by Reece Butler
Hunt slapped him on the shoulder. Sam had anticipated the move so he didn’t go flying.
“You want a girlie mag at your age?” scoffed Hunt. “I know the pickings are slim out here in cowboy country, but—”
“Where can I drop you? Wisdom? Lolo? Over the edge?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the drop-off.
“Oh-ho!” Dax rubbed his hands eagerly. “Sammy’s pissed off. Has Sammy-boy found himself a lady? Maybe she’d prefer a pair of handsome football stars.” He struck a He-Man pose.
Sam stiffened. “Katie is mine. Mine and Trey’s.”
“Back off, Dax,” said Hunt. “Sounds like Sam’s not sure he’s got her roped and tied yet.”
He thought of Katie bound, blindfolded, and helpless to withstand the erotic torture he’d inflict, keeping her on the edge of orgasm for long minutes without release.
“Don’t worry, bro,” said Hunt easily, interrupting his fantasies. “We’re staying at the Bitterroot. Won’t be crowding you none.”
“Heard anything from Ash?” asked Dax, far too casually.
Ashley was the only child born to the other Elliott family. They’d not been able to have children so had become foster parents, taking in many rough boys over the years, including Dax and Hunter. Delighted with a daughter after having given up, they’d treated Ash like a princess. Having a Southern mother compounded it, with fancy dresses and expectations. The foster boys, all older, treated her like the pesky nuisance she was. She was more than a nuisance to Trey since he let her get to him.
She’d just turned ten when the two twelve-year-old troublemakers arrived on the Bitterroot Ranch. That football game had made them local heroes, easing their transition and acceptance. Ashley had turned into a gorgeous blonde who loved to flirt and tease. It took both Dax and Hunt to keep her from getting into trouble, not that she appreciated it. They’d gotten football scholarships and Ashley had headed to an Ivy League college on the east coast. She’d married someone wealthy, turning her back on the town. Then her husband had turned his back on her.
“Heard her marriage went south,” said Sam. “She couldn’t have kids so he dumped her.” Both men winced. “She didn’t show for her parents’ funerals,” he added.
“You holding that against her?”
Sam shrugged. “Her parents wanted a princess, so they made her into one. Only she knows why she didn’t come back.”
“You got any food?” demanded Dax.
“You hungry already? We ate in Missoula.” Hunter tsk-tsked, shaking his head.
“So? That was hours ago.” Dax sent a sly look at Sam. “Mrs. Mac still cookin’?”
Since they weren’t blood relatives, Dax and Hunter had called the senior ranchers by their last names, or their own version of it. Mrs. Mac was Marci MacDougal.
“Yep. I’ll drop you off there. She’ll fill that big gut of yours.”
* * * *
Relieved her presentation to the local women was over, Katie took a few minutes to straighten her papers while the others moved to Marci’s kitchen to eat. She felt a hundred percent better now it was over. Instead of feeling put out that an outsider was telling them what to do, the older women were delighted someone with a business background was willing to help. They were can-do people, which was a delight.
The only downside of friendly women was that everyone had an opinion or comment about Sam carrying her out of the Roadhouse the night before. Lila, Jane, and Aggie were all sporting sore posteriors, and laughing about it, so she wasn’t the only one being joked about. Katie heard a few stories that suggested everyone had been embarrassed one way or another over the years. She’d been shocked to learn that Marci and her sister Nikki, the recently retired town doctor, had had sex with their men within hours of meeting them. Both had gotten pregnant from it, and had married quickly, and were still happily married.
Katie had hated being talked about because her family did it to harm and humiliate. Not here. The women laughed with each other, and were honest about their lives. At least, they were when men weren’t around. When Keith Adams showed up to get Aggie and Jane the atmosphere changed, becoming more subdued. And no wonder! She hadn’t seen much of him the previous night but he was quite something. He reminded her of a nature show she’d seen on gorillas. He was the silverback who, though past his prime, commanded the respect of the entire group.
