by Avery Aster
“I want you so bad that no rules apply,” he says. He looks to Ryder. “When you love someone, nothing stands in your way.”
“Yeah, I know how fucking disloyal you can be. How you can stab a friend in the back.”
I stare at Ryder. He’s never said anything that harsh to Xavier before.
Xavier blanches—he goes so pale his tan almost disappears. “I never meant that to happen.”
I hold my breath. What does he mean by “that”?
“Don’t you know I’ve loved Tessa for years?” Xavier says. “The only reason I didn’t try to take her from you was respect. I respect you. I owe you.” His voice drops very soft for those last three words. I owe you.
Why does he owe Ryder?
“But you let her go,” Xavier continues. “She’s working in a diner—working herself to exhaustion. She should have finished college. ”
I can see the pain on Ryder’s face. I have to break in. “That’s not Ryder’s fault, that’s my choice. He wanted to be generous—I was the one to stop him. I’ve let him do things for Jakey, but I wanted to be independent. I want to pay my way. After my father died, I saw how my mom struggled to build a career and how she felt overwhelmed because my dad took care of everything. But I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”
Both men look surprised.
“But I want to take care of you,” Xavier begins.
“I want to be an equal in a relationship, not an obligation, Xavier. I’m flattered you both care for me and want to fight for me—”
“But it will always be your choice. You are the one in control here, Tessa. You are strong,” Xavier says.
Ryder said I was, too. But I don’t feel strong.
“What do you want tonight?” Xavier asks. “Do you want to spend it with me? Or stick to the rules? If that’s what you want, I’ll hand you over to Ryder. But I don’t want to let you go.”
“Back off,” Ryder says abruptly. “Or I’ll break your nose here.”
Xavier straightens, hands fisted.
“Stop it,” I shout. “I should tell both of you to go to your rooms and cool down. But it’s Ryder’s turn tonight. I’m willing to live by that. But don’t expect me to spend my evening putting ice on your bruises if you fight.”
Ryder—the UFC champion—looks sheepish. As does Xavier, who is often called the “Hottest New Billionaire Under Thirty.
Xavier runs his hand through his dark hair. “I apologize, Tessa. I will let you spend tonight with Ryder.” He gives me a soft kiss on the cheek, and as soon as he’s done, Ryder wraps his arm possessively around my waist. Ryder leads me around the pool and orders me another drink.
I take one look back at Xavier. I’m not sure if this is going to be a relaxing vacation in paradise after all. Not when I have to make a choice between them.
A stunningly attractive woman with long, straight black hair is standing beside Xavier, and they soon strike up a conversation. My heart gives a strange twist in my chest.
I’m jealous. What is that telling me?
Then Ryder murmurs, “Tessa, ready to leave?”
When I meet Ryder’s gorgeous turquoise eyes, I feel the same ache in my heart. How can I feel so much longing for both of them?
“What are we going to do tonight?” I ask Ryder.
He leans close to whisper by my ear, “Visit Eden’s incredible dungeon. That’s what I’ve got planned for us.”
Chapter Five
Ryder – at Night
Ryder changes into Dom clothes. With his six-foot-four inch height, his lean, muscular body, he looks totally dominant. He also looks intimidating. Leather pants ride low on his hips, revealing the defined ridges of his hip bones. I know he’s not wearing anything underneath them—he never does. He wears boots with heavy silver buckles. Some men wear vests as their club wear but he goes bare-chested. Only his dragon tattoo covers any of his tanned, naked torso.
I found clothes for me waiting in gift boxes in my room. One box held a corset of dark purple satin with black leather trim. Embroidered swirls of black decorate it—swirls with diamonds sewn in. I wear a short frilly black skirt, thigh-high fishnet stockings, and killer black heels. A long black coat is provided so I can cover what I’m wearing to go downstairs.
Ryder and I are driven to the huge castle and enter through a side door.
“Spiral stone steps? Ooh, authentic.” I’m talking lightly to hide my nerves.
