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“So what’s a classic for Trey? What does he especially enjoy when it comes to sex?”
“A lot of things.” He hesitated. “Would you like to go back to the playroom?”
“Would you?” Her eyes were lambent, her pussy suddenly a little wetter, a little tighter around him.
“He likes having sex there,” Zane said. “He likes the Gothic atmosphere and the elaborate toys. He likes being hurt a bit. I think part of him believes he shouldn’t like it, but that just gives the kink more power over him.”
“And you like that,” she said, her gaze locked on him.
“I love that,” Zane admitted.
~
Trey drove down country roads for hours, trying to get his head on straight. When he returned, Zane and Rebecca were sitting up in bed, seeming to have waited up for him.
“You look exhausted,” Rebecca said.
He was exhausted—and grateful they didn’t press him to talk. He crawled up between them, laid his head on Rebecca’s leg and passed out. His last conscious awareness was Zane rubbing his shoulders while Rebecca stroked his hair.
He felt better when he woke, but in his absence something had altered between the pair. They looked at each other more, both when the other knew and when he or she didn’t. Twice Trey caught them having conversations they cut off when he walked in. He chose not to ask what they’d been saying. They were entitled to interests they shared alone. For them to work as a threesome, they’d probably need them. The sense of exclusion only bugged him because he hadn’t thought his way through it. He was certain Zane had felt similarly a time or two.
When the pair disappeared in the afternoon without explanation, his rationale stopped working. They popped up again as he pretended to relax with a magazine on the back terrace.
“There you are,” Rebecca said. She was bright-eyed and smiling. Zane looked pleased with himself as well. Whatever they’d been up to, they’d enjoyed it.
“Here I am,” he agreed, turning toward them on the Adirondack chair.
He must have done a decent job of hiding his irritation, because Rebecca grinned.
“Well,” she said, arms slapping her sides as she exchanged yet another happy glance with Zane. “I guess I’m off to do the thing. See you in a bit.”
Trey waited until she’d walked off to explode.
“She’s off to ‘do the thing!’ Why are you doing things without me?”
Zane placed a hand on his chair back and bent to kiss him. The kiss was tonguey and very nice. To Trey’s annoyance, it did smooth out his temper. Zane drew back just as Trey was getting into it. He took consolation in Zane’s smoldering eyes revealing he’d been affected too.
“The thing she’s doing is for you,” Zane explained. “She asked me to help her with a surprise.”
“Really?” Guilt pricked Trey belatedly. “She doesn’t have to do that. This week is about seducing her into a relationship.”
Zane shook his head, amused. “You two are a pair.” He held out his hand. “Come see what we did. I predict seducing you is a step on the road to seducing her. She’s not the sort to want everyone focused on her all the time.”
When he put it that way . . . Trey grabbed Zane’s hand and rose, pleased when his friend kept it afterwards. “Is it a good surprise?” he asked, throwing him a sideways glance.
“Of course it is. I helped her pull it together.”
“Not short on confidence, are you?”
“Rarely,” Zane agreed.
Realizing they were headed toward the playroom put a skip into Trey’s pulse. “Was this your idea?” he asked as Zane worked the elevator.
“My suggestion. Rebecca brought her own ideas into the mix.”
“What ideas?”
Zane grinned. “You’ll see.”
He paused at the bank vault door, turning to rest both hands on Trey’s shoulders. Though his lips were curved, Trey sensed his friend was about to be serious.
“This game is for all of us,” Zane said. “If we all have fun, this whatever-it-is will have a better chance of lasting.”
“I want it to last.”
“I know.” Zane squeezed his shoulders. “I think . . . so do I.”
Trey’s heart really started thumping then. Knowing Zane, if he admitted that much, chances were he felt more. Zane unlocked the door with his personal key and thumbprint. He was grinning again, anticipating what lay ahead.
“God,” Trey said with a laugh. “I’m already hard and you haven’t done anything.”
Zane wagged his brows at the tent in Trey’s trousers and swung the door open.
