by Tina Donahue
* * * * *
Jasmina knew they’d been trying to outdo each other with activities that would keep her entertained. The stuff they’d come up with had been wonderful but she couldn’t let them waste so much dough on her. They should be paying off more of their student loans, possibly saving for law and veterinary school.
When Kyle had talked about going to fairs and the zoo as a kid, she’d ached for his lost dream of working with animals. After the ride, he’d groomed his horse with amazing affection, speaking softly, bonding.
He sure as hell couldn’t do that with his revolver.
And Noah. He’d mulled over every line of the disclaimer and release papers they had to sign before doing anything. Even Kyle hadn’t been as intense. But that was Noah, dotting every i, crossing every t. Law was in his blood, just as it was for Lauren’s husband, Dante, a product liability attorney. Noah should be talking to him about schools, programs, specialties rather than goofing around with—
Wait, wait, wait. No, no, no.
She shouldn’t be pushing her ideas on him or Kyle, getting in their faces as she had with Brad. They were big boys…very big…and knew what they wanted. Sex. No strings. Good times.
These last weeks had been the best ever for her. But enough was enough. She was going to show them they didn’t have to drop five hundred bucks every time they got together to make any of them happy.
On their scheduled day, she cooked and baked the entire afternoon, preparing Cuban-style pork with papaya mango salsa and pollo en salsa frijol negro—chicken in black bean sauce. For dessert, she made capuchinos—cone-shaped cakes soaked in a sugary syrup—and brazo gitano, a jellyroll cake stuffed with guava and topped with shredded coconut.
The air conditioner was on full blast, the apartment scented with roasted meat, spices and her—baby-powder fresh, ready for anything. Except losing another chunk of her heart to them.
Gripping the edge of her table, she breathed hard. Three firm knocks sounded on her door. She flinched. Four more knocks followed in rapid succession.
“Guys?” she called out, a necessity before swinging open the door. Alice had yet to have a peephole installed.
“Yep.” Noah’s voice.
“Let us in.” Kyle’s.
After smoothing her hair, she threw the top lock and swung open the door. “Hey.”
Their gazes dropped to her naked boobs, slid to the frilly apron around her waist—made of a sheer black material—traveled to her springy curls and landed on her high heels.
“No belly thing?” Noah asked.
“I’ll put the jewelry on as soon as I get undressed.”
“You better.” He was on her, his kiss deep and wild, his sandals and her high heels tapping the floor as they went at each other.
When Noah came up for air, Kyle swooped in, imprisoning her mouth with his, hand on her boob, thumb flicking her nipple.
Like a tag team, the guys took turns until her lips tingled from the pressure of their mouths. She sagged against the counter. “Told you we could have fun without spending money. Ditch your clothes and we’ll eat the food, then each other, then we can watch Hulu.”
“Nope,” Noah said.
She tilted her head. “To what?”
“Getting undressed. Except for this.” He removed his weapon, leaving the holstered gun where he had the last time.
Kyle did the same with his.
Noah returned to her. “I want you to serve our meal while you’re wearing nothing except your apron and we’re decent.”
“Oh yeah.” Kyle circled her, leering.
As she cut the meat and filled the plates, they moved from side to side, regarding her near-nudity. Once they’d taken their seats, she brought beer and then food to the table like a server in an X-rated restaurant or a brothel. Noah slid his hand up the back of her thigh to her pussy.
Her legs wobbled.
“Careful.” Kyle took the plates from her, putting them on the placemats. With his hands free, he settled his palm on her ass, exploring the cleft between her cheeks.
Noah stroked her clit.
Her knees bent.
They touched her intimately during the meal. Somehow she managed to keep standing and take a few bites of the pork.
Noah couldn’t stop gushing about the food. “This is awesomeness to the nth degree, beyond legendary and epic, straight into orgasmic.”
“Way past that,” Kyle said with a full mouth.
