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She scooted her chair back and went to him. His hand, ran over her bottom through the sundress she’d put on.
“Are you wearing panties?”
The men stopped eating, forks clanging against plates as they fell. They looked at her, waiting. It didn’t appear odd to them that the question was being asked. They just wanted to hear the answer.
“Yes, Sir,” she said, finally killing the stutter. It could still come back. It was early yet.
“That disappoints me. Take them off.”
What was the point? Nothing she did would ever be good enough. She’d never be Trish, even if she followed his orders to the letter every moment for the rest of her life.
Where had that come from? She pushed past the urge to fight him on the panty issue and turned to go inside.
“Take them off here.”
If she begged him, he’d only humiliate her worse. He might punish her.Just give in. Whatever he wants. Just do it.He’d said the first week or so was the hardest. Had it been hard for Trish? Even if he hadn’t taken her against her will? Was it something Veronica would have had to push through either way?
She wanted him. She wanted to live out every filthy fantasy she’d ever had with him, but she couldn’t get past the fact that she hadn’t come here freely. She almost had. In that park when she’d been so desperate for anything to make her life better and he’d given her one more chance to go with him, what if she’d just gone, with no ropes or terror?
What if she’d taken the work as just a matter of course? What if they’d agreed that room and board was sufficient pay for a few household chores and meal preparation? What if he’d seduced her and she’d fallen under his spell? Would it really be easier to go down the dark and gnarled path he was taking her down?
“Veronica...” His voice had taken on that edge again. It was the way he sounded only a few moments before consequences.
She balanced with one hand against the table and lifted the dress to reach the top of her panties and took them off without thinking it through. She was about to go back to sit down—a wildly optimistic choice—when his hand covered hers, stopping her.
A look passed between him and the guys, and as if they’d done this all before, they stacked the plates at the far end of the table, where the extra chair sat. Trish may have decided on six chairs to keep the table even, but each day, that last empty chair at the end of the table felt like the place for the ghost of his former lover.
Luke grabbed Veronica’s wrist and pulled her closer, so that she was half lying on the table on her stomach. He dress was scrunched around her waist, displaying her lower half to the men. Jake got up from the table and made his way over to her. He was the only one of them who hadn’t yet seen her in some state of undress.
He ran his fingers over the welts the belt had left. “Poor thing,” he said. “What did she do to deserve this?”
“She kept me waiting.”
“Let me borrow her for a little while. I’ll soften her up for you. She just needs someone to be gentle with her. You’re too intimidating. Remember how Trish was at first?”
“No. If you’re soft, you just teach her to manipulate.”
Veronica gritted her teeth, willing herself not to scream at them for talking about her like she was a lamp or chair or not right there, leaned over the table on display.
Jake still stroked gently over the welts, eliciting a small whimper from her. She winced when he pressed a finger inside her ass.
“We don’t have time right now,” Luke said. “There’s too much work to do. Tonight we’ll play with her.”
“All of us?”
“Yes.”
Jake removed his finger, and Veronica let go of the breath she’d been holding. Then he smacked her over the still-painful welts and pulled her dress down.
She spent the rest of the day fretting over what all of them playing with her meant. Just when she was trying to test what would happen if she didn’t fight him, Luke had to go and introduce new things.
Lunch went off without a hitch, the men too wrapped up in the day’s chores to mess with her. She waited on them, and brought them their food, and cleared the table when they went back to work. She checked on the garden and made a note to tell Luke about some holes in some of the bell pepper leaves. She’d fed the chickens and done laundry and cleaned the house.
Around five thirty, Luke came in with a package wrapped in white paper—meat from one of his cattle. “It’s stew meat,” he said, putting it on the bottom shelf of the fridge. “Make shish kabobs for dinner, for all of us on the grill. The skewers are in the top draw on the left side of the stove, and here’s the list of the veggies to pick from the garden for them.” He passed a piece of paper to her. “The only other thing you need for your part is pineapple, and Robert’s gone out to the store to grab one and the other things we need. Don’t look so terrified. We’re just having a little party tonight.”
* * *
Thelittle partyturned out to include party trays, S’mores, a big bonfire, and a lot of alcohol. The more they drank, the more worried she got. The shish kabobs had been a hit, and nothing dirty had happened yet except for the occasional grope, but she could tell they were just getting warmed up. The grill had been brought to the far end of the yard where the bonfire had been started. For S’mores andambiance, Robert had said after his second beer.
