Page 103 of His Keepsake

I’d had him pinned and sorted as a mean, ruthless man, and he was, except for when he wasn’t.

Liking the two of them should be a crime in and of itself. I had shed tears and suffered nightmares. Some nights I’d ended trembling in Grayson’s arms, or Axl’s, or both.

My biggest shock—that they hadn’t tried to take me until weeks had gone by. These two men showing so much restraint, it was as startling as an apocalypse happening and the delivery guy still turning up with pizza.

The helicopter landed and we exited.

Our ride chugged to a halt behind us.

Once more I was guided away from the landing area.

Even before Axl removed the blindfold, I knew where we were—at the mansion where the CNC party had happened.

The base of the stone front stairs stretched before me, leading up to the patio and the doors.

“Be good for us, Emme. Behave for once. This first thing I’m having done to you is not something I am asking. From what Grayson has told me, you prefer it this way.” Axl cradled my jaw in his hand as Grayson clipped a leash to my black leather collar with the silver studs. “This may not be what either of you expect.” He glanced to Grayson. “But it’s what I think we all need.” His hair wafted over his eye.

I resisted raising a hand to help sweep his unruly brown hair into place.

Behavewas anathema to me, wasn’t it? It had been. I was testing the kinky waters with my toes again. I twisted my mouth, then I nodded.

“Let’s go!” He thrust his hand up like some warrior king. “Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of hell? Sound right, Grayson?”

“Dogs of war,” he corrected. “Let slip the dogs of war.”

“Shakespeare?” I vaguely recalled the saying.

The leash in Grayson’s hand had become familiar and comforting. It said they wanted me, here, with them. On my knees and sucking cock, or whatever. Their bed had become mine. Grayson’s kitchen, mine. Everything tonight seemed almost normal kink.

I wasn’t into normal much, was I? I thought that through. Things had changed.

“Yes, Shakespeare,” Grayson said.

I eyed him, then Axl, who strode ahead of us, one step higher.

Yes, I was into this—being collared, leashed, obeying them when it suited me. There were all sorts of reasons. I’d been to the darkest of the dark side of humanity, and now I quite liked this, the medium-gray side of kink.

A thrill struck me whenever I contemplated the leash in either man’s hand.

“What dogs?” Axl’s quote seemed out of place.

“You,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“Emme, a dog of hell? Seems a bit of an exaggeration, Axl.”

“It suits her better than war? Dog…bitch? Okay. I admit it makes no sense. I just wanted to say it. We’re tattooing Satan in text, and a pair of horns on her ass tonight. The other cheek is your choice.”

We reached the patio where other guests trickled past us through the doorway.

So this was his idea.

“I like that.” Grayson laid a hand on my back, slipping it down to cup my ass. “Let me think…”

A tattoo was a permanent sign of ownership. I turned it over in my mind. Tattoos hurt, and being hurt to show they owned me, complying with that direction, it triggered my needs.

“Any ideas for his tattoo on you, Emme?” Axl asked as we passed through into the internal hallway. “Suggestions considered?”

Grayson nodded.

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