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“Dark fantasies aren’t uncommon.” She was aware she was trying to justify what she’d said. To make herself seem less deviant. “I just happened to have combined two different fantasies, but they’re just that, fantasies, and I—”
“Stop.” Lancelot’s word was hard and forceful, and damn, but that made her want him, want to live out the fantasy with them, all the more. “You don’t have to explain.”
“Or justify,” Hugo added.
“But you two are so kind, you aren’t the kind of men who want to…” She waved her hand in the air, not comfortable finishing the sentence.
“Not the kind of men who wish to ravish you?” Hugo asked from behind her.
She turned to face him, the shame that she’d started to feel arrested by the look on Hugo’s face.
“I will not speak for Lancelot, but I do wish, very much, to ravish you. To take you.” His eyes were dark with desire. “To use you. Fuck you.”
Sylvia inhaled sharply, desire shooting through her.
She was so focused on Hugo that it took her by surprise when Lancelot’s thickly muscled arm wrapped around her waist. He jerked her back against his body. She was off-balance and fell into him. “I’m a big guy,” he murmured. “My rough might be too rough for you. That’s why I asked. Getting fucked by two big men is different than being fucked by two big men.”
“I didn’t hurt your feelings?” She twisted, trying to look up at him, but she was too close.
“Hurt my feelings?” Lancelot asked.
Hugo was watching her with the barest hint of a smile touching his lips.
“I saw you, all big and muscled and big…”
Hugo did that guy thing where he grabbed the back of his shirt, between his shoulder blades, and pulled it up and off, revealing his chest.
Sylvia lost what little bit of focus she had. “What was I talking about?”
“How you hurt my feelings.” Lancelot’s voice rumbled through her.
“I’m interested in this explanation,” a shirtless Hugo said.
“You’re big,” she said.
“Yes,” Lancelot said slowly. Hugo was now grinning widely.
Sylvia closed her eyes, hoping that would help her focus. What the hell was she trying to say? Words were her tool, her craft. And the possibility of living out a forbidden fantasy with these two amazing men had her stammering and unable to give a simple explanation. “I’ve never told anyone about this fantasy. Never asked a lover to, to…”
“Ravish you,” Hugo said.
“Take you, fuck you, rough and hard,” Lancelot countered.
“If you keep talking like that I’m never going to be able to explain,” Sylvia said a bit desperately. “What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t ask you to do it not because you’re big. I don’t think your bigness means you’re…” Maybe if Lancelot took his arm off her, she’d be able to think.
“Bigness? This is a word?” Hugo asked.
“No, it’s not,” Lancelot said. “She’s flustered, but more importantly, she’s aroused.”
He released her, twisting her around to face him, his hands gripping her upper arms. “Ground rules. Because if you want rough, I can be rough.”
“I do! I do want it.”
“You say stop, we stop,” Lancelot said. They’d already proven that, and the way they’d stepped back, given her space, without comment or judgment, had been one of the most arousing, touching things she’d ever experienced.
“You say wait, we pause,” the big Brit continued. “You say anything else and it’s part of the game.”
“Part of your ravishment,” Hugo clarified as she turned to look at him, Lancelot’s arm wrapped around her waist, holding her, keeping her close. Captive.
