Page 46 of Boneyard HEA

Except I want to hear what he has to say, and he’s brushing his hands over my skin, raising goosebumps and conjuring a beautiful magic. Little frissons of excitement drift, making my nipples stir and slowly rise. I angle my head into his touch, knowing my mouth has fallen partly open and that Tomás has noticed my reaction. We exchange a glance before I lower my head.

No matter the fierceness of their desires, I do like what he and Tomás do to me.

I will miss this.

“Sit down, Juniper, and I will tell you what I really want. It’s something I hadn’t crystallized in my head. Until now.”

Crystallize? I eyeroll at the jargon, but I sit. He leans his hands on my shoulders.

“Go on.”

“I want more from you. What you’ve given me so far is what I can have from any woman who comes to me for one of these parties. A week of submission. It’s easy to get.”

For a billionaire or whatever, I imagine it is.

“What else is there?” My soul? If he wants my kidneys, I’m out of here. I almost say that part out loud. Why has he woken this tiny kernel of hope? Because I, too, want more of something I cannot put into words, and yet…and yet, I will not give up my crusade for vengeance. I will not.

His hands dig painfully into my shoulders, pressing me onto my chair, and that possessive gesture becomes everything. My focus narrows. The sounds of the beach and people, of circling seagulls, lessen until all I hear and feel is him.

“Those women, I take them to their limits and then I discard them. But you…”

“Me?” I ask quietly.

“I want all of you. I want to own you.” He pulls my head backward until I’m looking up at him with my throat exposed. “Forever. Free use of your body and your mind. However and whenever I want. Tomás also, if he wants to jointly own you.” He slides his hand to my breast and cups it. “Obedience, of course. But”—he smirks—“since I’ve grown to enjoy your occasional disobedience, if you disobey, I get to do what I want to you. Agree, and I will allow reasonable negotiation in the future.”

I’m frowning. I can’t help it. “Owned. You can’t do that anymore.”

“You said you’re honest. I will trust you. If you want to walk away from this, you can in the future. It’s the ultimate power exchange. And I promise to do everything I can to get the other men you seek.”

I stare up at him for ages. “And what if you want to terminate this?”

“I might. I’m human. I trust that if you agree to this, now, that you mean to keep the promise⁠—”

“And I have to trust you to do the same.” I finish his sentence. “And not to break me into tiny little pieces.” I suspect they’ll play mind games with me. Will I like that? The sadism. The public play. The crazy fuckery they already do? I think…I might. I would. That kernel of idiotic hope has flared into a flame. “And I get to enjoy this?”

“What do you think?” His hands are on my throat and breast and he squeezes both, holds them until I put my hand on his and try to pluck him off me. He’s not letting go and I hear Tomás stand. Despite Mr. Loxland’s grip on my neck, I can see his approach. He sits on the edge of the table before me.

“I’m in,” he says. “Joint ownership, if you agree.” Then he goes to his knees, opens my legs, pulls aside the bikini bottom, and he kisses me there.

With a single lick of soft tongue…ohmigod…it’s lightning and arousal woven together exquisitely… An instant reminder of what he’s done before.

I suck in a shuddery breath while he’s replacing the shred of cloth, then he goes back to sitting on the table. Mr. Loxland doesn’t move.

The feel of that tongue lingers.

To trust them to do their utmost to discover those men. I think I can do that. There’s something about this offer that’s more genuine than what we had. Because now, having been given a little capsule of what the fraternity does, I can understand the appeal.

And I get all of them, if they get all of me. They will own me in a sense of the word that I’ve never considered, though it’s only possible if we all trust each other.

Trust these men who already have everything? “What if you want something I really don’t want? Like sewing me below.” I can’t help frowning.

“Negotiation. We can allow some. We won’t try to hurt you irreversibly, damage you unless you ask for something. We might even disagree with what you’d like us to do,” Tomás says.

“A safeword?” I ask.

“It’s CNC. Consensual non-consent, but also more than that,” Mr. Loxland murmurs, moving the back of his hand over my cheek. “But I want that stipulation of ownership. The collar is also an essential part. You are handing us all the power to do, almost, whatever we want to do.”

“Trust. Ownership.” I draw a deep breath, let it out. “And mind games. I think I like those.” As he slowly winds his hand in my hair, I shiver.