Ward reached between them and took her hand in his. “I still want to talk limits.”
“The usual.” No filming. No pictures.
“You’re okay with…say, being choked?”
Hazel considered it for a moment, then nodded.
Ward released her hand. “Christ…”
“You don’t have to,” she hurried to add. “You asked—”
“I think that’s his line,” Dylan said, watching them from the far end of the living room. “I smelled coffee.” He had tugged on his slacks but wore no shirt.
Hazel fought not to stare at his naked chest. She’d been with a few men since college, not all of them star athletes, but there was something to be said about a lover who worked out.
Ward smirked. “You might want to join us. Think this concerns you, too.”
“She started it,” Dylan shot back.
Their verbal sparring was a familiar constant by now, much like the fact that Ward always backed off from touching Hazel when Dylan surprised them together. Much like Dylan tilting up her chin and pressing a kiss to her mouth before he sat down in one of the two Eames chairs, equidistant from both Hazel and Ward.
Hazel folded her legs under her. “We’re talking logistics.”
“Are we?” Dylan smiled at her over the rim of his cup. “And how’s that going?”
Something in his gaze told her that he’d overheard a lot more than the tail end of their conversation. She returned his smile, setting dread aside. Dylan wasn’t the type to play games. If he heard the part about her ex, he would say something. Surely.
Wouldn’t he?
“Choking,” Ward announced, a note of resignation in his voice. “Apparently strangulation is on the allowed list. Aren’t we lucky?”
“Excellent.”
Hazel flattened her lips to keep her grin from stretching
too
wide. At least she could count on Dylan to be on her side no matter what.
“What else?” he asked, gaze darting from Hazel to Ward and back.
“We’re gonna be late for work.”
He met her demurral with a shrug. “Oh, I think we have time for this.” Wicked innuendo hovered in the dimples of his smile.
Hazel suppressed a shiver of anticipation.
Chapter Eight
Nothing came of that tense conversation when Hazel got home. Ward nodded off before Dylan had their dinner plated and he tripped twice heading up the stairs, after. It was too pitiful for Hazel to muster any disappointment. She spent the night in Dylan’s bed again, cuddling before they fell asleep, then rousing for a rushed breakfast and work.
Hazel worked a twelve hour shift and came back to the loft dog-tired, eager to hit the sack. She apologized to Dylan when he came to tuck her in.
“I’m being a bad girlf—I mean. Submissive. Partner.” She waved a weary hand. “Whatever.”
“Yes, you’re a very bad whatever,” Dylan agreed. He kissed her temple, then her lips, lingering there for longer than was necessary for a goodnight kiss.
Hazel didn’t mind. She had no memory of Dylan leaving the room, exhaustion snaring her as soon as the lights were out. She surfaced, briefly, to the muffled sound of TV credits echoing through the bedroom door. Dylan had left it just slightly ajar, a thin filament of light peeking through the gap. Hazel let her eyes droop shut without checking the time.
She slept deeply, without dreams, paddling through the soup of darkness all by herself until the chill of the night began to seep in. Her skin rippling with goosebumps, Hazel hunted for the covers with eyes closed. They must’ve slipped during the night, but when she reached down she found only the bed sheet.
A fluttering, icy caress traced the arch of her foot.
Hazel woke with a start. The reading lamps by the bed were switched off, only a faint spill of moonlight slanting across the floor—and in it, two men, their shadows stretching over the bed where she lay.
“What—?”
Dylan moved swiftly, clamping a hand over her mouth and shoving her back into the pillows. Shadows deepened the arch of his brow, but Hazel recognized him. She knew his scent. She knew that was Ward seizing her wrist and pinning her arm to the bed. And yet panic kindled in her chest, at once familiar and cherished.
She thrashed, feet paddling uselessly in the air until Ward had to sit on her thighs to fasten the collar around her neck. A clink of metal rings told her he’d fastened the leash to the O-ring long before Dylan seized the literal rein.
“Well, well, well… What do we have here?” His hand was still on Hazel’s mouth, thumb digging into the dip beneath her chin to keep her from trying to bite down. “Someone forgot to lock her door.”
“Maybe she was waiting for us,” Ward offered, his voice reaching Hazel as though from far away.
