Mastered By The Mavericks

by Angel Payne

  “Imagine that,” Rhett rebutted. “Jokes. From you. Best coping mechanism there is—especially if anyone starts to mention real feelings. And you wonder why I keep my distance?”

  Rebel colored. At least she thought he did. His skin, perpetually tanned, turned the shade of coffee beans. “Your ‘distance’ has nothing to do with my jokes.”

  “But everything to do with what I deserve.” He jerked his head toward Brynna. “And what she deserves, too. Which is better than your damn jokes.”

  “And you’re the better, is that it? She’s better off with your glass tower over my swamp and sack?”

  “Enough!” Brynn’s throat hurt from the violence of it. The effort was worth it. She stunned the hulks so thoroughly, she was able to push between them. Both only budged back by a step, but it was a start. “First, she is right here, you baboons.” She ziplined her glare back and forth between them. A much-needed moment of levity came from imagining them both with bare red asses, chomping on fleas from their own fur. “Secondly, she isn’t anyone’s damn playing piece!”

  Rebel’s skin darkened again. Thank God she was more pissed at than attracted to him at the moment, because the richer mocha brew beneath his skin was a finer-than-fine compliment to his thick black hair, full pirate lips, and delicious cinnamon scent. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Shut up. I don’t care what you meant. This is about what I meant.” She curled a hand into his shirt, feeling a little heady when his pupils dilated, his forehead clenched, and his nostrils flared. “I appreciated what you did for me on the plane, but don’t think I bought your lame little excuse of ‘distracting’ me from the take-off. I’ve faced scarier shit than that flight in the last year of my life alone, Moonstormer.” Dear God, how he fulfilled that call-sign so perfectly—at some times more than others. Like now. His gaze was a thousand shades, all of them deep as ocean waters under moon-drenched skies. “I wanted you as badly as you wanted me.” She tugged him closer. “Wanted, not needed. Got that?”

  His focus dropped to her mouth. His stubbled jaw gained new angles of tension. “Yes…ma’am.”

  They stared at each other through long seconds, marked only by her pulse in her ears, perfectly synched to the thrums in her feminine flesh. Oh God, how swiftly he could make her wet…

  She breathed hard, fully expecting Rhett’s snicker to cut in anytime. He was still back there; she could feel him. Hovering? Waiting? No way would he let this chance for a gloat pass by, especially after all the venom the two of them had spat.

  Finally, her curiosity relentless, she released Rebel’s shirt and turned around.

  Double-Oh hadn’t moved. Or, it seemed, blinked. Immediately, she was enthralled by his thrall, his stare taking in Rebel and her like a newb in his first strip club. And yeah, she knew what she was talking about. A dancer in Vegas, even employed by the shows that required her to cover up, had been to a few skin joints in her time. Dumbstruck was as irresistible on him as the blush was on Moonstormer. His normal shit’s-all-together scowl was replaced by a lost boy parting of his sinfully full lips.

  A pout she couldn’t help kissing.

  Just a short buss, but more than enough to charge the air all over again with his essence, sage and sea and all man, that was solely his. God, she’d missed that smell.

  “For the record, and just in case you’ve forgotten,”—she stabbed a censuring look at Rebel over her shoulder—“and because nothing’s happened since—what went down between you and me was just as consensual.” She set him free then moved back, making sure her vision could include them both. “Let’s get something straight, gentlemen. There are no ‘pawns’ or ‘playing pieces’ here. As you’ve both astutely noted, I’m a woman—but not one of the submissive things you usually like playing with, so I’ll cut you some slack for not getting a clue before now. That being said, listen carefully.” She angled up her chin and cocked a hand to a hip. “I know how to identify what I want and with whom I want it. I also possess the full capacity to understand the expectations—or not—that are involved in that choice. I enjoyed the times I spent with both of you, got it?”

  The demand opened the pause she needed for regaining composure. Enjoyed was a damn huge understatement of how both these men had deep-fried her blood, fondue-dipped her heart, and hot-wired her libido. Only four days with them, and she almost couldn’t imagine life without them. And no, it wasn’t because they’d both opened this whole rodeo with their unique versions of warrior sex. Correction: unique and incredible warrior sex. That hadn’t hurt, but it wasn’t everything. Not by far.

