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I walk over to Theo, my knees wobbly. His blue eyes are dark with lust. He’s looking at me like he wants to devour me, and Ilikeit. “Will you help me, Mr. Keppel?” I whisper.
“Happy to.” He lifts my skirt, revealing my hunter-green lace panties. His gaze scorches me. “Very nice,” he rasps. His thumb rests just for an instant over my hipbone, and I wonder if he’s going to touch my pussy. If he slides his finger between my folds, he’ll find out exactly how turned on I am.
“Look at me.”
I make myself look into Theo’s eyes. My heart hammers in my chest. I don’t understand it. I’ve been tied up. Whipped. I’ve had my nipples clamped. This light touch—this is nothing,and yet.My pulse races, and I feel like a giddy teenager.
Theo slowly rolls my panties down my hips. “Step out of them,” he orders. His first order.
I move my feet as directed. Theo looks at the scrap of lace in his hand for a long instant, and then a truly wicked smile crosses his face. He holds them out to me. “Thank you,” he says, his voice as smooth as silk. “You should take these to Shane now.”
My hands are tied behind me. It’s obvious what he wants me to do.
I pluck the panties from his fingers with my teeth. I walk around the coffee table back to Shane. It’s a simple thing, but I’m on fire. My nipples are hard, my pussy is soaked, and if one of them so much as breathes on my clit, I will explode.
I wait in front of Shane like a dog with a ball, panting with excitement and ready to play. Another smile ghosts over Shane’s face. He takes the panties from me. “Thank you, Ms. Byard. Tomorrow at seven.”
Ms. Byard. I giggle. I just stood in front of this man with my panties dangling from my mouth. The formality of his address feels ridiculous. “If we’re going to do this,” I tell them, “You should call me Addie.”
6
THEO
The sun streams through the window. I get out of bed, pour myself a cup of coffee, and confront the thought that’s been echoing through my mind since our negotiation with Addie last night.
I’ve made a mistake.
She didn’t want to go to dinner.We’re not dating,she said, her voice hard.You don’t have to feed me. You don’t have to pretend.
I wouldn’t have been pretending.
IlikeAddie. Fine, yes—I recognize I don’t know her, but I’ve read her book, and I really enjoyed it. Conceited though it sounds, I thought it gave me some insight into the woman.
Wrong.
What did I think would happen last night? Did I really think the moment Addie met us, she’d instantly take a liking to us? God, I sound like I have my head stuck up my arse. Did I really believe that sex would lead to dating? Yes. Call me a fucking fool, but yes, I did think that. I don’t do sex without emotions—I can’t compartmentalize that way.
I want to get to know Addie better, but she doesn’t want that. She’s made it explicitly clear what she wants. Domination and sex.
And I have to respect her limits.
Shane is better at keeping his emotions in check. I’m not surprised. He doesn’t talk about his childhood, but every once in a while, he'll say something that makes me realize it wasn’t easy. The assholes at Weddell Burke didn’t help. Shane doesn’t have walls around his heart; he has a fortress.
Addie, too.
If I had any sense of self-preservation, I would walk away. Except I’m doing no such thing. My stupid cock is in charge, and it has zero interest in disengaging. All it remembers is the curve of her ass. The unyielding black straps digging into her soft skin. The sound of her moans. The look of unmistakable pleasure on her face.
Fuck.
7
ADDIE
Ifall asleep to the memory of their voices ordering me around. Theo's slow smile when he took my panties. Shane’s hooded, enigmatic gaze. I fall asleep fantasizing about taking their cocks in my mouth, my hands tied behind my back, and I sleep well.Reallywell. Unexpectedly,shockinglywell.
Even better, I wake up energized, itching to write. Praise the Lord and pass the laptop; this hasn’t happened in months.Years.I don’t question this unanticipated, deeply welcome gift. I immediately make myself a pillowed nest on the bed, mute the notifications on my phone, order room service for breakfast, and lose myself to the story.
I write forhours.A lot of it is garbage. I am incredibly rusty. The words certainly don't flow out of me with ease. It feels like I’m pushing a rock uphill in the snow. Writing a novel isn't like riding a bike; it doesn't just come back. All I have to guide me through the thicket of self-doubt is the knowledge that I’ve done it before. But as the day goes on, it gets better. It’s not all bad; there’s good stuff mixed in with the crap.
