by Fiona Archer
Bastard. She didn’t doubt it.
Quinn returned with her hairdryer sticking out of the top of her tote bag. “I’ve left plenty of food, milk, and water out for Marvin. His litter tray is clean.” He passed the tote bag to Mike, who rose from the bed. Gathering up the edges of the bedspread, Quinn wrapped her in it like a giant human burrito, making sure the material folded gently around her face. “Let’s roll.” He hoisted her back over his shoulder.
“Mmmmph!”
Quinn swatted her, hard, on her backside. “I know, honey. I can’t wait either.”
Loud footsteps echoed down the hall as he carried her out of the house. The bedspread helped cushion her stomach as Quinn hurried down the front steps. She wiggled and tried to kick out, but guessed she more resembled a flaying fish than a furious banshee.
“Sugar, quit your hissing. Save your strength for later. You’re gonna need it. That’s guaranteed.” The Texan’s evil chuckle drifted somewhere above her head.
And he’ll need protective armor once she was free. She could damn guarantee that!
A car door opened and she was slid across a long seat before someone pulled her into his embrace. There was a click of a seat belt and then Mike’s voice. “Hush, little reader, we’ll be there soon enough.” His arms tightened around her, imprisoning her further yet, she felt…safe. Cherished.
How crazy was that, her kidnapper and her protector in one?
She held her breath. Kidnappers. This was not a page in a romance novel. It was real and happening to her.
By the twists and turns of the car, they were on the main road. She wiggled against her bonds. The snug fit of the rope and its weight against her skin poured fuel on the banked fire that had simmered away since they’d last mastered her in bed.
Minutes passed. The instinctive urge to struggle, coupled with the carnal need to test her bonds, kept her busy. She twisted on the seat, trying to find any weakness.
Mike’s voice was low, hard. “Be still. Last warning. Next time you earn ten swats.”
A spanking? Curiosity tempted her to keep on struggling and finally experience what it was like to be thrown over a man’s knee. How did Chloe term it? “So naughty good it was evil.” Hmm, maybe, but after Quinn’s earlier threat, she’d play it safe.
The sound of the truck’s turn signal filled the cab before she felt them turn from the road. Another five minutes and the vehicle came to a stop.
The car door opened. Quinn’s voice was close to her ear. “Let’s get you inside.” Those strong arms she knew only too well lifted her from Mike’s lap. He carried her up a couple of steps, stone from the sound of his boots treading on the surface. Soon the faint stain of light seeped through the fabric of the bedspread.
Quinn set her down in a sitting position on something soft with a high back. “Do. Not. Move.”
She shivered against the command in his voice. Heat pooled between her legs. While her mind wanted to tell them to shove it, her body held no defense against the darkly enticing mix of her captivity and their dominance.
Hands tugged on the bedspread. Mike’s face appeared as the covering was loosened and peeled away from the front of her body.
“There now, that’s better.” He turned her head sideways, checking the knots of her gag. And he left it on. Asshole. His hands slid down her arms as he pushed her forward so her forehead rested against his shoulder. “Circulations good,” he muttered before setting her back against the back of the sofa. “Any numbness or tingling?”
She shook her head before the idea to lie took hold. Damn, she was such an amateur.
So this was their cabin. Trying her best to ignore Mike, she flicked her gaze over the small piles of books dotting the large square coffee table. Its height was low enough to serve as an easy footrest. Various rugs in reds and creams covered the oiled-plank floor. The dark worn leather of the sofa and two chairs complemented the warm masculine colors of red, lighter brown, and cream.
Across from her, a stone fireplace provided warmth from the glowing embers of a massive log that had split apart in chunks. They must have lit it hours ago. A screen kept any stray sparks from catching on the Western-style rugs.
She glanced over her shoulder. The large main room also housed a long galley kitchen and dining area. Two walls had exposed log timbers with the others plastered in a rustic fashion and painted a light tan. Modern appliances, wide doorways—a relatively new cabin. A closed doorway on the opposite side of the entry was evidence of further rooms but gave no other clues. The high back of the couch and her bonds prevented her from twisting around for a more thorough study.
