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I tried to run away.
The pressure builds until the words burst out.
“What if—what if I’m sorry now? I want to apologize.”
Emerson’s eyes flare. “For what, little painter?”
“For trying to leave. It was—it was reckless and dangerous and I almost died. It hurt you, too. And Sin had to come get us. It was cold. It was so cold, and so wrong. I never should have done it. I want to stay with you. I want—I want—” My breath isn’t cooperating. “I want to show them what it looks like to be sorry. I want to show you.”
There’s a moment of silence. Worry trickles in. What if this isn’t the game we were playing? What if I ruined it? What if it shatters on the floor into shards of glass?
Emerson pulls me in and kisses me. I clench on his cock as he does it. “I got you back,” he says, reassuring. Forgiving. “And you didn’t do any permanent damage. But I would love to see you sorry, little painter. What did you bring, Sin?”
His brother is ready. “A couple of things.” He crosses behind the sofa and picks something up from the side table. Two objects. Small and black. They fit in his palm. He offers them to Will, who takes them without hesitation.
They both move behind me. Two hands reach around and take my wrists, pulling my hands away from Emerson’s chest. “I’ll balance her,” Sin says. He pulls my hands over my head and stretches me upright. I’m balanced on Emerson’s cock. Emerson rubs at the curve of my waist, his hips rocking slightly, as if he can’t help himself. “Will’s good with clamps.”
My eyes go wide.
“Hush, little painter,” Emerson says.
And so I hush as Will’s hands come around me with the nipple clamps.
They bite in hard, harder than Emerson’s teeth, and I burst into tears. Sin keeps my arms above my head while Will adjusts them, making them tighter, somehow.
“How is it?” Sin asks Emerson.
“She’s dripping,” Emerson says, voice tight. “She’s clenching around me. The piece likes to be sorry.”
“I am,” I gasp. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“That’s right.” Sin shakes my arms a little. “You lured our brother out into the ocean. Do you know better now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. Yes. I don’t know.” I don’t know anything right now, actually. Except that those points of pain at my nipples have a direct line to my clit.
He makes a tsk sound. “You’re my brother’s piece. And you were very disobedient. Nipple clamps might not drive the point home.”
It’s a question. If Emerson refuses him, he won’t continue. But it’s an offer.
Emerson doesn’t refuse.
Sin separates my wrists and leans me forward again. “Down,” he coaxes. “Oh, I know it’s going to hurt. Your nipples will survive.” He makes me lean forward until they’re brushing at the front of Emerson’s shirt. Every time they touch is a new shock of pain. “She’ll need to be open for this.”
Emerson runs his hands down my sides and lower, to my ass.
And with a gentle pressure he spreads me open.
I lose my breath entirely. Lock my eyes on his. Sweat mists on my spine. A bottle clicks nearby, and then something cool and wet lands on my hole. A knuckle follows it, rubbing it in, and then the tip of a finger.
“Sin wants to see more of an apology, little painter.”
“What you’ve done isn’t enough,” Sin comments, clipped and confident. “My brother deserves more.”
He pushes a finger into my hole and my entire body tenses.
“Relax,” Emerson says. “Art doesn’t fight. It’s beautiful and obedient in its frame.”
The finger goes deeper. “He’s—he’s stretching—”