She’d been too nervous to eat breakfast, and the aromas from Marci’s efforts made her stomach growl. She’d started for the kitchen when Keith Adams strode into the room.
“Aggie says you’re part of the Winterbourne Fine Furniture family.”
She stopped cold. The man was powerful from a distance. This close, and with all his attention on her, he was overwhelming. She held her papers in front of her like a shield.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Hope not.” Instead of towering over her, he set his cowboy butt on the wide arm of an overstuffed leather chair. “I’m hoping to pick your brain. We have a need for high-quality wood, but in small amounts. What happens to your excess inventory? Or is everything made offshore and imported?”
“No, we design and manufacture our furniture in Oregon.”
“And the wood?”
“Sourced from all over. What products are you wishing to make?”
His face lost some of its seriousness. “Not anything that would affect your clients, that’s for sure. Have you heard of a St. Andrew’s cross?”
Her face heated but she stared him down. “I’ve not seen one, though I’ve read about them.” As of yesterday, thanks to Marci’s erotic ménage romance books. She lifted her chin and pretended they were discussing chairs. “I understand it’s used for bondage and various forms of, ah, percussion.”
His eyes lit up. “You said you ‘understand,’ as in you have no personal experience to date?”
“That is correct.”
His powerful presence and knowing chuckle made her realize why Lila and Jane were drawn to men like this. The same reason she was drawn to Sam’s intensity.
“I heard Sam carried you out of the Roadhouse last night. Did he introduce you to the joys of submission?”
Furniture! We’re talking furniture here. Do not whimper and sink to the floor in embarrassment!
“Mr. Adams, what, exactly, do you want from the Winterbourne Corporation?”
His demeanor changed to that of a businessman, though there was no reduction in the sense of power and control.
“Do you store excess material, or get rid of it?”
“We have been storing it offsite, though that situation may change.”
“Do you know what might be available?”
“I spent last summer doing an inventory of the storage barns, so, yes.”
Her grandmother had assigned the task because she knew Katie loved being away from the rest of her family. The others thought it was punishment.
“And?” he prodded.
“And it would be a shame to sell the entire lot as little more than firewood.”
“Firewood?” His reaction was everything she’d hoped for.
“My Uncle Walter has no appreciation for beauty, and little for craftsmanship. All he cares about is the bottom line.”
“He’s the one who’ll be taking over the company when your grandmother leaves?”
Katie nodded, grimacing. Keith crossed one arm and rested his elbow on it, tapping his chin with his fist.
“What did your inventory turn up?”
“Forty years’ worth of rare and beautiful wood. Some of it can no longer be found. Thirty-inch wide boards, two inches thick. The colors and patterns…” She stopped, thinking he’d laugh at her enthusiasm.
“Did you, by any chance, keep a copy of your inventory? Or does this uncle have it?”
Gran had told her to keep the information to herself for the time being.
“I’m the only one who has a copy. I took pictures of the best pieces.”
“I knew yo
u were smart. I might want to buy the whole lot.”
“I’ll send an e-mail to my grandmother to say you’re interested. Gran loves beauty and hates waste. If she knows the pieces will go to a good home she might even pay you to clear out the storage barns.”
“Thank you. We would use some of the more unusual wood, even if small, to fashion paddles and the like. They’ll be custom ordered, and cherished.” He stood, towering over her. A look of devilry crept over his face. “Come by our workshop and I’ll show you some of our furniture.”
“That won’t be necessary, Uncle Keith. I will show Katie everything she needs.”
Katie turned, recognizing the voice. “Sam? What are you doing here? Lila said she’d bring me home.”
Sam strode across the carpet. He put his arm around her and kissed her forehead. “I picked up a couple of hitchhikers with a broken-down rental. They were hungry for some of Aunt Marci’s cooking.” He looked at his uncle. “You might remember them. Dax Smith and Hunter Jones.”
Keith barely raised an eyebrow. “The boys came home for the haying?”
