I lay my cheek on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, the same rhythm that kept me sane when we were out on the balcony.
My hand rests on his cock. It pulses underneath my palm, but he doesn’t push my arm away.
“Romeo,” I say after a few minutes. “Do you remember the night I told you everything about my grandfather? In the observatory?”
“Of course I do,” he says. He sounds like he was falling asleep.
“We agreed to trade a story for a story.” I lick my dry lips. “I want to know about your ex.”
He exhales, or maybe it’s a slight laugh; I can’t tell. “You already do,” he says.
“Why did your sister come to stay with you?”
“Ah. Actually, it had less to do with Leona and more to do with my general state of mind.” He strokes my hair lazily. “Call it the crisis of a rich man who wants to change the world. I felt… useless. She came down to keep me company, but also to help me figure out where to direct my efforts.”
“You’re not useless,” I say.
This time I’m sure he laughs. He kisses my forehead. “I try not to be,” he says.
As he strokes my hair, I drift off to sleep.
Chapter 12
I wake to the heavenly sensation of Romeo pressing a kiss against my throat. His jaw is scratchy with stubble.
The sex toy is still in place, I realize immediately. It’s an intrusive bit of pressure.
As Romeo nibbles his way down my neck, desire surges through my veins.
“This is so much better than having Hawthorne bitching at me to get dressed,” I murmur.
“Is it?” Hawthorne’s voice is low, dangerous.
I feel Romeo shaking quietly with suppressed laughter.
Stifling a groan, I gingerly turn over to discover Hawthorne and Slade standing near the bedroom door.
My dismay quickly gives way to confusion—they’re only wearing boxers—then excitement as I realize it’s still dark outside.
Then I notice how Hawthorne’s eyes are glittering icily. “I was planning to suspend your punishment,” he says.
My breath catches. “It was just a joke,” I say.
Romeo drapes an arm across my chest and rocks me toward him. “It might be in your best interests to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness.” He doesn’t say it quietly, and when I look at Hawthorne, arms crossed, I realize that it’s more of an order than a suggestion.
It’s been too long since I had all my bosses at the same time. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to get the sex toys out of my pelvic area so that something much more interesting can go in.
I slide onto the floor, to my knees.
“Crawl,” Slade says.
I shoot him a despairing look, but his face is impassive. I get chills, imagining him as a duke. He has that refined, aristocratic look about him. My relationship with Slade is the most “normal” of the group, and sometimes I forget—to my detriment—that he’s as dominant as the others.
But it’s what I want from him, from all of them. Rough sex. I want to be used, pushed around, spanked, my hair pulled.
I begin to crawl across the soft carpet toward where Hawthorne and Slade are waiting.
When I’m in front of Hawthorne’s feet—and they’re not bad considering that he’s a tennis player and very hard on his body—I wait for further instructions.
When none are forthcoming, I lift my eyes to Hawthorne’s. He raises a brow.
“Are you going to communicate your wishes, or do you expect me to read your mind?” I ask, rebellion stirring from the embers of my perpetual irritation with Hawthorne.
Provoking him makes me feel good, makes my pussy wet.
A devilish grin on his lips, he leans forward and jerks my chin higher. “We went over this yesterday, but I must not have punished you well enough. You need to learn to ask properly for what you want.”
He releases me and straightens. “Lindsay has difficulty retaining her lessons,” he says to the others. “I think it makes sense for all of us to train her today. She’ll progress faster that way.”
I roll my eyes, but only to hide my excitement. Nothing turns me on like having all their attention on me at once. It’s magical.
I hear Romeo get out of the bed. “I’ve got a busy morning scheduled, but I think you’re right.”
Slade pulls me to my feet. “I’ll take her out,” he says. “You guys can get ready.”
“One second.” Hawthorne comes behind me and uses a forceful knee to spread my legs. “Grab your ankles.”
I do.
“Take a deep breath,” he says as he grips the toy lodged inside me. “Exhale.” He quickly works it free. He’s not rough, but he’s hardly gentle.
