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Red. Red. I’d never had a safe word before. Never imagined being asked that question. Never imagined being asked that question by Wilder. Sweet, thoughtful, intense, broody Wilder. But he had.
I was dressed like I was headed into a party with a bunch of BDSM experts. Which I had been until Wilder tossed me over his shoulder and headed the opposite direction.
While I might look ready to drop to my knees for a dominant in the party, looks were deceiving. I was into kink. I was interested in BDSM. I was interested in learning more about it, whether there was anything that might happen in the party that made me hot, that made me want a guy to do whatever I saw to me. I might not have had sex before, but I knew what I wanted.
I wanted it wild. Rough. I wanted to be pinned down, tied up, bent over, on my knees. I wanted all of that not because I read a bunch of romance novels or watched porn.
No, I wanted it because…I wanted it. I’d known pretty much forever that I was a little different. I never played wedding with my Barbie dolls. I would bind her hands together behind her back with a rubber band. I didn’t put fancy outfits on her. I kept her naked. I’d thought darker thoughts even before I really knew what sex was. I couldn’t explain it, still couldn’t, but I just knew I was wired slightly differently. There wasn’t any other way I could think of to explain it. It wasn’t as if I could chat with my girlfriends about it. Why did I want to be pinned down and fucked? Yeah, that wouldn’t have gone over well at a slumber party.
Missionary wasn’t enough, even for my first time. And that was why I hadn’t ever had a first time. I hadn’t found the right guy to know what I needed, or for me to be comfortable enough with him to tell him what I needed.
And that included Wilder and King. I’d been in love with both of them since I was thirteen, the summer before seventh grade. The first time I saw them was at my mother’s third wedding reception. This was the marriage to a rich rancher, King’s family’s neighbor. Since my mother had married a local—that time—everyone from Barlow had been invited. Pretty much everyone had gone too, including Wilder and King.
The only reason I could think that two nineteen-year-olds would want to go to a wedding reception was easy access to alcohol. It had been when Danny Sayers had gotten me behind a tree and put his hand on my barely developed chest over my top, and I’d pushed him off that they’d appeared and scared the crap out of him. While they hadn’t laid a finger on poor Danny, he’d gotten a lesson on how to treat a lady—even a thirteen-year-old one—and when no meant no. He’d been in my class all the way through graduation, but he hadn’t spoken to me once after that day. Barely even looked at me.
All through school, I’d never thought about him, or any boy. All I saw, with teenage stars in my eyes, were Wilder and King. Yes, both of them. Perhaps that was the first sign that I knew I was different. I’d crushed after two men. And they had been men. Tall, muscled, intensely focused. One dark, the other fair. One lean, the other broad. Gorgeous. For years I would touch myself, make myself come to fantasies of them taking me, touching me. Hell, fucking me.
When it came to my orgasms, no one else would do, it seemed.
My youthful crush shifted to adult love. By the time I’d returned home from college and settled in at my job at the town library, I saw them frequently. Wilder was a particularly avid reader and checked books out several times a week.
The town was small and it was hard to miss them, or anyone else. Besides the library, I saw King often at the grocery store, one time at the gas station and even at the dentist—Wilder’s dad used to be my dentist, but a woman had bought his practice when he’d retired.
I may have been off-limits for a long time, but the age difference wasn’t so important any longer. I was twenty-three. A woman and well past legal. Fortunately, they didn’t look at me as if I were a child any longer. Their gazes were always dark, heated. Interested. I had no doubt of that.
I’d dated, but no one had been of interest and they’d never become a boyfriend. Then, I’d dated them.
First, Wilder had asked me out, and I’d been so excited. Nervous and thrilled, hoping he’d do everything I’d imagined. But he’d been…tame. Gentlemanly, but mild. I hadn’t seen the look of a man who wanted to devour a woman. We’d had fun, one time we’d gone bowling and another time on a picnic by the river. I liked his conversation, his personality. He’d made me laugh. I’d liked…no, loved everything about him, except there had been no chemistry.
