The problem was, she wasn't pretending. She was defiant against his Mastery only because she wanted him to earn it, not because she wanted to refuse it. Make me believe I can trust you. She wanted to see the fire teased to raging in his eyes, wanted to explode under the touch of others while he watched. All the wild parts of her she'd wanted to indulge but hadn't were here now. Parts that had been coming out in brief bursts, like the day she'd thrown her leg over a Harley and run for the forest.
She was so goddamned tired of being careful. Logically—if she had any tendrils of logic left to grasp in her turbulent mind—they had as much to lose from this scenario as she did, if it went beyond this room and whatever odd relationship they had with the people on the videoconference.
"Suck on her, Peter." Lucas's eyes dared her to look away from him now. Saayo was starting a moan that sounded as if she were sliding into climax. But not quite there yet.
The advisor was finishing, which meant each man would be taking her on that table tonight, fucking her as he pleased.
Peter had large hands, and when he cupped her breasts, squeezing them, she gave a hard, guttural groan at the relief it brought. Another sweep of those thumbs, against nipples so sensitive she felt a renewed flood of moisture between her legs. Then he unhooked the top two or three hooks of the corset, just enough to free the nipples, so he could put his mouth over one.
She cried out again, and Saayo's dark eyes were lost in the same way, both of them giving up their minds to pleasure. Peter had short hair, just a step above the military cut, and it tickled her skin, his temple brushing her, along with his heated breath. Just like Lucas's expertise in another area, apparently Peter knew women's breasts better than they did themselves. When he paused to strip off his sweater, the black T-shirt beneath revealed a mesmerizing flag and serpent tattoo that held her dazed attention, the way it undulated with the movement of his packed muscles, the strong flexing lines of his shoulders and back.
"Lucas," she gasped, yanking against the cuffs again. "Lucas."
"She needs something to do with her mouth, Ben." Lucas's attention tilted to their legal executive. "Occupy it with yours."
"My pleasure." Ben approached from her left. He gathered up her hair in one hand, using that to tilt her head back, make her look up at him, up the line of his sculpted body. As he spread the golden-white strands over his palms, he gazed at it, and her, reverently. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured.
She would have replied, but Peter moved to the other nipple, both hands still cradling her, and she cried out again, her fingers digging into the chair arms. A convulsive flick of her gaze showed Saayo below the table again, only now she could see they had her legs tied as well, only wider, to the chair legs of the two men on either side of her. Each had a hand high on her thigh, adding to the sensation of being held open. A series of symbols were tattooed on the inside of the one thigh. Cass realized two of them were the same as those on her bracelets, but her mind couldn't process which two they might be, or what the others might signify. Though that dark part of her that Lucas had tapped knew intuitively it was some mark of ownership, that Saayo willingly belonged to at least one of the men in that room.
Ben had wrapped her hair around his broad palm again and was descending, his firm mouth, green eyes coming down, his grip strong, sure. Not hurried. She was overwhelmed by the sensation of being desired, of their need to savor her, one luscious bite at a time. As if reflecting her thoughts, Peter nipped at her. She screamed at the resulting wave of sensation that took her over. Then there was the heat of Bens breath.
His kiss would be like everything else here. Pure blow-the-top-off-her-world fantasy.
But not bliss, not a resting place for her heart, which was what Lucas's kiss had seemed to offer. She couldn't risk herself on the illusion or the truth of that. But this, Ben's kiss, this was just the physical. What she knew was safe. What she could accept.
As Ben's hand cradled her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek—yes, they all definitely knew how to make a woman melt—she surrendered.
She averted her face.
Seven
She pressed her face into her shoulder, her breath fast and shallow, tiny whimpers coming from her throat just above Peters ministrations, her body jerking in preorgasmic spasms.
She couldn't tell Lucas she needed to stop. Not because she was about to climax, but because she was about to plummet over a far worse precipice.
But at that gesture, Peter sat back on his heels and Ben straightened, signal apparently received. When Saayo came to climax then, a long, yearning cry, the shuddering thrill of it rippled through her own pussy, her body jerking again as Peter gently rearranged the corset cups back over her breasts. Ben threaded a hand through her hair once more, a stroke of reassurance as he leaned over her and laid her hair comb on the table. Then, unexpectedly, he eased her sweater off one shoulder. She trembled as she saw him register Lucas's mark on her throat, a moment before he placed his lips on her bare skin, several inches away from that possessive brand. Then he eased the fabric back in place and withdrew.