Oh, it’s nice to have it out. Both my holes spasm slightly.
“Shouldn’t you show some gratitude?” Hawthorne asks.
I eye the toy as I straighten. He’ll probably shove it back inside me if I give him a hard time.
“Thank you very much,” I say as sweetly as I can.
“You’re quite welcome.”
Slade snorts.
As Slade leads me out, I hear Hawthorne say to Romeo, “Watching her crawl toward me made my dick stiff,” and Romeo replies, “I know. Mine, too.”
~ ~ ~
Slade’s grip is tight on my elbow as he hustles me down the hallways. The unfamiliar rooms feel ominous in the dark, and I quickly lose track of where I am.
He opens a door, then turns on a light, and I find myself staring around a room decorated in royal blues.
Three of the walls are mirrored. The fourth looks like it was lifted from a medieval dungeon, complete with hooks in the wall.
“Are torture chambers now standard in expensive homes?” I ask.
“Hawthorne’s only got a few toys compared to Romeo, but they’re good ones,” he says.
I step inside the room and realize it’s quite chilly, and a light breeze stirs around my calves and ankles.
Slade opens a wooden crate and takes out a paddle.
“Bend over,” he says. “Make your back flat.”
I do.
He places the paddle between my shoulders. The handle feels hard, but the flat surface seems slightly textured. I can’t imagine that’s going to feel soothing on my ass.
“Don’t move,” he says, and leaves.
~ ~ ~
While he’s gone, I tilt my head slightly this way and that, taking in as much of the room as possible, but the way I’m facing, I can’t get a better look at that wall. There’s not much else in the room other than the big crate.
After a few minutes, my back and neck start to hurt.
Time continues to creep on. My excitement lessens until I simply feel foolish.
Then the door opens and my bosses enter.
They’re dressed for work, wearing dark suits, and I wonder if they changed their minds about training me. That would be just my luck.
Slade takes the paddle in hand. “Stand straight and walk toward the wall,” he says, and he smacks my sore buttocks. Not hard, but it gets my feet moving.
In the mirrors, my breast jiggle, and my hair is a tangled mess. Apparently I didn’t do a thorough job of removing my eyeliner last night—I look a little bit like Bandit.
Raising my hand, I rub my fingers under my eyes.
Slade smacks my ass, and I squeal.
“I didn’t tell you to stop and preen,” he says. “Turn around.”
I turn and look at my bosses warily. Hawthorne has something in his hands. Cloth. Too much of it to be a blindfold.
“Arms up,” Hawthorne says, approaching me. Romeo flanks him.
The men dress me.
When they step away, I find that I’m wearing a white, button-down shirt. It’s knotted around my waist and the buttons are unfastened, leaving my stiff-nippled breasts on display.
I’m also wearing a black skirt, though it could pass as a belt. A glance to the side shows that it doesn’t even cover my ass c
heeks… which are lightly bruised.
Hawthorne goes out and returns a moment later with a pair of black platform stilettos.
Slade trades the stilettos for the paddle. Hawthorne with an instrument of punishment? That won’t end well.
While Slade helps me into the shoes, I stare at Hawthorne. For his part, he seems to be enjoying my discomfort.
“Walk to the middle of the room, turn around and bend over,” Romeo says. He steps back, arms folded across his broad chest. His dark eyes are solemn.
I can’t believe he’s the same guy who joked with me and kissed me until I went crazy just a few hours ago.
In the mirrors, my expression is confident, and… yeah, a little smug. I guess Hawthorne is rubbing off on me.
Once in the center of the room, I bend over. The tiny skirt rises even higher.
Hawthorne smacks the paddle against the flat of his hand as he approaches. “You will count to ten,” he says. “Any excessive vocalizations will result in additional strikes.”
I start to ask him what counts as an excessive vocalization—I mean, he shouldn’t be the arbiter of how much pain I’m in at any given time—but the light in his eyes tells me that even asking a question will be counted against me.