It was unsettling in a way that had everything and nothing at all to do with chains and collars, and giving up control. She squirmed, heart thumping a little faster against her ribs.
Above her, Dylan hummed his approval. “Mm, I think you’re right. Look at her, naked and ready for us…just begging to be fucked.” He used the hand that clutched the leash to give her right nipple a twist.
Hazel cried out, both in pain and surprise, bucking uselessly against the mattress.
“Let her up.” Ward’s order brooked no argument, but it was far from a change of heart.
No sooner had Dylan risen than they turned Hazel over, forcing her arms behind her back. With her mouth free, she gulped down breaths into her air-starved lungs, insides churning. “What—what are you doing?” It wasn’t playacting that forced a shaky, apprehensive twinge into her voice. She really
was
afraid.
Her safe word rose to the tip of her tongue, begging to be uttered.
But what was there to be afraid of? Ward and Dylan?
Even as they snapped leather cuffs around her wrists, cinching her bonds tighter than was strictly necessary, Hazel didn’t doubt for a second they were doing it for her.
I asked for this. And now they’re giving me what I want
.
“On your feet,” Dylan growled, pulling her upright. He fisted the leash in one hand and used it to tilt back her head so Hazel could barely see where she was going.
Light filled her vision, so bright it hurt. She squeezed her eyes shut, stumbling drunkenly along, until suddenly she was being pushed to her knees and the world righted itself around her. She made out the hooks on the wall, loaded with floggers and crops and paddles of different sizes. She saw the padded spanking horse along the far end of the room. They were in the playroom—familiar, comforting territory. With her hands bound behind her back, Hazel couldn’t rest a hand on the floor or cradle her head. She went down with a whimper as Ward nudged his foot between her shoulder blades.
“Eyes down, slut. You don’t look at us.”
Dylan seemed to share the sentiment. The chain clicked and clanged, links rearranging as he loosened his hold. It made no difference for Hazel’s harried breathing.
Cheek pressed against the cold floor, Hazel tripped over her frazzled thoughts. “W-what will you do to me?” She didn’t have to feign the tears that sprang to her eyes.
“What do you think?” Ward asked.
“I don’t—please, please don’t hurt me.”
Someone laughed. It took her a moment to realize that the voice belonged to Dylan. He was fiddling with a chain by the far wall, next to the St. Andrew cross. Hazel couldn’t tell what he was doing at first, the broad span of his shoulders blocking her vision. Then he moved aside.
The playroom was fitted with a great number of hooks and pulleys, handles bolted to the walls seemingly without rhyme or reason. It wouldn’t have occurred to Hazel to thread the long chain fastened to her collar through one of those—probably because it wasn’t her job to come up with new and ingenious tortures.
When Dylan tugged on the lead, the chain tensed, collar twisting around her neck until the O-ring faced the wall behind her.
Hazel gasped.
“We’ll do whatever we want,” Ward intoned over her head. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop us.”
The certainty in his voice was chilling and exciting all at once.
Why would I want to stop you? Why would I mind?
Hazel flexed her hands, pulling at the cuffs to test their resistance. The leather bit into her skin—enough to chafe, perhaps, but not to cut.
Good
.
She stilled when Ward removed his foot, the pressure on her ribcage lessening at once. It was so tempting to straighten and let her breaths come soft and easy, but he hadn’t said she was allowed. Not yet.
The tell-tale sound of a zipper coming undone pierced the fog of her guesswork.
“Up,” Dylan ordered. He yanked the lead as added incentive, forcing Hazel to raise her head off the floor.
She knew better than to meet their eyes without permission.
“Ever sucked cock before?” Dylan wondered.
You know I have.
Hazel shook her head. For this, she was all innocent, all
new
. She wanted Dylan to treat her like a stranger he didn’t particularly care to see again.
Bruise me as much as you like
.
“Time you learned, then,” he growled. But it was Ward’s hand in her sleep-matted hair, making her look up.
He had already unzipped his fly and pulled out his erection, the tip pearling with pre-cum. Hazel’s mouth watered. She wanted to wait for the order, but hunger got the better of her. She leaned in as far as the chain would allow, touching her lips to the shiny cockhead. It wasn’t far enough.