She closed her eyes. What had she done? It was a game. Only a game. She'd scoffed at the idea that emotions like this could exist after just meeting someone. But she'd just turned from the penultimate sexual experience. Where Peter's lips on her breasts and being watched by a group of near strangers while she was brought to climax had been, remarkably, something she could handle, the intimacy of lips, of Ben's mouth, was not.
She was far too aware that if it had been Lucas's mouth, she would have been okay.
"Cassie, open your eyes."
She didn't know how long she'd kept them closed, but when she raised her lashes, she found the room silent, the videoscreen dark. They were alone and Lucas was standing before her. He studied her, unsmiling, leaning against the table only a couple feet away.
She had to tilt her face to see him, and the disadvantage, while uncomfortable, didn't match the abrupt, inexplicable desire she had to go onto her knees before him, take him into her mouth, serve him. For her own comfort. Something was wrong with her. She was tired. Too tired.
"Sshh." Instead, he dropped to one knee before her and laid his hand on her cheek, much as Ben had. She shuddered with emotion, beyond mere physical reaction. "I'm going to make you come. Would you like that?"
She nodded. "Would you have . . ."
He offered a strained smile. She had such a desire to reach out and feather her fingers through that scattering of blond hair across his high forehead, trace the thoughtful lines that had formed there. "I didn't expect it to become that intense," he admitted. "Though I suspected it was possible. I knew there was more between us than sex. You're an incredibly hot woman, Cass. Makes a man who wants you do crazy things. Obviously."
That tug of a smile again.
"The answer is no, though. I would have stopped Ben a second before he kissed you. I didn't want to see his mouth on you. Or let him touch you. Maybe Matt and I are different, or maybe it's that our relationship to Savannah and him is different. He's . . ."
"He's the leader. Like a king to his soldiers. You all serve him, in a way."
"Sounds pretty ridiculous in the modern world, doesn't it?"
She glanced down at her bonds, experienced a weary but wry smile herself. "Can't really speak to that. And Peter?"
"Well, Peter's different." Lucas lifted a shoulder. "He has this thing about breasts. You can't really deny him a taste. It's like denying a puppy a treat or something. He gets the soulful eyes going, and you just feel like shit."
She coughed, a surprised laugh, but then she had to swallow it, for he surged up and seized her mouth with his. So forcefully, he knocked the chair back, pushing it off its front legs into a tilt against the table, his hands clamped over her wrists as he leaned over her.
She used his mouth to breathe, because her breath was gone. Catching her hair, he moved down her throat, adding another bite to that sensitive mark, tongued the cleft between her breasts as she whimpered anew, and then he dropped down again, keeping the chair tilted up with one knee beneath it, his gaze zeroed in between her legs.
The panty detached from the side, and he slid it out from under her, tossing it to the side.
"If you come, it's going to be my mouth, my hand, my cock. You understand? No offense to Jon's wizardry, but I want your response to be because of my touch, always."
She nodded, trying to ignore the last word and the butterflies it gave her. "Please, do it now. All I've been thinking about is your mouth there." That and his cock, but she knew that was truly the point of no return.
The flame in his eyes was as gratifying as she'd feared it would be. Unzipping the back of her skirt, he pushed it up and out of the way before taking hold of her hips, cupping her buttocks, and lifting her to a different tilt. His golden hair brushed her thighs as his tongue slid into her, his mouth sweeping over her clit and labia.
She expected to come just at the thought of his mouth on her, but he surprised her with his knowledge of a woman's body again. Slowing the pace, teasing the hypersensitivity of her engorged flesh, he indulged in brief touches, tantalizing licks, nothing rhythmic or too much, so he actually took her down a notch. The searing pain of a raging burn changed into a swirling, slow yearning that began to build, not like a tornado, but a tropical storm, its advance slow but unstoppable. He held her on that point, spiraling up, until tiny cries were coming from her, pleading, as time ticked away and she knew her mind was lost forever. She'd become all sensation, nothing else.
At length, he pressed his lips to her thigh, making her register the fact she was shaking all over. "If I was in your bed, Cass," he whispered, "I'd lace you into your corset every morning, making it as tight as I pleased. You'd wear it at my pleasure, and you'd wear it to remember you belong to me. That's one of the main reasons you wear it now, isn't it?
Imagining that you wear it for a man?"
