by Joey W. Hill
Flo pursed her lips. "Have you ever thought about Neanderthals?"
"Are you comparing the guys at the club to them?"
"No. I suspect Neanderthals were more polite. Anyway, I wonder what it was like to be cavemen, at a time long before social groups started forming, with rules and structure and implied expectations of behavior. What if the norm for committed relationships had been a threesome, instead of just two people? Then couples would face the questions you're asking yourself now. Well, everyone else chooses two people to love, but I only have this one person. Will it last? What if she or he decides they want a third at some point? How will society look at us as just a two-person family?"
"You're saying I'm worrying too much about it." Sam took another bite of her sandwich. "But it's even more than that. Geoff and Chris seem fine with it now, but what do I do if one of them ever finds someone else and it leaves just two of us? I love them both, so separately, it should still work the same, right? People have been doing fine with the idea of one-on-one forever. But it doesn't feel that way to me. I feel like if one of us died after all three of us were together forever, then the two left would still be together. That's a whole different thing. But if it's a matter of one of them walking away, it would be the end of it all. Like, hey, we are three people in love and I'm not settling for anything less."
"Nothing in life is guaranteed. You don't know what will happen until you get to it. But I can tell you what I do know. As with any relationship, if you want it bad enough, then you have to be willing to work your ass off for it, not just when it suits you, but every day. You also can't assume that every time Geoff mentions a handsome guy at work or Chris notices a pretty girl walking down the street, or one of them is in a bad mood, or if you fight about bills or who does what chore, that things are coming unraveled."
"We won't ever be able to be married. All of us."
"Being married on paper is a wonderful reinforcement of what's already in your hearts. A lack of paper doesn't change that. Enjoy the hell out of being with the people you love. Because the one thing we all know is none of us are given that gift forever."
The shadow that crossed Flo's eyes reminded Sam that she'd loved and lost before. She'd had to divorce an alcoholic husband who, when he cleaned up a decade later, had reconciled with Flo. He'd died two years after that. Sam nudged her friend, drawing her away from dark memories. "So are you going to the Carnival in the Round this weekend?"
"Have to go to my damn nephew's wedding," Flo grumbled. "It's a marriage doomed to failure, but I have to attend and pretend that opportunistic bitch won't wreck his life. I'll probably gain twenty pounds keeping my mouth occupied with hors d'oeuvres and wedding cake."
"Ouch." Sam winced. "We'll do extra walking when you get back. Damn, though. I hate that you're going to miss Madison's event."
"I have a feeling she'll be having another one. She's already reached her goal of two hundred and fifty attendees and had to turn another hundred or so away." Flo touched Sam's hand. "Which, circling back to the original point, says people are more open to exploring their desires and tolerating new ways of looking at them than ever before. I think people are learning Hey, even if that's not my thing, it's okay if it's their thing, as long as wrongful harm isn't being done. And as long as they're not shoving it in my face and saying I have to throw a party in honor of their form of freakiness." Flo arched a brow. "So I assume you're going?"
"Yes. We are. I even have something beautiful and crazy to wear to it." Sam thought of the mask and corset and imagined Chris in the pants Geoff had gotten for him. She wondered what Geoff would be wearing. "If you could go, who would you have brought? You know, to celebrate your own form of freakiness?"
"Hmm. He's a fifty-four-year-old Russian with eyes like a winter forest. He looks like a cross between a grungy biker and a wealthy mobster. He likes kissing my feet and calling me Mistress with this glint in his eyes that makes me want to tie him up and have my way with him. Since he likes that idea, too, it's win-win."
Sam's eyes widened and she scooted closer. "Why have I not heard about him before? When you talk about him, your eyes twinkle and you blush a little."
"I certainly do not," Flo said with mock horror. Sam poked at her with a potato chip and she fended her off. "Do not annoy me, subling."
"Is that anything like duckling? You just made that up."
"I did, but it fits."
"Don't get off topic. Tell me the first cool thing he did to attract your cold Domme heart. Details."
