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“I don’t want to hear it!” Tanner shouts. He presses his fingers into his eyes, taking a deep breath in and then exhaling through pursed lips. His shoulders are trembling, his arms shaking so hard the fingers pressed into his eyes are vibrating.
The bartender and I share a glance. He crawls over me to the nightstand and picks up the knife I never saw him discard. He makes quick work of cutting my wrists free, cringing a little when he sees me wince in pain as I try to bring my arms back around to the front of me. Tanner dives onto the bed, crawling to me as he glares at the bartender. “You haven’t even introduced yourself and she’s bleeding all over her sheets.”
“I’m fine Tanner, really,” I offer, touched by the protective response he’s having.
“No, you aren’t,” he cries, shooting another vicious glare at the bartender. The man’s dark eyes go black as a storm thunders across the planes of his cut face, right before he explodes.
“She agreed to the terms,” he bellows, sliding off the bed to stand beside it. I manage to get my upper arms to stop spasming and slide myself up into a sitting position.
“You know as well as I do, she had no clue what she was agreeing too!” Tanner shouts, pointing his finger as he slides off the bed. They face off, both of their chests heaving with angry breaths, their jaws clenched tight, their eyes narrowed in accusation.
Although I appreciate Tanner’s defense, I do not enjoy his assumption that I’m some innocent little flower. I haven’t had any kind of sexual freedom in twenty years. My situation might be different if I had taken and enjoyed the same liberties my ex-husband did, but I was a faithful wife. That doesn’t mean I don’t know how to Google. I’m a nurse. I know how to research. There was no way for me to know everything I was getting into, but I had some idea.
I loathe to step into the middle of a lover’s quarrel, but since I’m the only one who got double penetrated, I feel like I’ve earned the right.
“Guys?” hesitantly, I attempt to get their attention.
“She’s bleeding, Law!”
“She’s got a few scrapes,” the bartender tries to scoff, as he glances at my hands, his eyebrows knitted in concern. They begin to argue if they should call a medical professional in to look at my wrists.
“Hey . . . Fellas?” I ask, raising my voice a bit.
“Your fucking twisted need to take, take, take is going to hurt someone!” Tanner barks. The bartender jerks backs, hurt flashing across his face.
“That’s enough!” I thunder. I grab Tanner’s pointed finger. His arm immediately relaxes. I shuffle off the bed and stand beside the two angry men, the three of us forming a human triangle as we stand shoulder to shoulder. I draw Tanner’s hand to my mouth and gently kiss his knuckles. “Yes, in practice I am very inexperienced. But I know more than you think I do. You don’t have the right to make assumptions about me.” My eyes track his as I pepper the back of his hand with soft pecks to punctuate and soften my reproach. “Were you out there watching us? Because that’s so fucking hot, Tanner. I’ve never been watched before.” A lusty gleam begins to replace the anger in his eyes. “Yes, my wrists are sore, but a little triple antibiotic ointment and they’ll be fine.” I grip his shoulder and push up on my tip toes. This could be a big gamble, but I’m playing a game. I pull myself up as he leans in, understanding I wish to whisper in his ear. “If you apologize for kink shaming the bartender, I’ll let you pick out something from that closet that is exactly to your taste. Something I can crawl under the table in. I’d like to take my breakfast from your lap.” His face flushes. Bingo. I knew it. The Brit likes a little bit of class mixed in with his filth.
I can do that. Fuck, I think I’ll love doing that.
I lean the other way and grab onto the bartender. He slings an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest as he leans over me in a half hug while take my turn whispering to him. “That was hands down the widest, longest, most gorgeous cock I’ve ever seen, let alone taken. I meant what I said. I’d like to try again. Outside.”
He lifts his head, shooting a victorious look at the Brit before lazily grinning at me. Relief flashes through his eyes as they rove across mine, looking for false bravado. He really is worried he hurt me. My heart leaps and bounces about in an odd rhythm, forcing me to catch my breath.
Shit, I can’t catch any feelings. This situation is temporary. This is a game.
“Is this round over boys?” I’m tired, and they have things to hash out. I need a shower and a game plan before the next round. I stare at the bartender expecting for him to respond.
“No,” the Brit answers, surprising me. “We’re going to run you a bath, feed and hydrate you, and tuck you in.”
The thought of a hot bath is followed by a catalog of all the parts of my body that are throbbing. Some with pain, some with that delicious haze that only comes after your entire nervous system is short circuited by massive orgasms. The desire to crawl in bed and fall asleep straight away wars with my curiosity. What does bath time with these two entail? Logically sleep would be the best choice. I need to be on my game, so to speak, to start the day’s next round.
Jason never once offered to bathe me after we had sex. I bite my lip as a blush steals over my cheeks. This is no time to be shy. This is my once in a lifetime opportunity to live out my sexual fantasies. When am I ever going to have the opportunity to be bathed by two hot as sin men? “I could use a bath. But first . . . Could one of you could take this plug out of my ass?”
CHAPTER FIVE
WHITNEY
Article 12, Section 8
At the conclusion of the game, the winner will be presented with a $500,000 USD check. All contestants will be flown home. All clothing and personal items purchased for the contestants become the property of the contestant. All applicable taxes will be paid by the contestant. Should the winner choose to enter the next round of the game, the prize is forfeited.
“Good morning,” Nema chirps. “How did you sleep?”
“You really don’t know?” I ask through a yawn, before I can stop myself.
She has the grace to blush and the professionalism to avoid the question. “Let’s get you up and ready for breakfast, shall we?”
Thank fuck. I’m ravenous. Sitting up, I take stock of how my body feels. My wrists sting, but the damage isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. There are some abrasions, and the flesh is tender and swollen, but they should be fine in a couple of days. Nema holds out a silk robe. I slide my arms into it and head into the bathroom.
