Page 100 of What We Become

“You know what, this is probably better than what I imagined,” Milo says as I sink into the water across from him.

The water is warm rather than hot, the oatmeal making it silky against my skin. I don’t move to wrap my arms around him because nearly every part of his torso is irritated, but I rest my hands against the porcelain and let his legs entwine with mine.

“It’s kinda nice, huh?”

I tip my head back and look up at the stars. Night has gathered over the cabin while everything went wrong. Through the skylight, the stars look close enough to touch, sharp white points scattered across a black so deep it makes the bathroom feel like the only lit place left in the world.

“Yeah,” Milo says. “I mean, it’s not group sex and knife fucking. But it is nice.”

“I really did love it,” I tell him, lifting my head so I can look at him. “The only way it could be better is if it vibrated.”

He perks up. “Oh! I should work on a taser version.”

“You made me something that was a weapon and a sex toy. I don’t think anyone has ever understood me so accurately.”

“It was ergonomically designed.”

“I could tell.”

“The curve took four attempts.”

“The practice shows.”

He shifts against me, and the water laps softly against the sides of the tub.

“This really is nice,” he says after a while. “It’s itchy. But it’s nice.”

“High praise.”

“I’m sorry I fucked up your fucking knife.”

“It’s okay.” I smile as I keep my eyes on the stars. “It’s the thought that counts.”

TWENTY-THREE

SAGE

“Good girl. That’s it. Let him have you.”

Good girl. For half a second I’m in a car with a bottle of water in my hand.

Then I shove it back down, because Stephen doesn’t get this too. He doesn’t get to have this. He doesn’t get to ruin Eli’s voice in my ear, Micah’s tongue between my thighs.

One week after Milo’s fucking knife went up in smoke, I’m finally in the sex room, stretched along the wide padded bench with Eli behind me and Micah kneeling between my thighs. The St. Andrew’s cross stays in the corner, still forbidden for another week, but I’m too busy appreciating the compromise to care.

Eli’s chest is warm against my back as he keeps my bound wrists steady beside my hips. The silk rope loops clean and snug, fastening each wrist to a low ring set into the bench, while an angled cushion supports my upper body and keeps the strain away from my ribs.

I’m restrained, open and completely at their mercy.

Which is exactly where I want to be.

Micah’s tongue drags slow and flat before curling, finding the exact spot that makes my hips jerk so I’m pulling against the restraints. He hums—a low, satisfied vibration that I feel everywhere—and his hands press my thighs wider, holding me open while Eli holds me still.

“Breathe, little savage,” Eli murmurs. His lips brush the shell of my ear, and a drop of heat lands on my chest. A single point of fire between my breasts.

I hiss, and my whole body jolts against the rope. The restraints catch me—silk snug around my wrists—and the wax hardens as fast as it burned, leaving a tight little spot cooling on my skin.

“You’re tensing,” Eli says, entirely too calm, and when I twist my head I see it in his hand. Crimson taper, steady flame, a glisten of melted wax trembling at the rim. One hand wraps around my neck, thumb tracing my jaw. “Relax.”