It was the exact same thing with King when he’d asked me out the following month. We’d gone on a few dates. He’d shown me kindness. He’d been...sweet. Blah.
Their kisses had been chaste. No tongue, no feeling. No ravishing. While it hadn’t been brotherly, it hadn’t been hot either. I hadn’t gotten wet. My nipples hadn’t gotten hard. There hadn’t been any kind of zing.
While my heart and pussy might pine for them, my head told me no. I wasn’t going to be stuck with a man who didn’t excite me sexually, who wouldn’t give me what I needed, even though I didn’t know exactly what that was.
Because of this, I’d turned them down for future dates. That had been hard. Very hard, the winter so far long and boring. There’d been crying involved, lots of donuts and wine. Lots of heartache every time I saw them in town, every time Wilder came to the library. But Rachel—my friend from college—had invited me to come to the BDSM weekend at the resort she ran with her husbands to try the party and have fun. She’d said I didn’t have to do anything, that no one would touch me without my permission. That had comforted me and I’d needed to look beyond Barlow to possibly find a man who could get me wet, get me wild. Bridgewater wasn’t too far and if I were ever going to find someone, I had to get out there. Staying in my PJs with a book and hot cocoa wasn’t going to do it.
While Rachel and her husbands weren’t into BDSM, or at least not in a group setting, she did have two husbands. Two. So for the party tonight, she was to be my wingman and Matt and Ethan would be hers—as if those huge, doting men would leave her side. We’d only be observing, although I had no doubt by the end of the night, with their baby asleep, they’d be in their bedroom having their own private party of three.
Still, Rachel had told me I couldn’t show up in my usual attire of jeans and blouses and had offered to order clothes for me online, just for the party. Clothes wasn’t the right word for what she’d had delivered. Scraps of fabric, that’s what my seventy dollars had paid for. While the flared skirt made of latex swirled down to mid-thigh, it had been the bustier she’d gotten me that I’d freaked about. The bra was only half-cups and it must have been at a bargain price since half the material was missing. My nipples weren’t even covered! When I’d put it on and gotten a good look at myself, I’d questioned our friendship. Why would Rachel think I’d be okay with something so revealing in front of a roomful of strangers? And her husbands? God, I’d almost died thinking of Matt and Ethan seeing me like that. I’d never be able to look them in the eye again.
That was why I’d put my own white blouse back on and covered up, even though I looked like a petite, curvy Britney Spears. I might want to watch the party from the sidelines, but I had no plans to do so with my nipples on display.
To make matters worse, Rachel didn’t have a special outfit. No, she wore jeans and a Hawk’s Landing shirt, telling me her men wouldn’t let her expose her body to anyone but them. I seriously questioned our friendship.
I’d expected to see some interesting things at the party. I’d prepared myself not to show surprise or horror or too much curiosity, depending on what the couples did. It wasn’t my place to judge or question what consenting adults chose to do, especially since they were in solid relationships, trusting each other enough to participate in a BDSM event. I didn’t even have a relationship.
So when I saw the guy with his dick in a cage crawling toward the party following behind his mistress, I wasn’t too surprised. But I hadn’t expected to see Wilder and King. They were a total shock. I swore my heart skipped a beat when I heard Wilder’s voice call out my name in a deep, dark tone.
I’d practically hyperventilated watching as they crossed the great room, eyes focused squarely and solely on me. My heart began beating double-time, my palms became damp, my nipples hardened and my pussy got wet between one quick breath and the next.
They’d been surprised to see me, yes. Stunned, even. I’d expected revulsion, shame, even embarrassment on their expressions as they studied me in my slutty outfit, but no.
No. The banked heat I used to see in their eyes when they looked at me had returned. Only hotter. Brighter. More obvious.
They wanted me. It was blatant, even to me.