  That truth shone even brighter as she looked at both of them again. Damn, what a sight. How did the room physically contain them both? Her Viking and her pirate. Her North Sea and Caribbean Sea. Her gold-haired god, her black-haired demon. They were two halves of one very perfect bond. Inseparable. Balanced.

  Until…they weren’t.

  Because she’d entered the picture.

  Which means they can’t ever really be yours.

  Which meant the sooner they found Zo and disbanded this triangle peg in a round hole, the better.

  She just wished the guys appeared more on-board with that plan.

  Jamming hands in his front pockets, again practically pouting about it, Rhett mumbled, “Yeah. Got it.”

  He joined her in pinning expectant stares at Rebel. Who wasn’t pouting. Or mumbling. Or stabbing his hands anywhere near his pockets.

  Instead, he stepped over and wrapped both of them around her nape. Curled his fingertips into her hair, yanking her head back—so he could kiss her with blatant, consuming intent.

  “Sorry. I don’t ‘got it’. I need to be reminded of how much you ‘enjoyed’ everything.”

  He dictated the last of it against her lips, somehow opening them at the same time. As soon as the words were done, his tongue got busy. Real busy. Plunging, taking, swirling, so wet and strong and dominant…

  Holy.

  Shit.

  It was one of those moments she’d always read in books but wrote off to pure fiction: of shock so thorough, nothing but numbness reigned for several seconds. She couldn’t take a breath, make a sound, think of a movement. When she finally could, the sensible answer checked in at once.

  Slap him.

  But oh God…she didn’t want to slap him.

  She wanted to sigh and melt and open for him more, to acquiesce completely, to make the desperation and frustration of the last three days go away, if only for a little while longer. Oh, please…just a few moments more…

  Like that was going to be possible, with Rhett all but breathing down her neck too.

  Rhett.

  Hell! She was all but sucking face with Rebel, while Rhett—

  Made all of it even better.

  Ohhhhh…wow.

  He really had been breathing down her neck—as she learned when he did it even harder, pushing in to get a better view of every stab Rebel thrusted down her throat. For several seconds, she fell into numbness again. Could she trust the feedback her senses were sending? Were those really Rhett’s growls against her ear, growing with arousal? Was that really his cock, swelling and insistent, against her waist? Was the new scent in the air, all turned-on spiced musk, really swirling from her sex?

  Was she okay with this? Were they?

  Those answers were still a blank space—but wouldn’t be for long.

  Rhett emitted a louder snarl, punctuated by lifting his hand to Brynn’s neck. Chafed her by pushing beneath Rebel’s hold and taking charge of her head with brutal force—twisting her around for his tongue’s ferocious assault.

  The abrasions were worth it. The inability to think beneath his mouth’s possessive claim, also worth it. But the best reward of all came with the fresh force in his eyes, sheened with lust but strong as steel, as he jerked away and spoke his filler for the blank space.

  “Maybe you need to remind us both, sweetheart. Right now. Together.”

  Chapter Nine

>   ‡

  RHETT WATCHED THE yes fire up her eyes before it lifted her lips. The light, piercing as dawn through autumn leaves, mesmerized him just as thoroughly—until she turned to give its magic to Reb—

  Who was just as worthy of the words.

  Mesmerizing. Magical.

  Christ. He’d never seen Moon look like this. The man illuminated rooms no matter where they went, but his luminosity always copied the celestial satellite he was nicknamed after, borrowing the glow from something else. Now, for the first time in their friendship, the joy on Rebel’s face was an inner thing, inspired by something that was purely his…

  Magnified as they locked eyes once more.

  The guy’s happiness ricocheted at Rhett like a rocket, decimating his chest with its intensity. Rebel had gotten it—thank God. Had understood everything Rhett was trying to communicate with this proposition. Though he couldn’t give Reb that extra step in their relationship—fuck, regular friendship still wasn’t something he knew how do correctly—this was his way of trying. A bridge, in the form of this beautiful, passionate woman, to at least connect them halfway. And God only knew, all three of them needed reconnection right now. No guilt. No strings. Just heat, desire, bonding, fulfillment. Just this. Just now. It was a win-win-win.