“Yep. Time to go home, Katie.”
She did not like being ordered around like a child. Unlike Marci and the others, she had not promised to obey anyone.
“I’m not ready to go. I’m hungry and want to eat.” She turned to Keith. “I’d love to see your special furniture. It will give me a good idea of what your needs are.”
“What about my needs?” murmured Sam in her ear.
Her pussy twinged. Heat rose up her chest. But she would not be pushed around.
“Sam, this is business. Your uncle’s interested in buying building materials from my family’s company.”
“If you want to see a playroom full of furniture, Katie, I’ll show you ours.”
“I didn’t see any weird furniture.” Comprehension dawned. “The locked room?”
“Yep. We’ll give you a practical demonstration.”
He patted her bottom suggestively. Her pussy purred in response.
Chapter Twenty-One
Trey kept shaking his head at the way Sam was behaving. He knew something had happened as soon as he and Katie arrived home. Sam had laughed while they’d unpacked the truck. It wasn’t until Sam told Katie about picking up Dax and Hunter that it clicked.
Sam had finally driven past where their father had died. He’d faced his past and was ready to move on. He now looked, and acted, as if he might actually enjoy life at some point. Trey wasn’t going to say anything to jinx the situation. No matter what happened with Katie, she would always have his blessing. If she needed anything, at any time, he’d be there.
After emptying the truck they’d turned to the care parcels Aunt Marci had sent. Both Sam and Katie were excited about opening up the playroom. Sam had even laughed while they’d unpacked the truck. He and Sam had devoured the food while Katie changed, and then they started looking for the key. Trey figured it had to be in the master bedroom. Sam knocked on the closet walls, sure there was another entrance to the room so their parents didn’t have to walk down the hallway to get to it.
Trey pulled out all the dresser drawers, checking the sides and bottom of each. He was on the last, ready to toss it aside in frustration when he saw it. There, hanging from a cup hook inside the back of the dresser, was a skeleton key.
“Ha! I knew it had to be here!” He held it up in triumph.
“Oh, thank goodness,” said Katie. Because she was small, she’d volunteered to check under the bed. He admired her well-curved ass as she scrambled out from under the bed.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked.
“A handful of change, two toy cars, and one pink Barbie shoe.” She sat, cross-legged, as she dusted herself off. “And proof you never clean under the bed.”
“You wound me.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I vacuumed under that bed not more than a year ago. Or maybe two,” he added. He held up the key. “Shall we?”
Sam plucked it out of Trey’s hand. “I say the lady does the honors.” He held it out to Katie.
The three of them trooped down the hallway to a door Trey was sure hadn’t been opened since before his mother moved out. He remembered what was behind the door, though. It had left him goggle-eyed as a teen. As an adult, with a sexy, feisty woman at his side, he couldn’t wait to get in. She had to wiggle the key to get the door open. As there were no windows, the room was dark. Sam reached in and flipped a switch. Bright overhead lights made them blink.
“If it’s supposed to be a dungeon, why is it so bright?” asked Katie.
“Safety when setting up. It’s on a rheostat.” Sam turned a dial and the lights dimmed, then brightened again.
“What is all this stuff?” Katie stepped into the room.
She frowned as she looked around. Everything was covered with sheets. By unspoken agreement he and Sam began lifting them off, bundling them to reduce the amount of dust. Katie wandered around, silent, until they finished.
“Not bad for being left for years,” said Trey.
“We’ll have to check the integrity of everything before we use it,” said Sam. He turned to Katie. “You’re not to clean in here until I say so.”
“The furniture looks pretty sturdy.”
Katie ran her fingers over a padded spanking bench. Trey doubted she knew what it was. But she would soon, if he had any control over the situation. He could see her getting up close and personal with the Saint Andrew’s cross and bondage table.
“We’ve never used this equipment,” said Sam. “No one touches it until we know it’s secure. Understand?”
“Big brother, the safety nut,” said Trey.
