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The deep timbre of Grigory’s voice rolls in from the living room, and I breathe a steadying sigh. Everything is calmer when he’s nearby.
I finish the sauce and bring the food to the table. Steak, Béarnaise sauce, mashed potatoes, and green beans. It’s not my favorite meal, but I know the two men will love it.
Then I go to the living room, and my breath stutters when I see both men sitting on the couch. Markus reclines on the chaise—his favorite spot—one arm draped over the back, feet up, swirling amber liquid in a tumbler. Grigory has made himself comfortable at the other end, an arm relaxed on the armrest, his favorite drink in his massive hand.
Their authority hangs thick in the air, and when both of their gazes turn to me, it becomes hard to breathe. I stop in my tracks, forgetting the words I was about to say.
Gosh, I don’t know what to do. I’d forgotten how it felt being in the presence of two virile men,both of their hungry gazes trained on me.
I do the only thing that makes sense and sink to my knees.
Nerve-racking silence stretches for a minute as I stare at the floor before me. At least down here, I don’t feel as exposed.
“Did you want to say something?” Markus’s voice is a bit deeper than usual.
I clear my throat. “Dinner is ready.”
My eyes remain downcast as I hear both men get up.Markus stops beside me, holding out his hand for me. “Let’s go eat, sweetie.”
***
In many ways, our dinner reminds me of the first meal the three of us had together at the French restaurant five months ago. I was quiet that night too, overwhelmed by the effect of two dominant men. The only difference—and a very significant one—is that I’m not uncomfortable this time.
Today, there’s no worrying about Grigory’s narrow-eyed stares and him seeing me as an immature woman. Today, I’m fully aware of why he keeps casting stern looks my way.
He’ll hone his eyes in on me with startling directness, holding mine longer than normalproprietyallows. I try to flicker my eyes away, but Grigory won’t allow it. He lowers his chin in a stern warning every time I’m about to break the connection of my own accord.
It sucks me deep into a submissive place where I can’t think or speak.
At one point, Markus wraps a possessive hand around my nape while Grigory silently demands I keep my eyes on his. Everything becomes a blur—their commanding power the only thing holding me up.
When they finally do release me, I have to take several minutes to regain focus in order to keep eating.
It takes a long time for me to get through my portion. When I finally gather my utensils at the side of my plate, the two men have been done for a while and are in the middle of a conversation about the new state of affairs in the Vienna opera.
As the conversation comes to a natural pause, Markus turns to watch me for a moment as if gauging me. There’s something purposeful in his eyes that has me shrinking in the chair, heat rushing through my veins and gathering between my legs. It only gets worse when I feel Grigory’s eyes on me too.
Markus pats my hip, signaling for me to get up. “Go ask Grigory to check how wet you are.”
My heartbeat becomes a loud drum in my chest as I step around the table to stand beside Grigory, gaze lowered and hands folded behind my back. I swallow hard, and my eyes flicker up to see him lean back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, watching me. Waiting.
God, I want to combust under the sheer force of his gaze.
“Will you please—” I start, barely above a whisper.
“What’s that?” Grigory cuts me off. “Look at me. And speak up so I can hear you.” His stern voice sends shivers cascading down my neck, my entire body gravitating toward his command.
I clear my throat and lift my eyes. “Will you please check how wet I am?”
“Much better. Now step closer.” Grigory pulls out from the table, angling his chair toward me.
My knees are like jelly, the single step forward enough to threaten their stability. It doesn’t help that I feel Markus’s eyes on me, watching my every move, seeing how I’m about to collapse under Grigory’s dominance.
Grigory leans forward in his chair, his large hands riding up my thighs under my skirt to find the hem of my pantyhose. With one hard yank, he rips them down, making me jump from the sudden force. He grabs my hips to steady me, looking up at me with a hard gaze that has the effect of quaking tectonic plates beneath my feet.
Keeping me steady with one hand, he slips the other back up my skirt and into my panties. “What will I find when I dip my finger in?” he asks, stroking the back of his finger along my mound.
I bite my lips together, hoping the question is rhetorical. But of course it isn’t. Grigory remains patient as ever, stroking my mound as he waits. That little touch alone is enough to awaken every single nerve in the area, making my sex pulse with the need for more.
