Get Off Easy (Noble House, #1) (20 page)

When they’d joined Noble House, there had never been a question they would share and play with submissives. And though there had been a few scenes with some of the club’s male subs, they clearly favored having a woman nestled between them.

Curiously, they’d never sought a lasting relationship with a woman.

Probably because they thought nothing could compare to their baseline.

Grae Burrows.

Standing and pressing his hands together in front of his heart, he bent forward slightly, breathed deeply a few times, and then ended his session. After grabbing a towel and a bottle of water, Boyce made his way to Saint’s office.

They needed to talk.

“What are we going to do?”

Saint looked up from the computer to find Boyce leaning against his office door. “Do about what?”

“Grae.”

Saint huffed, shrugging as he punched a few keys on his keyboard, then sat back and rubbed his eyes. He’d been set on trying to nail down this blip in the program, but the dulcet tones of Boyce’s voice signaled this was something that required his undivided attention. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. It started out as fun, teasing her like we have been, but...”

“She’s under your skin too.”

Saint had suspected he hadn’t been the only one affected, but it was nice to hear. Like minds and all. “I think that became obvious the second you locked her into your handcuffs.”

“Most so when you set up your cameras.”

“Yeah.” Saint nodded slowly, thinking. This certainly wasn’t something he’d planned. Sceneing with Grae was one thing. Loving her was another. But that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? He’d been in the game long enough to know how to separate emotions and sex. However, something about Grae made him want to mingle the two. And from the sounds of things, Boyce did as well. “She compliments us both.”

“She does—and then some.”

Saint snapped his gaze up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been more relaxed since she found us. You aren’t working as many hours. You keep trying to come up with excuses to meet up with her at the club. To ask her over for dinner. To a wine tasting. I know something is up there because you are
not
the wine drinker in this couple.”

Very true. For the most part, Saint hated it. Especially when there were other, more potent alcoholic selections available. But his preference in liquor wasn’t in question. “She keeps fighting so hard.” At first the struggles had been entertaining. Once Saint had realized her fight ran deeper than he could even fathom, he knew they’d stepped onto precarious ground. He wondered if playing with her as he had hadn’t been the brightest idea he’d ever come up with.

Especially when he’d sworn off playing with Boyce in the same manner when Boyce had returned from the war. Was there something about Grae’s past that she’d managed to keep hidden away for years without anyone having it blip on their radar?

Boyce crossed the office and pulled Saint out of his chair. Warm hands framed Saint’s face. “I see your mind working. Know you’re thinking you’re somehow responsible for this. That you shouldn’t be playing the mind game you are with her. Stop. Right now.”

Despite Boyce’s firm tone, Saint couldn’t stop himself. “You saw how she acted at the hospital. How she was around a group of strangers. You even said she acted differently in public when it was just one of us with her. I noticed it too. Her issues run far, far deeper than either of us realized. I had no right to find so much pleasure in toying with her.”

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

“You did the same thing to me when I got back. You retreated. Drew into yourself because—”

“Because you had enough issues without trying to deal with me fucking with your mind.”

“There’s nothing
wrong
with her. You and I both know it. She needs encouragement and love to get over this hurdle of hers. And you can do it.
We
can do it. Together.”

Though Boyce sounded convinced, Saint didn’t share the opinion. Boyce hadn’t been the one toying with someone’s emotions. Someone’s psyche. “I’m not sure it’s enough.”

“To keep sceneing with her? Or loving her?”

Given the two choices, Saint realized his own wants and needs ran far deeper than he’d ever expected. He should have anticipated it, given the way he’d come alive—really and truly—once Grae had appeared in their lives again.

“Both.” The haunting color of Boyce’s eyes told the story. He didn’t want to have to stop either. That knowledge gave Saint a little leverage. “I’m worried our time with her has an expiration date. And not just because she doesn’t live nearby. She keeps fighting even as she is submitting. Hell, probably when she’s coming too. If she can just get past whatever she’s trying to work through. If she were to talk to us...”

“As much as we want her to do something, we can’t make her,” Boyce filled in. “Well, we can, to a point. We’ve already tried and she clammed up. So either we push harder and possibly scare her off, or we enjoy what we do have and be content. Nothing says we can’t consider uprooting our lives for her.”

“I’d already thought of that too.” Saint sighed. “I know I have patience, but—”

“You’re patient with me,” Boyce reminded Saint with a slight shake. “Every single time I break, when I think I can’t handle everything that is coming at me, you are holding the pieces, telling me that you love me. If this...thing with Grae has an expiration date, then make the most of what time we do have. All right?”

“Give her what she needs?”

“I didn’t say that.” They stared at each for long moments, so many unspoken things hanging in the air between them. Saint carefully swallowed, reassuring himself that what Boyce said was right. Saint knew what he needed to do. What they needed to do. Like discovering a new chapter in a book they’d thought they’d written and shelved already. “This will change things between us. You and me, I mean.”

“Nothing we can’t handle.” Saint nodded, licking his dry lips. Boyce gently kissed those lips and offered a companionable smile. “We need to talk some more about this. But I have to duck into the shower. Enver will be here in about fifteen minutes.”

Saint hadn’t expected that, and it pleased him. “You kept the session.”

“I did. Thanks to you.” Boyce leaned forward, touching his lips gently against Saint’s once again. “Always thanks to you.”

A
n hour later, Boyce flipped through a series of images, watching each flicker by on the large monitor before him. The model was beautiful. The knotwork arrangement Enver had woven her up into was perfect. The rigging was the right height and Boyce’s equipment was cooperating.

The perfect shot was there. His for the taking.