  He really liked those odds.

  “Rebel?”

  Brynna’s query reminded him that Moon hadn’t verbally weighed in on things yet. Psshh. A formality, really. Rhett almost bellowed the hell, yes on behalf of his friend.

  Damn good thing he didn’t.

  Whoa. Rebel really had become a different person. The usual Moonstormer would have been jumping on this invite like it was engraved in gold from the Playboy Mansion. A let’s-get-naked playdate, with Brynna and him, no regrets or rearviews attached? Why the idiot wasn’t dropping trou this second, instead of taking a step back from them both, was a deepening mystery.

  “Reb?” Rhett issued his own cautious prompt. “You down or not?” And did he really have to voice it?

  Rebel looked up—exposing the bright blue flashes in his gaze. “Oh, I’m down.” He moved back in, slipping one hand over Brynna’s, before spreading her fingers over his crotch. The swell beneath his track pants visibly jumped, stretching a cock-shaped silhouette into the black cotton.

  Rhett barely stopped himself from swaying.

  Goddamn, that was a stunning sight.

  A gulp pounded down his throat. How the hell had this happened? He’d always been an open-minded guy, but as a whole, cock did nothing for him. In prep schools since the age of ten and cross-country at RIT, he’d been in enough group showers to know it as a sure thing. Pussy was definitely more his thing. Soft. Supple. Tender. Tasty.

  But the cock in those pants wasn’t just any cock. It belonged to the guy who knew him better than anyone else. The man who’d seen enough ugliness in his life not to be bothered about the strange journey of his. The guy who understood what it was like to take life in chunks of now instead of pining for the past or stressing about the future, because none of it mattered if a bomb blew your face away. The man who was more his family than the people with whom he shared DNA. His brother in arms, his friend in all times of need—and in so many ways, his soulmate.

  Who’d understand, more than anyone, his need to deal with this shit by making light of it. “Looks like you’re up for it too, dude.”

  Rebel didn’t laugh. Or react in much of any other way. The fucker was still an enigma, his face a taut mask as he caught Brynna’s other wrist in his hold. He pulled her hands between their chests with a low growl. “Let’s be very clear. I want to do this with you as badly as Rhett does, little cher…”

  “But?” She supplied the implied word.

  “But this time, I won’t be able to control myself as much as I did on the airplane. I won’t be able to hide so many of my…special preferences.” One side of his mouth kicked up—finally—when his revelation goose-bumped her flesh. “You’re a very bright girl, aren’t you? You’ve already figured out what they are. Maybe even thought about all the…creative ways…I could play with you.” His thumbs stroked her inner wrists. “Control you. Then pleasure you.”

  Rhett palmed the shaft now pushing at his own pants. “And I won’t be able to hide what that does to me.”

  Rebel nailed him with a hot glance. “I sure as hell hope not.”

  Well, that made things official. Track pants really could be torture devices.

  Brynna pushed out a cute huff—very cute, considering how tightly Reb still gripped her wrists. “Are you proposing a negotiation with me, Sir Moonstormer?” The little fox actually smirked. “Though there’s not likely a dungeon for miles, nor a submissive’s contract on the printer?”

  He and Rebel exchanged another glance. His buddy’s black brows arched, an ideal expression of the surprise they shared. “Those are some very kinky terms for a minette who claims she wants no part of the big, bad lifestyle.”

  “How do you think I came by that decision?” She tilted her head. “By hitting some Tumblr pages and reading a few novels?”

  Rebel smirked. “Novels aren’t a bad idea.”

  Rhett mirrored his look. “I’ve assigned a few well-researched romances as homework from time to time.”

  She huffed. “Is this the book club meeting now? If so, it’s time to let me go, cowboy.”

  As she ramped the sass up, Rebel caught Rhett’s eye again. Jerked his head imperceptibly toward the rolling workbox next to the desk. If Rhett wasn’t so fucking aroused, he would’ve been a little scared by how thoroughly he deduced the request.