He continues slapping his hand, a slow, even rhythm, each beat making me flinch. I feel my buttocks contract, anticipating a rain of blows. My pussy feels wet, about to drip.
My bosses can surely see that. The longer Hawthorne delays his punishment, the more apprehensive I become. The more excited, too.
Suddenly, the paddle slams against my ass, knocking me off balance and sending me staggering. Air whooshes from my lungs.
“Too loud,” Hawthorne says. “Twenty strikes.”
A trickle of nervous sweat travels along my forehead. I keep waiting for a bead of sweat to roll off, to land on the floor, for Hawthorne to proclaim that it splashed loudly—all so he can increase my punishment to a hundred strikes. Or maybe a thousand. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life here, bent over, a gray-haired Hawthorne smacking my ass and telling me that my dentures clack too loudly.
All things considered, we haven’t come very far from the day I had to account for my use of the company credit card and Hawthorne just stood there, smirking, and saying, Disallowed, disallowed, disallowed.
In fairness to Hawthorne, the next few blows are a bit milder, but then he ramps up the intensity again.
I grind my bottom lip between my teeth.
“That’s ten.” He runs his free hand over my stinging flesh. “Would one of you like to claim her mouth for the next set? You’ll be doing her a favor, trust me.”
In other words, he’s going to hit me so hard that I need to be gagged.
Well, better a cock than a sour piece of wadded-up cloth.
Romeo comes to stand at my head. He fondles my breasts, then gathers up my hair. “Open,” he says, though my lips are already parted for him.
After last night, sleeping next to him while my pussy and ass were full of that unsatisfying plug-dildo combination, I’m desperate for any kind of interaction with a cock.
The moment he pulls his thick length from his pants, I try to lean forward, to capture him in my mouth, but he restrains me by jerking my hair back.
“No,” he says.
Because we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend in bed, and I’m not allowed to kiss him in the dungeon. It’s… hot. I like that I don’t know what my bosses will do next, but I also like knowing that if I obey, I’ll be rewarded.
Romeo smacks his cock against my cheeks, my lips, my chin, my forehead. All the while, my mouth is stupidly hanging open, waiting for him.
Finally he feeds me half of his shaft. “Suck me,” he orders, his voice rumbling. “Bob your head up and down.”
I suck. I bob and swivel my head, but Romeo sets the pace.
“She’s ready,” Hawthorne says.
Romeo jerks my head back and to the side, making my upper body twist so I can look him in the eye.
“Don’t bite me,” he warns, and I know he’s not speaking only as a dom, but also as a man who doesn’t want to lose a chunk of his cock.
Though if anyone has cock to spare, it’s Romeo.
He plunges my head back onto his enormous tool. The sudden invasion makes me gag, my chest heaving, my lungs burning for air.
Hawthorne caresses my ass, then—
I see bursting white pinpricks.
Fireworks.
Nothing but light.
My ass aches. And I can’t count, can’t keep track.
Each time Hawthorne slams his stiff paddle against my rear, Romeo forces me a little deeper onto his shaft. Romeo’s entire body seems taut, ready to explode.
So what if I can’t breathe? Who cares that my ass feels like it’s been doused in kerosene and lit on fire? And if I break an ankle in these shoes, well, I’ve got two ankles.
I’m their toy.
Hawthorne tosses the paddle aside, and it clatters onto the floor. His fingers dig into my aching buttocks, then the thick head of his cock nudges my slit, breaches the slick flesh and shoves deep, deep, deep inside me, stretching my sex mercilessly.
I moan around Romeo’s cock.
And then Slade comes over. He drops to his knees and slides under me, his hands kneading and pulling my breasts, tugging my nipples. He gathers them together and sucks both hardened peaks into his mouth, laves them with his tongue.
I’m barely able to stay on my feet. My legs burn, and I’m a little dizzy, but in a good way. Hints of a powerful orgasm begin to pound low in my belly.