"You're a menace," Flo informed her, but her lips quivered, telling Sam she was going to relent and offer a couple of choice morsels of information. "The first time I was in a session with him, he put me up against a wall, my feet dangling six inches above the floor, and said, 'Are you afraid of me?'"
"No way. Did you kick him in the balls?"
"It's not about physical force." Flo sniffed. "Though it's intriguing how often a physically dominant man will test you that way. I told him no in a tone that would have frozen off your eyelashes, and to put me down. He looked down at his hands and said, 'You have tiny waist. Like bird. Mockingbird, mean and sleek at once.' Which is ridiculous, as I have an average-sized waist, but apparently he's been used to bigger women. He put me down, bent and kissed my feet to ask for forgiveness. But I think he introduced himself to me that way to prove how much stronger he was, that he could do anything he wanted to me. He knew that would excite me . . . but he also wanted to see if I'd know that wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted me to do anything I wanted to him."
Sam blinked. Flo looked almost . . . dreamy. "When did you meet him?"
"Not long ago. About a month or so. I meet a lot of people when I go to the parties. He's different, though. We've been out a few times on regular dates. You've been busy. I didn't want to distract you."
"You wanted to keep him all to yourself for a while, you mean. Enjoy the feeling and not make too much of it in case it was a fling."
Flo broke off a piece of her pita, chewed. "Yes. Maybe. I'll introduce you to him sometime if you like. His name is Kirill." Her brown eyes twinkled. "It's of Greek origin, and means master or lord."
"No way."
"Yes way. But see what I mean?" Flo lifted a shoulder. "Nothing is set in stone; nothing is so predictable that it's impossible to imagine it another way. You want to be in love with two men from now until you're all old and gray, then do it. Don't worry about anything other than how you feel about one another."
"I do worry about some of that. And even though a lot of stuff is resolved, I admit sometimes I still worry about Chris when it comes to the Dom/sub stuff."
"If he wasn't interested in any of that, but he still wanted to be with the two of you, could you make it work? Does it have to be Dom/sub twenty-four/seven?"
"No. Of course not. We're not twenty-four/seven. I mean, there are these little flirty undercurrents between Geoff and me a lot of the time, but when it's not about being in that mode, we're still doing the day-to-day things. Sharing chores, expenses, me dealing with my family, that kind of thing. So it doesn't have to be all or nothing. I want to be with them more than I think I've wanted anything before, and I'm willing to figure out whatever we need to figure out to make that work."
"Then that's all you need to worry about." Flo tapped her forehead in an amusing gesture of benediction. "Go forth, child, and have your way with their gorgeous asses as long as the fates allow."
She laughed, ducking as Sam threw a crumpled napkin at her. "Come on. Lunch is over, Ms. Assistant Manager. Back to the scintillating world of financial management."
***
The night they were going to the Carnival, Sam's intention was to close herself in the bathroom and make a grand appearance in the gifts they'd given her, but she soon realized her best intentions were not going to give her the ability to put herself in a corset.
Poking her head out of the bathroom, she glimpsed Chris in his room. He'd finished his shower but was stil
l shirtless, because he was putting on deodorant. He wore a pair of dress jeans open in the front, the belt unbuckled. As he applied the deodorant, he bent and used his elbow to bump up the volume on the Temptations playing through his speakers. When he put down the capped deodorant and ran a hand through his still-damp hair, she realized she was just watching. Enjoying the hell out of one of her men, just like Flo said. She finally cleared her throat and Chris turned, lowering the volume. He gave her an equally appreciative look, since she was clad only in her thin robe, loosely tied.
"I think I need some help," she said. "Want to try tying a corset?"
"I looked it up on the Internet last night, so I can probably figure it out."
She blinked. "Of course you did. Why did you do that?"
"Well, when we bought the corset from Naughty Bits, Madison mentioned how much a lot of women liked the feeling of being tied into a corset. Especially in the case of someone like you . . . by her Master." He shifted when he said that, as if he wasn't sure if she'd be comfortable hearing it that way, but he was right on target.