“Reality is whatever you want it to be.” He grins. “Remember?”
Ryder helps me down the stairs—I haven’t walked in stilettos for a while. We reach a black door that is decorated with red dragons. He raps on it and a small grille slides open. Ryder gives his name and the door is opened to us.
We walk down another flight of stairs—these are wood, wide and elegant, and the walls are covered in panels of soft gold.
We reach the bottom. A reception desk stands there and a woman with pale blond hair and a black corset is seated behind it. Her long nails are painted black. The reception area holds comfy-looking black leather couches and a glass coffee table.
“Good evening, Mr. King,” the woman says brightly. “Your room is prepared.”
The girl, who gives her name as Natalie, wants to lead us to the room, but Ryder takes the key from her and gets the directions. Alone together, we walk around the dungeon scene—Ryder lets me walk in front.
Other Doms look at me. Ryder’s handsome face is cool, controlled, but he makes it clear that I am his and his alone.
I fell in love with this world—with having the whole night focused on sex and exploring boundaries. Focused on us. Our trust. Our communication.
Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when I realized he didn’t trust me completely.
I see other scenes around us. A woman in a costume of leather straps submits to a spanking. The tall muscular blond man paddles her bare bottom and her full butt cheeks quiver. She pants and her face glows with arousal. Her Dom is excited too, but fighting to look cool, to not show how hot and lusty she is making him.
A male submissive is being tied up by another man. A female Dom is preparing to punish him. Emotions are raw here—and in some ways simple. A sub who has crossed a line is punished. It is expected, anticipated. Sometimes the greater pain in life is to not be punished. If you go through the pain, you can recover from it. Waiting and waiting for it is so hard.
I always felt with Ryder—when we broke up—that he was as relieved as he was unhappy. That hurt me.
Now I realize he wasn’t relieved because he wanted to leave me. He was relieved because he had finally had to live through the thing he dreaded.
I can hear Ryder’s breathing behind me. He’s fighting to control it so he’s not obviously breathing hard with desire. I can feel his tension.
Ryder takes me into our private room. A sense of longing for the past hits me. A longing for when we were both in our very early twenties and were totally hot for each other. I’m still completely hot for him.
The walls are painted in dark purple and gold. Black benches and devices are along one wall. On the opposite wall hang whips, handcuffs, floggers, coiled ropes.
I never wanted pain, and Ryder never asked to bestow it on me. He picks up a length of black rope and walks up to me. He runs the rope over my shoulders, my arms, the swell of my breasts. My knees shake with desire.
“I know you like to be tied up, Tessa.”
Complete trust. Like we once had. “That is so much what I want.”
He draws my hands behind my back. I get wet as he binds my wrists together, as I feel the rope gently tightening. When he’s done, I can’t move my hands apart. And my pussy is aching.
Ryder gently moves me to one of the leather benches and sits me down. He eases my breasts up so they are perched on top of the corset. My breasts are bigger since I had Jakey, my nipples are darker, larger, and I love to have them tugged until they grow long.
Just the touch of his fingers makes both my
nipples get hard and plump.
My wrists are bound, leaving me vulnerable. But I don’t have anything to fear. I can submit without danger. He is a fighter, built of solid muscle and so strong he could hurt me, but I know he won’t.
I want Ryder to tie my ankles.
But he has other ideas.
He drops coils of pale white rope on a black bench. A silver ice bucket stands in the corner, I now realize. He takes out the bottle of champagne. At his deft touch, the cork releases with an explosive pop. The sound vibrates through my body—my nipples tingle, my pussy pulses.
Champagne whooshes to the top of the bottle, Ryder catches most of it in a tall crystal flute. He brings it to me. Dipping his finger in, he traces my lips. I sit obediently.
The champagne is slightly tart. His finger is hard, firm. I’m so aware of all these sensations, like they are magnified. I stick out my tongue to lick his finger but he moves back.
Ryder paints my nipples until the champagne drips off them. Then he leans in and catches the drops on his tongue—
Before sucking my nipples. Hard.
