet.”
Griff lifted a cool brow. “Why not? We’re here to train Miss Haskins, but I can certainly take care of a little discipline problem, should you need it.”
Emma grinned, and he felt himself color slightly. “Unnecessary,” he bit out and grabbed the paper from the table.
He beckoned to Emma. When she stood next to him, he leaned into her and his shoulder nudged hers. “I’m going to take that smirk out on your ass and enjoy every swat.”
She stilled on the outside, but all sorts of fireworks exploded internally, and he knew he’d scored.
“Glad we understand each other.” Mason quickly outlined the contract, hitting the safe, sane, consensual highlights. He noted the agreed-upon hard limits, glossed over her soft limits—what few there were—and handed her a pen. “Sign here.”
Her fingers closed over his, and another sweet spark flashed through him. It did not dissipate when she took the pen away. She nibbled her bottom lip and read the contract before nodding sharply, then signed her name with a flourish. Mason noted her fingers shook as she set the pen down. The girl had a lot of bravado.
He shared a glance with Griff, noted he’d caught the fine tremor, and grinned. Oh, this was going to be fun.
“Excellent,” Griff said smoothly. “I have few rules, Miss Haskins, some of which we’ve already discussed. Would you like me to reiterate?”
“Yes, please.”
He sighed and lifted a forefinger. “That’s one. The rules are simple. You will address us both as ‘Sir’. You will instantly obey every command you are given. You will maintain any and every position we put you in. You will use your safe word should the scene get too hard for you. If you choose to use your safe word, we will immediately end the play. What is your safe word?”
“Journal, Sir.”
“Good girl. Are you familiar with the color system?”
“Yes, Sir. I say green, yellow or red. Green is good, yellow for slow down, and red means stop.”
“Perfect. Use of this system will merely do those actions. It will not end the scene. Keep that in mind when choosing your words.”
Emma nodded her acceptance, and Mason heaved a silent breath as Griff’s anticipation blasted through him.
He could tell his friend was more than ready to get started with this one. She excited Griff in ways he hadn’t felt in a long damn time. It was almost too much. Mason clenched his teeth against the roil of lust. Griff looked at Mason and nodded. “Let’s take her back.”
* * * *
Emma followed Griff down the hallway, acutely conscious of Mason as he strolled behind her.
If their intent was to heighten her awareness of them, it worked in spades. Her entire body thrummed with a strange kind of anticipatory energy. She wondered if Mason was using his powers to amp her swirled emotions. She decided it didn’t really matter. Her body was aware and eager, magic or not.
Emma still could not believe she was here, in a house with two strangers and inviting them to do wicked, delectable things to her. She might kick herself later for listening to her body and not her brain, but right now, lust trumped common sense.
The forbidden and dangerous aspect of it all appealed to her, too. Strangers didn’t know who she was, wouldn’t condemn her for the lustful thoughts in her mind. They wouldn’t expect her to be the good girl, the sweet girl.
No, Griff and Mason offered her more than an induction into the world of BDSM. They afforded her the opportunity to be as bold and dirty and nasty as she wanted to be.
The power inherent in the realization nearly had her coming as she walked.
Griff stopped in front of a door tucked into the right side of the hallway. He placed a hand on the knob and looked her full in the face.
“Once I open this door, the only way out is your safe word. What is it?”
“Journal, Sir,” she said.
He smiled as if pleased at her swift and unhesitating response. “Good girl. Are you nervous?”
Emma took stock of herself. Her heart beat like a wild demon, sweat slickened her palms, and her knees quivered as though she’d run a fifteen-mile course. “Yes.”
Griff’s smile grew even wider. “For a minute there, I was sure you were going to lie.” He chucked her under the chin. “I’m glad you didn’t, Emma.” His voice and face went all serious. “Honesty is vital here. Especially with you.”
She frowned. “Why especially?”
Mason moved next to her, one broad shoulder propped against the wall. “Because you lack boundaries. I know we keep harping on that, but it’s important to know what you like, don’t like, can tolerate, and are willing to try. For most subs, there is a conscious understanding of the rules. But for you, there just doesn’t seem to be any. Remember, Emma, that’s the reason the Council got involved. You are wide open. Too open. It’s dangerous. What we’re about to do is help you dial in and find your comfort zone.” Mason winked at her. “The zone we will then work to break you out of.”
Griff opened the door and pushed it wide then waved her inside. “Welcome to our play room.”
Emma hesitated at the doorway.
&nb
sp; “Second thoughts, Miss Haskins?”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Miss Haskins sounds so formal. Don’t you think Emma would be better?”
He gave her a half-smile. “No, I don’t.” He cupped her elbow and propelled her inside. “In fact, in a matter of moments, I’m going to be calling you slut, whore, and bitch.”
Nerves assailed her again. Emma swiped her damp hands over her short skirt, swallowed hard, and stepped into the room.
It was completely not what she expected. Instead of harsh, industrial lighting, exposed pipes, and a concrete floor, the space appeared warm and nicely furnished.
For a slave-training bondage space.
She clamped her lips down on the nervous giggle.
Soft, eggshell-white carpet went wall to wall, which were painted a similarly light-toned color and accented with various pieces of decorative iron Celtic art and a huge flat-panel television. A rush of heated lust ran through her at the flickering images. She recognized the trailers she’d shown them only an hour ago.
Burnt-orange candles flickered in sconces, imbuing the room with both a welcoming warmth and the sensual scent of sandalwood.
She relaxed enough not to freak out when she saw the other implements of the fetish world she was about to enter. A row of floggers in varying materials, lengths, and sizes were neatly arranged on the top of the mahogany sideboard, which looked antique and Shaker-made.
She squelched another bubble of laughter. Somehow she didn’t think the Quakers would approve of the repurposing.
A blue velvet bondage bench sat angled in the far corner. She’d seen several online, but nothing like this. They’d obviously had it custom made. The bench had a flat, cushioned top on black metal risers. Attached to the top were two smaller padded slats that hung down on iron chains. She presumed the slats were bolted into the underside of the bench top. Farther down the legs were iron rings, and hanging down from the top was a sturdy-looking metal chain.
Her brain went into overdrive as she imagined all the ways she could be strapped down, opened up, and used on that bench.
Griff passed through her line of sight, and she shook herself back to awareness. He stepped in front of the blue device and to the sideboard. He opened a drawer and studied its contents. From her vantage point, she could not see what he was looking at.
Enlightened [Sexual Magic 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 7