  He reached the box, retrieved the bag of zip ties in the top drawer, and offered one to his friend. Inside three seconds, Reb had the strip secured around Brynna’s wrists. While he did that, Rhett moved to the corner near the sliding doors, removing a hanging plant from its overhead hook. Looping more of the zip ties together, he formed a chain that dangled from the hook, stopping when he reached a height that seemed right for Brynn standing there, wrists raised over her head.

  Rebel commended him with an approving growl. Didn’t waste any time guiding Brynna over. After letting Rhett take over by securing her in position with another tie, he stood back, arms folded across his chest, a sensual smirk on his lips. “How does that feel, mon chou? Nothing too tight or painful?”

  “I—” She pursed her lips as Rhett scooted back, joining his buddy to admire how their creativity paid off with the perfect showcase for every luscious curve of her body. “It’s not uncomfortable, if that’s what you mean.”

  Rebel nodded. It wasn’t just a surface move. Rhett knew the many different ways the guy already assessed her statement, weighing the nuances in her voice and the signals her body surrendered, even fully clothed. Rebel might be notorious for his now-you-see-him-now-you-don’t’s with submissives, but watching the man actually interact with a subbie was like beholding a champion tight rope act. Instincts ruled but mistakes had to be miniscule, and the end result was always incredible.

  Now, he was an actual part of it, too.

  And it was just as awesome as he’d imagined.

  The air crackled, alive with sexual promise. If only Brynna had gotten that memo. Her feelings were written on her face, betraying her uncertainty about what predicament her blind trust had gotten her into. But if Rhett had discovered anything about the woman during their first time between the sheets, it was her psyche’s odd relationship with fear. She kicked and screamed and protested about staring the bastard down, but moaned and sighed and climaxed once she’d let it do its worst. As if she didn’t believe she could come out on the other side alive…or the same.

  Was that how she looked at Dominants, too?

  And if so, why?

  More importantly, was this the start of helping her heal from that…what…Domphobia? Of helping her see that the pussy hustler—probably hustlers—of her past didn’t have to define the pleasure she could have now. That her submission was a treasure not just
to her Dominants but herself…a revival of her heart, body, and mind?

  Could they really bring that truth to her now?

  He couldn’t wait to try.

  He took his turn to press close to her, framing her face with his hand, one thumb beneath her chin. “Comfortable is a good start, peach, but we want to know more. A lot more.”

  She inhaled sharply. Closed her eyes.

  He and Rebel hissed softly. Fuck, this was going to be good. She had to be just a couple of years younger than them, but she really was what she declared. A woman. Not some starry-eyed sub gazing up from the club floor, so desperate to please that half their brain power was sucked up attempting to get the right answer, instead of just giving the real answer.

  Down side? The moment he demanded “a lot more”, she knew exactly what it meant. They weren’t after the surface weather report now. They didn’t want “not uncomfortable”. They wanted everything beneath that. Truth. Honesty. Revelation.

  The hard shit.

  Her eyes, huge and unblinking, along with her breaths, short and thready, betrayed her acknowledgment of it—and the anxiety that resulted. That energy poured over Rhett, causing his nerves to green-light a race he’d never been to before. What a revelation she was. A submissive who fought surrender, even when every inch of her body screamed for it. The woman took “mind over matter” to a new level.

  Rebel stepped forward again. Rhett didn’t blame him. Clearly, the guy’s fascination with her was also piqued. They were like a couple of kids with a cool new toy. After years of dungeons and latex and high protocol, this shaky girl, in her T-shirt and pajama bottoms, was like Hot Wheels with booster rockets.

  Rebel braced the other side of her face, also pressing a thumb beneath her chin. “Talk to us, cher.” His demanding husk gave her no quarter. “We need to know everything. There’s no right or wrong here, no fantasy that’s forbidden or off-limits.” He dipped his face closer, nipping at the corner of her lips, giving Rhett a perfect view of the desire tightening his jaw, heating his gaze. “The more you give us, the more we can give you. And perhaps,”—he lifted his stare toward Rhett—“we’ll even push you a little. But all you have to do is communicate, to say no. Here, with us, that’s exactly what the word means.”