"She's a smart woman. And I have two Masters. You just happen to be the one in the right place at the right time."
He grinned. Fastening his pants and buckling the belt, he came across the hallway to her, stepping into the bathroom as she retreated to the sink. His hair still had that damp clean smell and the jeans were the distressed, designer kind that looked really good on him. It wouldn't be a hardship to reconcile herself to that look tonight, if he decided against putting on the pants Geoff had given him once they arrived there.
She bet he'd tried them on in his room this week when she and Geoff couldn't see. Which meant he probably had experienced another What the fuck? moment and was waffling on whether he'd have the courage to wear them. She was hoping he would and made a mental note to be sure he didn't leave them at home "by accident."
She didn't think he'd resort to that, though. She'd mentioned them several times this week, making it clear she would love, love, love it if he wore them. As Geoff had pointed out, neither of them could really resist doing something she truly wanted. She didn't view her pressure on him to wear them as an abuse of that power, though. Far from it. Especially since she suspected Geoff actually approved of the tactic this time.
She hid a smile at that thought, but then humor gave way to other distractions as Chris stepped up behind her. Without asking or hesitation, he unbelted her robe and slid it from her shoulders, leaving her clothed in nothing but a silver-gray thong and his regard, which roved over her with purposed pleasure. She wondered if he'd been taking lessons from Geoff, or if he was just learning to follow his own inclinations, encouraged by her obvious response to such decisive action.
She let out a pleased hum when he cupped a breast and slid his hand down to her hip, hooking the thong with his thumb before he caressed her ass and leaned over to pick up the corset.
It hooked in the front on steel pins and was already drawn snug enough he could hook it down the front and it would stay in place, though it wasn't yet tight enough to shape her properly. She bent her head, watching his capable fingers move over the hooks, then he shifted behind her again, making her face the mirror as he started adjusting the laces. Watching his intent expression, the set of his mouth and focus of his eyes while he did it, inhaling his scent, feeling his heat so close behind her as he bound her in the snug garment, kept her feeling all tingly and anxious in the right ways.
As he figured out what he was doing, anxiety was replaced with arousal, a sweet little surge of it with each pull of the laces. The boning began to etch out her waist and the flare of her hips like an hourglass, her breasts rising over the top edge. The firm mounding drew his eyes as he tied it off in back. He smoothed his large palms over her.
"Too tight?" he asked.
Yes. "No." He could cut off her breathing and she'd just ask for more. She loved how it felt. When Chris grasped her buttock with one hand, the other resting on the stiff fabric at her hip, she swayed into his touch. It wasn't just the way he'd taken off her robe, but everything he was doing. There was something different about him tonight. Quieter, more direct. In control.
Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her bare shoulder as his hand slid back up to frame her breast, thumb rubbing over the plumped-up curve and dipping into the now deep valley of her bosom. "No, what?" he murmured. His lashes lifted to capture her gaze in the mirror with his own. He held her there with an unwavering attention.
Who was this man and what had he done with Chris? Yet it was Chris, not an act. That was what had butterflies doing triple somersaults in her stomach. "Yes sir. I mean, No sir."
He smiled, reached over and picked up her hairbrush. She quivered, wondering if she was about to get a spanking. While that would have been lovely, he surprised her with something as unexpectedly welcome. He used it as intended, brushing out her hair until it shone like silk on her shoulders. Gathering it up in his hand, he rubbed his lips and nose over it. Closed his eyes. All of it made her want to breathe his name. Meaning she wanted to use his name as a way to draw in breath and release it. As well as speak it.
"Chris."
He opened his eyes again. "Bend over the sink," he said.
Her knees almost buckled, but she managed it. He curved a hand over her right breast, kneading and playing with it, and he hit her ass with the flat back of the brush. Her fingers tightened on the sink as that breath left her in a gasp. It stung, but she only wanted more.
He gave her more. Five then ten whacks, each more stinging than the last, until her ass was throbbing and she was making a little cry in her throat at each strike. She was also getting light-headed.