They walked side by side along the twist in the hall. Imagination running riot, Trey held his breath and stepped into the central room. His skin tingled in reaction to the tableau he found.
In the center of the room, lit by a huge movie-style spotlight, was an old iron bedstead he’d never seen before. It wasn’t a fine antique. Any secondhand store in New England might carry a handful. The narrow—and new—mattress was dressed in crisp white sheets and a hand-stitched quilt so deeply scarlet it glowed. The pillows were fluffed, and a small weathered nightstand added hominess beside the head rail.
Less homey but certainly provocative were the four lengths of chain that hung from the ceiling through the wagon wheel chandelier. They ended in iron shackles, the sole component of the display with which Trey was familiar.
The contrasting images of safety and danger caused his cock to throb. Ripples of excitement joined the tingles on his skin. The whole arrangement was a stage set, awaiting only actors to walk on. I’m one of the actors, Trey thought. Zane—or perhaps Rebecca—understood his love of theater better than he’d realized.
“How did you pull this together?” he asked once his voice recovered.
“We rush ordered the bed last night on the Internet. It arrived in pieces and we assembled it down here. You should have seen Owens’ face when I told him Rebecca’s help was all I needed. Our driver seems to think billionaires and women are equally helpless.”
“He’s wrong there,” Rebecca said, emerging from the shadows of a niche. “I can lift hundred-pound tuna.”
She knew how to make an entrance. She wasn’t wearing a stitch: not makeup and not clothes. She was no vamp as she came toward them. Her walk was just a walk, not shy but maybe self-conscious. Her body was naturally beautiful—slim, strong, the faint cooking scars on her arms picked up by the strong spotlight. Her small rounded breasts jiggled like maracas, better to him than any centerfold’s.
She stopped on the nearer side of the bed. The frame was tall. She rested her butt back against the mattress. His breath caught as he noticed her pubic hair was waxed. A honey brown strip replaced what had been a triangle.
“Do you like it?” she asked, noting where his gaze had gone.
He nodded, his throat choked with arousal.
“Would you undress so I can see for myself?”
He wasn’t averse to making a show of himself. Aware that both his lovers were watching, Trey removed his clothes. Rebecca smiled when his erection came free of them. He stood, letting her enjoy her eyeful. If he was going to be chained like a slave—and he sincerely hoped he was—he might as well get into character.
Pleased by his behavior, Rebecca clambered onto the bed. She patted the red coverlet. “Join me up here. Zane showed me how to lock you up.”
If he’d ever heard a phrase more delightful, he didn’t remember it. Fighting a last unsureness, he shot a look at Zane. How much had he told her about his preferences? She could have guessed Trey’s fondness for bondage from what he’d done to her.
“Go on,” Zane said, waving him forward. “This game can’t start until you’re secured.”
It had started for him. His motor was revved and his knees shaky. As he swung up and faced her, his cock was very erect. Its shaft was hard and aching, impatient for pleasure. With one finger Rebecca flicked its tip. The subtle but sharp sensation sent a deep thrill through him.
Maybe Zane had told her everything.
“Pretty,” she said. “But we’ll see to it later.”
She attached the shackles at his wrists and ankles. She was slightly awkward, the task new to her—which only aroused him more. This wasn’t some practiced scene from a cookie-cutter script. She’d be involved as this unfolded.
He tried to wrest control of his breathing, but it was difficult. The chains the shackles were attached to stretched from him to a hook on the domed ceiling. Though they allowed a good range of movement, their weight and rattle reminded him he was bound.
“Sit back on your heels,” she said.
Her voice was different, not authoritative but husky with arousal. That was fine. Strictly speaking, Trey didn’t need to be mastered; he was happy to volunteer. Rebecca turned on her hands and knees to open the bedside table. He didn’t think she was consciously trying to display herself, but the position did. He clenched his hands, wanting to lick his way up her slit and bite that sweet little ass. Her newly groomed folds were rosy, the glistening of her sex forcing him to swallow back a groan.