She thought the meal was going well too. Within minutes, they had her lying on the table, salsa on her nipples and mound, them eating off her rather than their plates. They took her vaginally, their jeans and underwear shoved to their thighs, her apron flipped up, resting on her torso.
The table bounced with each of their powerful thrusts.
She wailed during her releases. They shouted, signaling theirs.
Once they’d made it to her bed, they fell to the mattress—her practically nude, them still dressed—a tangle of bodies, their weight driving the headboard into the wall.
After a brief nap, she headed for the table to clean up.
Noah woke first, helping her. Shortly after, Kyle joined them. She wrapped the extra food, putting the containers in the fridge. They took care of the dishes, neither of them complaining she’d used nearly every utensil, pot and pan in the place.
She gave each of them two slices of cake and three capuchinos.
They brought their desserts to bed. She settled between them and opened her laptop. “Movie time.”
The guys wanted to watch The Human Centipede.
She refused, suggesting the latest version of Saw. “I can only go so far on gross.”
During the more disgusting scenes, she pressed her face against their shoulders. Kyle stroked her hair, giving a blow-by-blow description of what was happening, his words punctuated with shrieks from the film. Noah pointed out how blood never flowed, spattered or sailed like that in real life.
She smacked both of them, howled when they tickled her…and wished this evening could last forever.
When the hour grew late and they’d worked their way back through the Saw films, Noah looked past her to Kyle. “Think we should give her what we brought with us?”
“I’ll get it.”
“Get what?” She grabbed Kyle’s hand to stop him from leaving the bed. “What are you giving me?” She looked from him to Noah.
“Something you’ll need for Zimmerman’s toy,” Kyle said.
Her heart leaped, excitement building again. “What?”
“You’ll see in a minute.” He headed out the door.
Noah grabbed three beers from the fridge, giving her one.
She downed a fourth of the brew quickly, trying to calm down. “Can you give me a hint?”
He dropped to the mattress. “Nope.”
Kyle must have parked his pickup in front of Alice’s Wonderland. He returned quickly with a medium-sized box that he placed on the bed near her.
She didn’t touch the thing.
Noah moved it closer. “Go on. Take a look.”
“No, I’m afraid to.”
Kyle smiled. “Nothing in there that can bite. It’s simply what you’ll be wearing.”
“All you’ll wear during the time we’re gone,” Noah said. “Except for your bellybutton jewelry and high heels.”
She opened the box.
Inside, she found a pile of black satin that proved to be a full-length cape. Beneath the garment lay a blindfold, a silk scarf—to use as a gag?—and handcuffs.
Chapter Nine
The cuffs shone dully beneath the light, appearing larger and more dangerous than Jasmina had imagined. Enthralled, she reached for them.
Noah intercepted her hand. “There are rules. Listen carefully.” He turned. “Kyle?”
He sat next to her on the bed. “We’ll pick you up at 2:00 a.m. on the day in question.”
“You’ll be ready and waiting,” Noah said, studying her. “No excuses or delays
.”
They spoke like judges delivering a sentence, spelling out the terms of her subjugation and discipline. God, this was hot.
She looked at the cuffs again.
Noah slipped his fingers beneath her chin. He tipped her face upward so she’d meet his eyes rather than staring at what they’d soon use on her. His expression was pure Dom.
Her pussy creamed even more.
“You’ll wear your belly jewelry, heels and the cape, nothing else,” Noah said. “Don’t pack a bag—you won’t need anything else. Leave your hair down.”
Kyle pressed her tresses against his face and inhaled deeply, sighing out the air he’d taken.
Noah ran his thumb across her chin. “You’ll hand us the cuffs, blindfold and gag, proof of your submission. Until then, you won’t touch or play with any of those items. They stay in the box on your nightstand so you can see them as a constant reminder of our power and your bondage. Understand?”
She’d just realized the time they’d mentioned. “2:00 a.m.? Why so early? Are we going far?”
Kyle fingered the cape. “Whether we are or not, wouldn’t want anyone to see you leaving in this, would we?”
No kidding. Especially Alice. She’d freak. “How far are we going?” Where were they going?