It’s so good. I squirm on the bench. He feeds me sips of champagne, then paints my erect nipples and licks them clean.
He drops to one knee.
I catch my breath.
When we do this, we don’t speak very much. He isn’t like other men, who talk when they are Doms, playing out the role.
Ryder doesn’t want words. I don’t need them.
His finger wetted by expensive champagne, he gently circles my clit under my skirt and inside my panties. I open my legs for him, but he firmly grips my ankles and holds them together. This is the man who I married in a simple ceremony. This is the man who was with me every minute when I was in labor with Jakey, who talked me through it.
This is the man I wanted to love forever.
First he takes off my panties, sliding them down my legs. There is serious tingling over my skin as he does it. He slides rope around my ankles. I shut my eyes. Loving the sensation. The slight scratch. The pressure. The tightening as he winds it tighter.
I’m his. All his. His to command.
When I’m bound at my ankles, he plays with the ropes. He undoes my corset, freeing me from it, then binds my breasts with the silky white ropes. He loops the ropes into a figure eight, trapping my breasts until they are erotically squeezed.
He feeds me my glass of champagne, lifting it carefully so I can drink.
When I am on all fours on the bench, my ass sticking out, he walks around where I can see him. With a graceful motion, he strips off his boots and his pants. His erection springs up as his pants go down, revealing how hard he is.
“I will make love to you now,” he says.
I close my eyes, breathing a sigh of pure pleasure. “Please.”
I want this so much. His cock is so familiar—thick, straight, the head wider than the shaft. Xavier’s cock has a more proportional head. Xavier’s cock is beautiful and so is Ryder’s. I’ve always loved every inch of his package.
He approaches me with a black leather blindfold. He covers my eyes and ties it behind my head. “So you can think only about what I’m doing to you.”
“I won’t be thinking of anything else,” I breathe. My lashes brush the smooth, supple leather.
With my eyes closed, I strain to be aware of him. I listen for his breathing, his movement. I smell his skin and a hint of aftershave. Something crisp and fresh.
Something skims down my spine. I am wearing the ropes around my breasts, ropes at my wrists and ankles, and only my skirt besides. He pushes up my skirt, and the warm caress on my cheeks is his hands.
His finger slides through the diamond-shaped space between my legs and he strokes my pussy. Something hard grazes my ass.
He gives a rough scratch of his teeth. Gently, so gently, presses his teeth into my ass. Not to bite or break skin, just enough so it makes my nerves tingle like wild.
“God, yes,” I whisper.
His teeth skim over me, then he parts my cheeks. I tremble in readiness. He licks between them. I’m clean from my shower.
His tongue strokes my anus, just briefly. But even a moment is enough to make me melt.
I need him inside me. I’m hurting with wanting him so much.
His cock bumps my ass. Finally. Yes, yes. “Please.” It comes out desperate. Strained with need.
I feel the pressure of the head against my pussy lips. I concentrate on welcoming him inside me. The man I loved with all my heart.
Thick, rigid, his cock fills me. He drives in on one thrust, and I’m so wet it feels amazing to have him fill me so quick.
Slowly, he thrusts into my pussy, driving his cock deep into me. I know he’s restraining his power. He can hold me in the air while fucking me, he’s so strong. He’s searching for the rhythm that will take me there. To ecstasy.
He’s bringing me close, in this endless beautiful rhythm—
He stops. Withdraws. I’m sobbing almost. Then I feel the pressure of him between my cheeks, against my entrance.
This is super intense for me. I want it now.
I push back against him, trying to make my anus flare and take him in. His cock is hot. I don’t need lubricant, I am so used to this. I feel the pop against the ring of muscle. I hiss out my breath.
Then he’s thrusting in my ass. His hands find my breasts and he tugs at my nipples.
His thrusts are hard. “You can take so much,” he says. “You amaze me. You’re exquisite, angel.”