Aim.

Shoot.

Snap.

Easy.

But photography was more than just point and click. His work was important to him, but the shot he’d been hoping for just wasn’t there. He knew when he forced all the factors, the models, the riggers, that he just made things worse.

The suspended model several feet away could tell, if the straight line of her mouth was any indication. Enver could tell as well, but he was enough of a friend to keep silent.

Boyce growled softly. He’d thought he’d been ready for this. Maybe it had been wrong to keep the appointment. To let Saint talk him into trying to get back to normal. Maybe his magic was...gone. He could salvage things by selling off a few shots to some fetish magazine, a skin site, a few of the higher end stock photo places. But he’d missed the mark on what he was looking for—hoping for—by a few miles.

“That’s a wrap, guys. Thanks for your hard work.”

The model relaxed. Well, as much as she could still bound as she was. But relief was clear on her face. She wasn’t classically pretty, but an interesting face made for a captivating image. The fetishist sites would gobble pictures of her curvy form up as fast as Boyce could get them loaded.

The rigger for the shot, Enver Furst, stepped in, wiggling his fingers as he seated his gloves. “She’s been up there a while.”

Boyce winced. “Sorry about that. She all right?”

Enver smirked as he stripped one glove away, reached between the model’s legs, and drew back wet fingers. He touched them to his tongue, smirked again, and then licked his fingers as though he’d just sampled the most decadent of all desserts. “I’d say more than. Mind if I...”

“Be my guest.” Boyce grabbed his camera, disconnected the wires and started switching out lenses and batteries as he crossed to the workbench he’d installed against the back wall a few years ago. The section not housing his computer was littered with USB drives, SD chips, crumbled pieces of paper, and various other lenses he hadn’t used for the session.

Behind him, as he set down his camera and the two spares, the model gave a keening wail.

Good old Enver.

At least someone was getting pleasure out of the deal.

Boyce gave them a bit of space by ducking into his darkroom to retrieve a few bottles of water. They’d need them once they were done. He downed one, tossed it into the recycling bin, and grabbed another. Boyce came back in to his studio just as Enver was dropping the last length of rope to the floor.

Boyce set the bottles nearby, then went to check to see if the chip was done downloading. Few more minutes. He’d taken more shots than he’d thought. Shots that wouldn’t do him any good. What a fucking waste of time. He’d have been better off canceling.

Then what would he have done?

Wallowed?

Given the middle finger to Saint?

Yeah, ‘cause
that
would have turned out well
.

Saint would just turn it back around on Boyce and make him pay. For a week. At least. Maybe longer. Intriguing thought at least.

When Boyce leaned against the desk to observe Enver uncoiling the ropes, Boyce’s breath caught in his throat. His heart raced. His fingers itched. He grabbed his 35mm loaded with film, checked the picture count. As he lifted the viewfinder he calculated how many shots he had available and started snapping.

He was done in what seemed like the blink of an eye. In reality, about ten minutes had passed, and he’d fired off nearly fifty shots. Expunging the entire roll.

Holy damn
.

The perfect shot did exist—it just hadn’t been where he’d thought. He knew better than to force his creative process, but yet, he’d gone and done it anyway.
Motherfucker
. Right there in front of his eyes the whole time. Just not in the fibers of the rope. The glint of the rigging.

But instead, in the baring of the heart.

The soul.

Enver raised his head, gesturing toward Boyce with his chin. Boyce gave him a wide smile and tilted his head in thanks as he tapped his camera to his forehead in mock salute. He spun the reel of the roll as he crossed to grab his water and ducked into the revolving steel door to his second home.

Hours later, Saint found Boyce still in his darkroom.

The strong fragrance of the chemicals Boyce used to process his photographs hung in the air, pungent and eye-burning. Unlike the last time Saint had found him there, Boyce had been hard at work. For some time, it seemed. Dripping sheets of exposed photographic paper hung from yards of clothesline, creating hundreds of puddles on the darkroom floor.

“I see you found your groove.”

Boyce smiled around the mouth of a water bottle as he turned to lean against the metal countertop. A genuine smile touched his eyes. Lit up his face. Crinkled the corners of his eyes. This was more than just hard work or rediscovering a comfortable niche. This was a dramatic change. Some kind of metamorphosis.

The one Saint had been hoping would happen for quite some time because he’d felt as though he hadn’t the strength or fortitude to force it to happen. Like Grae, Boyce needed to find himself. And by the look of the hundreds of photos hanging around Saint, Boyce had succeeded.

“An hour of thousands of data cards filled with images of a beautiful woman tied up in bondage. Nothing. And then—”

“Everything?” Saint plucked one of the images down as Boyce snapped his fingers.

A beautifully curvy woman was cradled in Enver’s loving embrace as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Rope marks showed on her naked skin, a lovely contrast of pink and red hues against her heavily freckled and creamy complexion. Rope sat coiled in the floor next to Enver’s knee, forgotten, his focus entirely on the sub as he cradled her. His eyes were closed, his tan face relaxed as he shared the moment with the submissive. As he enjoyed the simplicity of the moment.

Saint couldn’t take his gaze away from the stunning photograph while he crossed to Boyce. “The quiet moment of beauty where a submissive truly depends on the Dom. When the most euphoric of highs is pumping through both their bodies. Their scene is over, they’ve discovered completion. And where a sub knows no greater love than when she is cradled in the arms of her Dominant. It’s beautiful.”

Boyce had captured the moment flawlessly. Showcasing what so many people in the lifestyle understood and sought. Though Saint guessed it hadn’t come easily. Like most things that took effort, Boyce had made it look simple.