Noah rested his thumb on her lips. “No questions.”
She wanted to bite him…kiss him too. And Kyle. Beg them to start the game tonight, teach her what indulgence was really about. No restraint or regret.
Given their hard-ass expressions, she didn’t waste her breath.
“From the moment we arrive here, you’re ours to do with as we will,” Noah said. “You’ll respond to orders immediately. You’ll anticipate what we want. If you’re wrong…”
“You’ll add to your punishment.” Kyle trailed his hand down her throat.
She swallowed.
“No talking unless we ask you a direct question,” Noah said. “Then you’ll answer without pause.”
No fair. “Can I at least talk now?”
He exchanged a glance with Kyle, who nodded.
“Yeah, go on,” Noah told her. “No questions though.”
Well hell, that screwed everything she’d planned to say. “Never mind.” She sighed.
“You still want to do this?” Noah asked.
As much as taking her next breath of air. She cradled his face and stroked Kyle’s thigh. “Just because you guys are getting on my last nerve doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind.”
Kyle narrowed his eyes. “We’re behaving as Doms should.”
They certainly were. “That’s cool. We good?”
He turned to Noah. “I don’t think she’ll ever take this seriously.”
“Damn shame if you’re right. What a waste of Zimmerman’s toy.”
“No shit.” Noah sighed.
She held her breath, waiting for them to keep going, hoping they’d spill enough hints for her to figure out what they meant.
“Better call it a night.” Noah pecked her mouth and pushed off the mattress.
“Wait—you’re leaving?”
“Me too.” Kyle kissed the top of her head.
She went to her knees. “You’re sure?”
“Yep.” Kyle pointed at the box. “Don’t touch any of that.”
She shook her head. “I won’t.”
“Promise,” Noah said.
Kyle planted his hands on his hips. “Mean it.”
Crud. “Sure. Fine. Okay.”
They collected their weapons. When they had their backs to her she gave them the finger, dropped her hand quickly as they turned toward her. Kyle winked. Noah gave her a thumbs-up.
They left, closing the door gently.
Noah stopped beside Kyle’s pickup, face raised to the window of Jasmina’s apartment. Light glowed around the closed blinds. He pictured her staring at the box of toys, debating whether to touch them. Knowing her, the decision wouldn’t take long. He smiled. “Want to lay bets on whether she’s already playing with the stuff?”
“I wouldn’t be too sure.” Kyle leaned against his vehicle, regarding her window. “She did give us her word. I can tell that means something to her.”
True. “What do you think she’s doing?”
“Staring at the stuff while she masturbates? Sniffing it? Technically that’s not touching.”
“Think we were too hard on her? I don’t want her scared.”
“Jasmina? Of us or anyone?”
“The kid at the petting zoo spooked her.”
They laughed.
The blinds parted, her fingers holding the slats apart.
Uh-oh. “Better go.”
He and Kyle piled inside the pickup and left.
She remained at the window as they pulled away, uncertain whether the sounds she’d heard was their laughter. Not derisive as though they were making fun of her, but teasing, like they always did. She glanced at the box, cursing herself for having given her word not to touch anything. Even if they’d only been kidding a few minutes ago, no way would she break a promise to them.
They were a part of her heart, stealing their way into her soul no matter how she tried to deny her feelings. A few more weeks of this and she’d be a nutcase, hopelessly in love, totally screwed.
Time to cut out.
Ignoring her smartphone and the “Dear John” call she should make to them or the text she should send, she put the box of toys on her nightstand and crawled into bed. With the laptop resting on her stomach she Googled the name Zimmerman. Forty-two million entries came up. The first several pages had current and old reports about a guy by the same name who’d shot and killed an unarmed teen in Sanford, Florida, after which he was acquitted of murder charges and was celebrating his good fortune by not being able to stay out of trouble or the news.
She tried to picture Kyle or Noah having anything to do with the man, except for arresting him, and couldn’t. He definitely wasn’t the Z they’d mentioned. Could be their Z wasn’t a person at all, though she still wanted to check to be sure.
