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It’s too bad the Club Sin contract includes NDAs, because Teag and Darius would die if they knew I was spending my night with the cream of Seattle’s wealthiest crop. Then they’d lose their minds when they realized the hedonistic pleasures we’re sitting around the table to discuss.
Each place setting has a small stack of papers in front of it, and a brief glance tells me there’s a final affidavit of health and STI testing, a limits contract, and a copy of the NDA I signed. I watch them trade papers between each other and realize each stack must have the NDA from one of us.
It takes me only a moment to flick through the limits page. I’m no rookie to the standard. I know what my soft and hard limits are, and they’re few in total. As an unruly adolescent, I overheard a clinician at the group home inform a teacher I have a sensory seeking disorder when he was rationalizing my need to feel extreme sensations and emotions. At the time, it explained my risky choices that frequently led to injuries. Now that I’m an adult, I understand it’s about being pushed to feel something, anything, and I channel those needs into safer decisions.
I place the provided pen on top of the paper and wait to be told what to do next. As far as I’m concerned, I consented to scene with them when I agreed to the do over. As long as they can respect the few hard limits I indicated and get over how young they assume I am, I’ll begin as I intend to carry on and give them my submission.
Hudson is the first to move, snaking my papers out from under the pen and flipping through them to the affidavit of health and STI testing. I bite my tongue to stifle the snarky comment that almost bursts out, guessing it’s not my sexual health he’s looking for. That sheet, like any other would, lists my age. I watch him do the mental math to count back to the year I listed.
“Twenty-seven?” he says with as much surprise as if I’d claimed to be eighty.
“As of last month, yup.” I can’t resist a little sass. But his eyes twinkle with amusement instead of angry Dom censure.
“Thank fuck,” he says in that rumbly register that makes my panties stick even more wetly against my aching pussy.
I hear Asher and Beck talking quietly to one another, but Hudson’s eyes haven’t left mine since he verified I’m old enough to play. The way all three of them look at me turns me on, and though we have all night, the clock is ticking.
“So, daddy, where do you want me first?” My question is directed at Hudson, but all three men go silent. I feel like prey as their eyes focus on me like hunters spotting a doe in the tall grass.
“Please go stand by the sofa and remove all your clothing. Fold everything and place your belongings on the coffee table. Then wait for us with your hands behind your back and your eyes on the mantle.” The command doesn’t come from Hudson, who is still eye-fucking me as if he’s a heartbeat away from throwing me onto the floor and pounding me to pieces.
Following Beck’s directions will have me facing away from them as they complete whatever preparations they intend to make. I’ll hear them but be unable to watch what they’re doing. I look at Beck from under my lashes, wondering if a pout will convince him to let me the room as I wait.
I can tell by his smirk he knows I’ll struggle to follow his directions. Not the getting naked part. Every bit of me is on board with that. But giving them my back and patiently waiting while they do who knows what behind me? That will already test my ability to obey.
Chapter Six
Hudson
Something in my chest tells me this girl, Talissa, is the one I’ve spent the better part of two decades chasing my tail in search of. I want the kind of forever love my parents had, deep and loyal and true. I also want a partner I can do filthy things with and to. Who won’t turn up their nose and call me a violent pervert when I want to see my marks on their flesh. Or who will give me their submission in the bedroom and their conniving disloyalty the moment my back is turned.
For some reason, I’ve only managed to find plenty of the former and a few of the latter. Asher and Beck think of me as the easy going affable one, and maybe, for the most part, I am. But there’s nothing easy going about my overwhelming drive to absolutely own our mouthy little Talissa.
The word ‘our’ jolts me from my mental wandering. When I showed up tonight, I expected a willing sub with leaking tits to pass around between us so we could mark a line item off our kinky bucket lists.
“You okay, man? Your head’s gone someplace,” Asher murmurs close to my ear. I turn to meet his eyes, a little shocked at how close he’s standing. A little more shocked that I like it. Fuck pheromones are thick in the air around us, and my heartbeat pumps more blood into my already chubbed-up dick.
“Just realizing this is really happening. You. Me. Beck. We’re going to devour that sweet little thing. Together.” Every word lands heavy in the silence, and I know Asher’s not the only one listening.
“We are,” Beck adds, joining Asher inside my personal bubble of space. “You got a plan, or shall I?”
“Go ahead, brother.” We turn as one to take in the quiet beauty of the woman fate, and the club, has gifted us. When she first walked in and lust damn near took me out at the knees, I’d felt an immediate urge to claim this woman for my own. I wondered how I’d feel when either of them touched her.
Now, the moment is upon me, and all I feel is anticipation and hunger knowing they’re going to help me dominate this sassy sweetheart. Whatever happens after tonight will be a bridge we cross tomorrow. Tonight, we feast.
“Talissa, before we begin, tell us your safe word,” Beck says.
“I use traffic colors, sir. Green for when it’s good. Yellow if I need to slow down, ask a question, or change positions. Red if I’m scared, in pain I don’t want, or need to stop the scene.” She holds her position as she answers him, her hands clasped loosely at the small of her back.
Her response clues us in that she’s knowledgeable in power exchange scenes. We’d known we were lucky to be paired with a woman authentically able to lactate, so we hadn’t dared specify much in the requirements for a match beyond that. Her experience and innate submissiveness feels like a gift from the universe I hadn’t dared hope for.
When Beck told her to face the fireplace, it was meant to heighten her awareness of all the things she couldn’t see happening behind her. Now that she’s turned away from me, I’m realizing our tactical error. Her obedience means we can’t see her, either.
And more than anything I can ever remember wanting, I want to see the beads of pearly white milk that must be clinging to the hard buds of her nipples before they drop to the floor at her feet. The wastefulness of those missed droplets feels like a crime I owe the men beside me restitution for.
Asher slowly walks in a circle until he’s standing in front of her while Beck moves to the wall where a dark cherrywood Saint Andrew’s cross stands. He easily hefts it over one shoulder and walks it to the center of the bedroom area of the suite before locking the stabilizing legs into place and running his hands over every inch of the wood, checking to ensure it’s safe to use and undamaged. Satisfied, he inspects the restraints attached to the cross in the same manner.
“How much milk do you think we can expect tonight?” Asher’s bald question has irritation rising like wildfire in my chest. It feels like an offensive thing to ask. If she gets upset and wants to call things off, I’ll kill him. We only just barely convinced her to stay after the way I’d snarled at her when she arrived.