Katie approached the bed.
“The head and footboard are the same as the one in the master bedroom,” she said. “It’s an interesting design with all those rings, but I’d prefer a padded headboard so I could sit up to read in bed.”
Trey shared an amused glance with Sam. He also liked a padded headboard, but not for reading. It was useful for bracing a woman’s head against when he grabbed her hips and thrust into her from behind. Or, she could hold onto it for balance while kneeling over his face. He was sure they could make a pad that slipped in front of the metal headboard.
Katie walked past the footboard and stopped at the corner. Her eyebrows went up. She leaned forward. Metal rattled against metal.
“Handcuffs?”
Sam moved behind her. He put one hand on her shoulder, near her neck. She exhaled, leaning into him. With his thumb by her scapula and his fingers over her clavicle, Sam could easily control her. Trey doubted Katie realized what her easy acceptance of Sam’s dominance meant. He and Sam knew. By accepting the control, even leaning into him, Katie showed submissive tendencies.
“These are more for show,” said Trey. “The real ones would be over there.”
He walked to the wall facing the hallway. The wide, shallow cupboard contained clothesline rope and clothespins, still in their original packaging, and a pair of crash scissors. No self-respecting kinkster ever used rope without a pair of safety scissors nearby.
“I remember Uncle Keith and Uncle Eric cleaning this out,” said Trey quietly.
His aunts had stayed with his mom, who was still in shock. So were they all. The cabinet had contained whips, paddles, floggers, canes, and more, all carefully displayed. That reminded him that they’d have to get a flogger for Katie. He figured she was a thuddy person. With their help and encouragement, she’d learn to appreciate the sting as well. He thought she might enjoy a taste of bondage.
He ripped the plastic covering off the rope. It was cotton, and soft, perfect for a beginner. He held it up. Katie’s eyes were the size of saucers. Sam squeezed, turning Katie and urging her forward, keeping his hand on her shoulder. He stopped her near the foot of the bed.
“These rings, and the poles, are anchors,” said Sam.
“Anchors?”
“To anchor your hands and feet so you can’t move,” sa
id Trey. Though her eyes were wide and her mouth open, Trey was sure the blush heating her ears was due to arousal. She certainly didn’t try to get away. “Care to try it out?”
“Are you joking?”
“We don’t joke about play,” said Sam.
“What would you do?”
“First, we’d get you naked,” said Trey. “We’d blindfold you so you won’t know what’s coming next, and put you on your back. We’d tie you down, spread-eagled, and then…” He paused, wanting to see her reaction.
She panted, her mouth open, nostrils and eyes wide. “And then?”
“And then we’d do whatever we wanted.” Trey’s eager cock encouraged him to push her. He lowered his voice suggestively. “Kissing, and licking, and sucking, and nibbling, and—”
“Whoa! I get the picture!”
“—until you can’t stand it any longer. After your orgasm we’d turn you over and start again.”
“Oh, my lord,” she whispered.
Sam leaned close to her ear. “Not tonight, and maybe not tomorrow. But soon, certainly before you leave, you are going to experience this room.”
Typical for Katie, she bristled, pulling away and glaring. The twin nipples pushing out her shirt said what she really felt.
“Is that a threat?” she demanded.
“No, Katie,” said Sam, slow and deep. He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s a promise.”
* * * *
Katie had been aroused since she entered the playroom that afternoon. Sam’s hand on her shoulder, almost curving around her neck, made her feel secure and wanted. The men had gone to the barn and she’d e-mailed Gram about Keith Adams’s suggestion for the stored wood. She hadn’t officially presented the inventory or photos, but as she’d e-mailed them to herself, one word from Gram and she’d show them to Keith. She couldn’t help mentioning what a great group of people lived in Climax and how much she’d miss them.
She’d wanted to read a book and play with herself, but had to start supper. The men had eaten, she’d cleared the table, and yet they didn’t leave. Nor did they say boo or make a move toward her.