“Hang her on the wall,” Slade says.
Chapter 13
My bosses back me up against the wall.
They instruct me to lace my fingers together, then they fasten my wrists over my head, making my body stretch long.
Slade reaches into the trunk and pulls out a thick bar, cuffs dangling from each end.
Even if I didn’t recognize it as a spreader bar, I would intuitively know what it was for. Though the bar itself doesn’t seem long enough.
Instead of fastening the cuffs around my ankles, my bosses attach them just above my knees.
Hawthorne twists at a piece in the middle of the bar and it lengthens, spreading my knees farther and farther apart.
He isn’t satisfied until I’m completely open to him.
Then he pulls a short chain from the wall and clips it to one cuff. Romeo does the same to the other cuff.
My knees are up in the air and pulled back. My hips hang down lower, and the back of my head rests against the rough wall.
“Excuse me,” I say as politely as I can, because what I’m about to request is very, very serious. “I don’t think it’s good for my hair to rub against such a rough surface.”
Romeo shrugs. “We can find a way to avoid that.”
But Hawthorne bristles. “If you didn’t bleach your hair every three days, it would be able to withstand a little friction. If you were mine and mine alone, I’d shave you bald.”
My head comes up and I stare daggers at Hawthorne, which isn’t easy to do considering my undignified position.
“Well, sorry to break it to you, but I’m not yours and yours alone, Hawthorne. God, I really fucking hate you—”
All of my bosses go still, and Hawthorne’s face just… shuts down. Like he knows what’s coming, and he doesn’t want to hear it.
No… he doesn’t want to feel it. Shame fills me.
Wordlessly, he whips off his jacket and wedges it behind my head. The muscles in his face are rigid, and he won’t look at me.
His cock is still hard, though. He takes himself in hand and drags the tip of his erection between my folds.
“You know what I think?” he asks.
My body trembles, and not just because he feels so good. I’m scared of what he might say.
“You don’t hate me,” he says. His cock breaches my pussy, and I gasp. “If you hate me, say it now.” He begins to rock into m
e.
“I hate…” I say, but he pushes deeper, and my pussy tightens around him.
He brushes a finger over my clit, making me tremble.
Those icy blue eyes of his probe mine. “Tell me you hate me.”
His fingers move faster.
“Tell me that you’d be happier without me, and I’ll walk away right now, Lindsay. You can stay with Slade and Romeo, and I’ll leave.” The sincerity in his eyes, in his deep voice, is unmistakable.
“Hawthorne, I…” But I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I don’t hate him. I haven’t for a long time.
His fingers pinch my clit.
I gasp and twist, and my pussy begins to spasm.
“Say it.” His gaze locks with mine as he massages my clit again, my orgasm obediently building under his touch. His fingertips glide over my slippery nub as his cock thrusts from deep to deeper, the swollen head massaging my G-spot.
Oh, the man knows just how to control me.
“I hate… I hate how you make me love you! I don’t want to love you!” The words rip from my throat as the orgasm surges through my body.
I don’t even realize what I’ve said until the waves of pleasure recede.
By then, it’s too late to take it back.
Hawthorne leans forward, his eyes full of understanding. He didn’t orgasm, and his swollen cock feels too big, too intrusive inside my pulsating flesh.
“No, you don’t hate me, not even for that.” He lifts my chin. “Tell the truth, Lindsay.”
I take a shuddering breath and try to keep my voice steady. “Why? If you’re so sure you know.”
“Because I’m not sure that you know,” he says. “Tell the truth.”
But I can’t make myself say it.
I look pleadingly at Romeo, at Slade.
They’re both watching, intently focused. They don’t seem likely to intervene.
“Am I so horrible?” Hawthorne asks. Genuine hurt fills his face.
My mouth goes dry.
Despite all the times I wanted to wound him, to exact revenge or even the score between us, I never really considered what it would mean if I did hurt him.
Forbidden Fix (Executive Toy Book 6) Page 9