“Oh!” His words are like the last stimulation. My ass is so aroused, my body on the edge, then I tip over, falling into a glorious swirl of pleasure.
He keeps fucking me, taking me into a second orgasm. The first was luscious pleasure. This one—
It’s sheer agony. It consumes me. I’m screaming. Screaming his name.
He drives into me, and I feel him come. His body jerks, out of control, while mine is shaking and exploding.
Then I’m spent and I collapse onto the bench, resting on my cheek, my chest. Ryder lifts me. He takes off the blindfold. I realize he wore a condom. A good thing, but once we never had to worry about him wearing one because we were hoping to get pregnant.
Sitting me on the bench, he removes the ropes, cleans me lovingly. His eyes trace the red lines that frame my breasts. “That was beautiful, Tessa. We’re still good together.”
I never doubted that. And my throat feels tight.
Something moves in a shadowed corner. I jerk in shock—then realize I’ve seen the light playing across the surface of a tall mirror. I can see Ryder’s back reflected as he retrieves his leather pants and my corset.
For the first time, I see a full view of Ryder’s ass, his back, and his intricate tattoo in a mirror. In all the time I dated him, then married him, I’ve never seen this view—a complete reflected view of his back.
The tattoo of a coiled dragon covers half of Ryder’s back, his right arm and shoulder. The dragon is ready to fight, breathing fire. The colors in the dragon are dull gold, deep reds, greens, blues and black. It makes Ryder look like he’s part dragon—or that he can shift shape and become a fierce one.
Now I see the tattoo and think it looks as if his skin has been drawn away to reveal a beast inside him. As if there is always a beast inside him.
But I realize a design I thought was part of the dragon’s scales is actually stylized text. Done solely in black ink, it spells a word. And you can only read it in a mirror.
“Your tattoo,” I say suddenly. “I didn’t realize it spells a word. It spells ‘Survival.’ Did you mean in the octagon?” I ask. “But you’ve done much more than survive. You fight to win, Ryder. You fight to be triumphant.”
He pulls on his pants. Then says, “The octagon is about survival. That’s what fighting is about. It’s the heart of it. Not a victory, but coming out alive.”
I’m stunned. My brain flips what he’s said inside and out. He fought to survive. He was afraid he wouldn�
��t survive…but what was he really afraid of? “Ryder, I’ve never seen you in a fight where you looked like you were in trouble.” I saw his blood get spilled—that was like a punch in my gut. I saw him with his eye almost swollen shut. His nose broken. But even then, he fought like a wild man. Like a machine. Like someone not even human, and I never doubted he would win. He was so driven. Not even pain could stop him.
“In the octagon, I’m not just fighting my opponent. I’m fighting—”
“You’re fighting whatever it is that haunts you. It was something you thought you wouldn’t survive.”
I’m scared now. Scared for him. I don’t care about the games anymore. All I care about is Ryder. I touch his arm, stroking it. Then I get up so I can embrace him and hold him to me.
“Tessa, it was a long time ago. I survived it.”
“Is that why you made the tattoo—because you survived this thing?” But it doesn’t look like the kind of thing you would do to celebrate a victory. “Or did you do it to remind yourself to fight to survive? Is that why you train all the time? Because you’re afraid if you stop, you might not survive?”
“It’s complicated.” He helps me back into my dark purple corset. “Come back to my room tonight.” His voice is hoarse. “Spend the night with me. The whole night.”
I know what he’s asking. It’s not about sex. It’s about intimacy.
He wants us to sleep together as we did when we were married and together. If I do it, I’m telling him I love him.
I do love him. But I love Xavier too—when Xavier spoke of living together, having a family together, I was touched deeply.
“I can’t sleep with you tonight. I’m not ready yet. Once I do that, I’ve told you that I want to be with you again.”
“Wasn’t this enough? Don’t you know which of us you want?” Ryder looks hurt.
“Not yet.” He looks the way he did on the night I said we had to break up. “I’m sorry,” I say.
His fist slams into one of the leather benches.