"Nice marks," he said. Laying down the brush, he straightened her, holding her fast and meeting her gaze in the mirror. "I'm going to ask you again. Is it too tight?"
"A little," she admitted breathlessly.
He returned to the task. This time, when he was done, she was still snugly wrapped in it, but breathing was easier. He gave her one more whack with the brush, this one enough to earn a yelp, then gripped her throat, caressing it. Cradling her face in a hand that could easily break her neck, he tipped her head back on his shoulder to look at him. "Remember the first rule, Sam. Got it?"
She stammered her response. "Yes sir."
He kissed her and his eyes softened, more like the Chris she was used to. "Better finish getting ready. Geoff said we're out of here in about ten minutes. Are you wearing the black heels with the silver bottoms?"
At her nod, he smiled. "Good. I love the way you walk in those."
Turning, he left her there. She might have dropped her jaw on the floor if it weren't hinged properly to her face. If this was any indication of what kind of night it was going to be, she might not have any unexploded brain cells by the end of the evening.
When she finished dressing and left the bathroom, she found Geoff already dressed and waiting on them in the kitchen. He wore a fitted black dress shirt in a brushed cotton so soft it made her want to rub against him like a cat. It was open at the throat and tucked into stonewashed gray jeans, a combination that would complement her own colors. The jeans were a pair she hadn't seen before, and they fit snugly over ass and groin, His black belt had a silver buckle shaped like a dragon's head. The black boots under the jeans were sleek and supple with a low heel.
His tanned forearms were visible because he'd rolled up the sleeves of the shirt to his elbows. For some reason, his silver-and-black watch only made the look even sexier. He was mouthwatering, head to toe.
She'd donned a skirt over the thong and the bottom part of the corset, and carried a gray shawl she could wrap over her shoulders. Would Geoff and Chris choose to take the wrap and skirt off her once they hit the doors at the Carnival? She was nervous about that idea, but if they were headed into the kind of environment she hoped it would be tonight, she also welcomed it. She was more than willing for Chris to act just as much like her Master as Geoff did naturally and with
out thought. Geoff's gaze moved over her, displaying the obvious male desire that Chris had, along with a similar possessiveness. That look fostered a sudden titillating suspicion.
Was it her being in a public venue tonight, wearing this kind of outfit, that had compelled Chris to make it clear that she belonged to them, in a way that engaged her senses in that ownership? He was certainly clever enough to figure how much that reaction would excite her, but what bemused her was how genuine it had seemed for him.
He wasn't Dom through and through, but he didn't mind mixing it into his nature when it brought him, her or Geoff satisfaction. She had no objection to that mix, for certain. Her buttocks were still smarting, and she knew the mark of that last swat might still be there if they did remove the skirt once they arrived at their destination.
Chris came into the kitchen then. Geoff glanced at the small tote she was carrying over her arm. "Is the mask in there?"
She nodded.
"Put it on now."
She set the tote on the table. Pulling out a hair band, she fixed her long hair in a flat knot at the crown of her head. The mask allowed room for such an eventuality by including a "crest" for the bird's head. Touching her hair recalled Chris brushing it. As she picked up the mask, the sleek feathers that covered it caressed her own fingers. All her senses were on erotic high volume, but particularly touch, as if every inch of her skin craved sensation and magnified the barest contact.
Under Geoff's silent scrutiny, she slid the mask over her head and drew it down to cover her face. It had discreet zippers and lacing in the back to tighten it. Chris came up behind her, once again handling the lacing part, tightening the mask, making everything fit in its intended place so her face was enclosed by the supple material. The bottom of the mask curved under her jaw and molded to her nape, leaving most of her throat bare. The opening for the mouth framed her lips, making them feel more sensitive and exposed.
She'd folded her nervous hands in front of her as Chris did the task. The eyeholes weren't covered, and Geoff stood in her line of sight, but it shifted her into a different headspace, having her key senses cocooned like that. It was as if looking at him through the mask was like being a bird in a cage, looking out at her Master, waiting for his will to free her.