Ward hissed out a breath. “Son of a bitch…”
“She’s got a sweet mouth, doesn’t she?” Dylan chuckled, almost tenderly, before tugging once again on the chain.
The collar dug into Hazel’s windpipe, more suggestion that threat. If she couldn’t stand it, she could always lean back, take her weight out of the makeshift noose. Contingency was built into Dylan’s every plan, no matter how rough.
She didn’t. A whimper catching in her throat, Hazel held out her tongue, touching Ward with only the wet, flicking tip. It wasn’t enough for her and she knew it wouldn’t be enough for him, but it was better than nothing. The thought of giving up altogether never crossed her mind.
“Oh, fuck,” Ward moaned, carding fingers through her hair. “That’s good. You dirty little bitch—ah, more.”
The chain clicked, one more link sliding through the wall-mounted hook—Dylan’s doing.
Hazel threw her weight at it, sucking as much of Ward’s cock into her mouth as she could and swirling her tongue around the mushroomed head. She didn’t know how to pretend she’d never done this before, so she didn’t try. The game wasn’t worth sacrificing her desire to please them.
Wordlessly, Dylan gave her another half-inch, a gift she swiftly put to good use by sinking further down Ward’s cock. He didn’t warn her before tugging on the chain. The effect was immediate and less than glamorous. Hazel choked on her breath, sputtering wetly as Ward’s length slid completely out of her reach.
“Again,” he commanded.
“I can’t,” Hazel whined, the tension in the lead holding her back.
“
Again
.”
There was no give, at first, and Hazel squirmed in her bonds, the corners of her eyes prickling with effort. Then Dylan offered her another reprieve. His silence should have been unnerving, but all Hazel could think of was that he was watching. It wasn’t just Ward she had to satisfy, it was Dylan, too, the two of them ruling her in ways she’d been terrified to allow.
She needed no orders to sink down Ward’s dick once more, using every trick she knew to make the most of the privilege. The opportunity was snuffed out abruptly as Dylan jerked her back. Again they fought—she leading fruitlessly with her upper body, Dylan holding her back with a clenched fist—and again he decided when to let her tip forward. Gradually, a rhythm formed with fewer and fewer interruptions.
No sooner did it occur to Hazel that she was being used as a weird sort of proxy, her mouth doing what Dylan wouldn’t stoop to do, that Ward was pushing her away and stepping back, his erection arching away from his belly. “Get her up.”
Dylan granted Hazel a second to collect herself before tugging on the chain. Hazel straightened, her gaze flying up to meet his. There might have been repercussions if Dylan wasn’t so intent on hauling her all the way back to the wall to notice. Each pull forced her to shuffle back on her knees, each telegraphed curl of muscle in his forearm told her that she needed to brace herself. Too soon, Hazel touched her toes to the brick wall.
End of the line
.
“Up,” Dylan rasped and tensed the lead again.
This time, the scrape of the collar was all too real. Hazel spared a distant thought for marks she would have to cover up at work tomorrow, struggling to get her feet under her. Her thighs ached as she staggered to full height and pressed her palms against the wall behind her.
“Please,” she murmured, intending the words for Dylan’s ears only.
The playroom echoed, though, and Ward rounded on her with a cruel smirk. “What are you begging for? You think he’ll let you go?” He crowded her against the wall, his body a long, ropey line of muscle and wicked intent against hers.
Suddenly, Hazel was transported to Dylan pinning her against the bedroom door just a few nights before and bringing her off with his fingers. Heat fused at her core, an ever greater reminder of just how desperate she constantly was for them.
“Perhaps I should gag that pretty mouth,” Ward said, grabbing the lower half of her face in a brutal hand, “so you won’t be tempted to use it for whining.”
Hazel shivered, the right amount of fear stealing through her body. This was Ward as she had never seen him, all pretense of a tease gone.
This, she realized suddenly, was the man Dylan had known, before she came along. Before all those other women.
She squeezed her thighs together at the thought. What might it be like, if both of them were to surrender to Ward?
The hiss of a cane through the air made short work of her fantasies.
“Think someone needs a lesson in discipline,” Dylan mused.
“Think you might be right…”
Ward stepped elegantly out of the way, leaving Hazel alone and unprotected before Dylan’s heated gaze.