The endless listings eventually evolved into businesses, schools and awards with the same name. Her eyes were so gritty they ached, her mind unable to focus. She slumped to the side, telling herself she’d continue in a minute. No more than five at the most.
* * * * *
She woke late in the morning, barely in time to get ready for her shift at the parlor.
Once there, she widened her search to “Zimmerman’s toy”. Entries for a “toy pop” came up, whatever that meant. She moved on to gentlemen’s clubs within a hundred-mile radius, figuring her bondage and submission might take place there. Nope, no clubs by that name. She researched BDSM and fetish places next, which led her to classifieds from people who indulged in the lifestyle and the tools they used—bondage gear and fetish sex toys.
Sidetracked from her search, she browsed the floggers.
Lauren chose that moment to pass behind the front counter. She stopped and backed up several steps, glancing at the computer screen.
Jasmina killed the page. Unfortunately that didn’t get rid of the tabs for the other stuff she’d researched or what she currently had up—the home page of a popular local gentlemen’s club.
Lauren leaned in and watched the video Jasmina had muted. Women in varying stages of undress, some nude, gyrated across a stage before wrapping their supple bodies around dance polls. Lauren turned to her. “Thinking of setting up a Wicked Brand franchise there?”
Not a bad idea. When the club hosted stag parties, those guys would be brimming with testosterone and stoked to get inked. She leaned against the counter. “Have you ever heard of Zimmerman’s toy?”
“Uh-uh. Is it a new tat? Tool?”
Possibly a name Noah and Kyle had made up to play with her head. “I don’t know.”
Even with Google, she’d come up with zip, unless she was looking in the wrong places. Could the reference be in cop slang? She wanted to check but not with Lauren peeking over her
shoulder.
“Do you like the idea of putting a franchise in one of the clubs?” she asked.
“Works for me. The artists should be where the guys are. Good job.” She patted Jasmina’s shoulder, grabbed the leather binder she’d left on the counter earlier and disappeared down the hall.
Thirty minutes later, Jasmina’s head ached from reading too many articles with lists of police slang. Zimmerman’s toy wasn’t in any of them. She even ran the term through the urban dictionary, got nada, and couldn’t waste any more time to check. She had supplies to order, schedules to make, customers pouring in.
She worked steady and hard until shortly before her break, wondering what the guys had planned to eat today or where they’d want to meet her. Unlike previous times, they hadn’t made a date before taking off.
A half-hour before they’d normally arrive, Noah sent a text.
Forgot 2 tell u won’t be by 4 lunch r dinner. c u Thurs 2 sharp.
She frowned. They’d left early last night and now they expected her to cool her heels—not to mention her desire—for days, until they got good and ready to mess around again? What was wrong with them?
What is wrong with you?
Damn. This was exactly what she’d tried to avoid—centering her life, hopes and dreams around any guy, much less two. Time to get real and take a step back. Behave as realistically as they were doing.
She tackled her usual tasks then the new idea to set up franchises in gentlemen’s clubs. As a late lunch, she grabbed a slice of pizza from the pie Lauren had ordered for the staff, chasing it with two Fudgsicles. The steady stream of clients, along with tourists checking out Tor and Van Gogh’s artwork, kept her busy until closing. She jogged from the parlor to her apartment, needing to keep pumped, experience a sense of liberation and power over not letting any man get inside her head, heart or soul.
Inside her place, she slumped against the door, hand on her side, which ached from her run. Her gaze darted to the box on her nightstand, the contents holding the promise of decadence and pleasure. She glanced away and took a deep breath, smelling Noah’s and Kyle’s lingering scents…leather and tobacco, cedar and suede.
Heat curled in her belly, dipping to her mound. Ignoring her arousal, she ate three capuchinos and most of the brazo gitano, becoming slightly nauseated from the overload of sugar. Not having checked her smartphone since Noah’s message, she did now. No missed calls or texts. No big deal, right? She could text them.
