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I’ve always loved my grandma’s maze of a house, full of hiding places. Ever since I was a kid, my cousins and I would play chase through the house. The beauty of older architecture as she always said, but thoughts of her are fleeting as each man calls out my nickname.
The mix of humor and urgency is intoxicating.
Finally, I’m at the back stairwell, which is disguised by a door that’s identical to all of the bedroom doors. Quickly opening the door, I step through, and keep my eyes on the corner, ensuring Tank doesn’t see where I went before I quietly close it.
I stop at the bottom, making efforts to control my breath while knowing it will take him a moment to figure out where I’ve gone. The stairwell runs from the kitchen to the second floor, so that food and beverages could be taken directly upstairs.
Putting my ear to the door, I listen for a moment. Silence. I inch the door open and breathe a sigh of relief that the coast is clear. The irony is that I don’t want to get away, and I now solidly understand the thrill of the chase.
I question if I can sneak up on the guys. Have they all gone upstairs?
My throat closes when a hand grabs me from behind.
It’s Winger. Shit. He’d been silently waiting behind the door. He pulls me close. “You didn’t think we’d all follow the same path, did you?”
The sound of blood pulsing through my body echoes in my ears but can’t drown out his low gravel of pride. I swallow the lump in my throat.
The chase was supposed to take longer, but now that I’m caught, I squeeze my thighs together. I want him inside of me so bad. I want to drop my sheet. No. I want him to strip it from me, but he doesn’t. He also doesn’t announce that he found me.
He just inches the fabric up and dips the finger between my legs. “You understand that if you let us play today, you’re letting us play forever?”
I take a second to think, and his grip tightens around my arm. Rather than feeling like he’s pressuring me to agree, it’s as if he’s assuring me that he means it.
“Yes,” I croak, the lump in my throat not totally gone.
“We’re not joking about this. I love you, Sasha. Purge told us you’re not ready to say it. We’ll give you time to get there.”
Isn’t that a risk or contradiction or something illogical? If I can’t say it, how can they know that I ever will? And yet, logical or not, it’s what I need.
“Thank you.”
“In the meantime, we’ll do everything in our power to make you ours, if we haven’t already.” He rubs his hand over my belly, and I honestly hope that they have.
I want this. It’s just that no part of my brain can believe it’s happening. And as soon as I can accept that, I’ll be able to say that I love them—because I do. What I feel for them, the trust, acceptance, and rightness, have to be love.
Winger spins me around, kisses me, then pulls back and stares into my eyes. “I never thought I was going to find the perfect woman. I gave up on it years ago. But Sasha, you are everything I want, and I’ll do whatever it takes to be the same for you.”
Adrenaline must fuel my boldness. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you already are.”
“I fucking love you, Sasha. I need…”
I lose track of what he’s saying when he reaches for something in his back pocket. Before I know it, there’s a handcuff around my wrist again.
Perhaps I should broaden our adventures by telling them more of my fantasies, but this one’s more than fine for a few million more times. It’ll be different without a closet rod in sight.
He lifts me onto the kitchen counter and pulls my hand upward to an open section of the cabinet that has wooden dowel rods separating the bigger space.
Leaving my other hand free, he attaches me to one of the wooden rods.
He caresses his fingers down my restrained arm, then tangles his fingers with my other hand. “I want you to be able to touch us this time. You want that, don’t you?”
Stroking the scruff of this five o’clock shadow, I say, “That’s not all I want.”
Tugging at the top of my sheet, he peels the fabric away, letting it fall around me as he admires my nakedness.
I’m not embarrassed when I’m with them. Instead, I’m worried that I’m too much of a sex newbie to safely navigate the precariousness of how easily the fabric slips over the counter.
Winger groans while he stares at my bare breasts, seems to make a decision, then taps my knees.