Quinn dropped a bottle of water on the couch as he moved to stand in front of her. His gaze tracked over her shoulder. “Like what you saw? If you’re a good girl, you’ll get a tour instead of spending all your time bound or punished.” He gestured to Mike and the two of them lifted the coffee table further back from the couch.
They needed room? For what?
The Texan squatted down in front of her. “Hell, look at the spit and fire in those eyes. I think we’ll leave the gag on for now.”
Their chuckles burned into her stubborn hide deeper than a branding iron. Arrogant jerks! She lifted her bound leg and pushed her foot against his knee.
Quinn whipped out a hand to the ground as he fell backward, managing to keep himself upright. As he sat on his ass, his face turned all hard in that uncompromising kind of way that normally made her weak at the knees, if it wasn’t for the frostbite coldness of his eyes.
Her gut tightened. Oh, hell.
He rose in one powerful movement before he lowered his face close to hers. His fingers gripped her nape hard. “You were warned.”
With one drag of his other hand, he ripped her T-shirt over her head. She sat stunned as he made further tears to pull if free of her bound wrists. Without a word, he had her over his lap before the startled yelp rose up in her throat.
Her face mushed into the buttery softness of the scarred leather couch. Desperate for air, she turned her head to the side, catching site of Mike.
The ex-sniper sat on the edge of the coffee table, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped loosely in front of him. Despite the relaxed posture, his face seemed made of iron. “Now you learn.”
Her heart thudded against her ribs. What would they—
Smack. Smack.
“Arrmpph!” Pain radiated over her bottom, both cheeks smarting from the rapid strike of Quinn’s hand. She battled to squirm off his lap, but his hand gripped her side, pinning her in place.
So naughty good it was evil? Chloe’s words screamed in her head. Freaking hell! What was the woman thinking?
“Disobedient subs are punished, Reagan. We won’t tolerate your disrespect.”
Understood, asshole.
Smack.
Her desperate wiggles squished her breasts against the leather and dragged on the tender buds. Heat from her bottom bloomed outward, over her body, pooling between her legs.
She blinked, tried to shake the hair out of her eyes as everything shifted and changed direction midstream.
Smack.
The hot, smarting pain deepened, turning into something…heck, she had no idea, but it seemed to grow, to intensify and reach down to her soul, twisting all her beliefs on what constituted pain and pleasure.
Smack. Smack.
This new heat charged forward, overtaking the hurt, teasing her as it tugged her further into the darkness of her own secret, dirty needs. Sweet Lord, she wanted this.
Quinn rubbed over her hot flesh, spreading the burn from the crack of her backside to the curve of her outer thigh. “She pinks up beautifully. Christ, I’m going to spank her daily.”
Daily? God, the anticipation would see her undone by breakfast.
Smack.
All the air left her lungs.
Mike kneeled next to the couch. His eyes were pools of darkness as he dragged his gaze over her. “She’s loving this. Look at her f
ace. Her eyes are shining. Not from pain.” He lowered his face next to hers and gripped her hair, twisting his fingers until she mewed into the gag. “You want this, don’t you, sub? You’re helpless. Bound, gagged, and dominated. We’re going to push you hard, take from you what we want and then take again. And I’m not just talking sex, sweetness. As you’ll soon find out.”
What the heck did that mean?
He released his grip before sitting back on the coffee table.
Smack.
Quinn’s touch gentled on her skin. Less pull, more glide, as his finger pushed between her legs sliding with ridiculous ease over her pussy. He edged the opening of her vagina. Yes. She whimpered, tried to draw herself up and push against his finger.
“Not yet, sugar.” He withdrew, wiping her wetness on the back of her thigh. More damning proof of her need. “We have a ways to go.”
Smack.
“Again.” Mike ordered, his gaze never leaving hers.
Smack.
Her clit thrummed. She writhed on Quinn’s lap, heedless of her Doms or their possible displeasure. All that mattered was finding her release. Not from her bonds. Hell, no. She craved that as much as their domination. She craved release from the need that had settled between her legs the moment Mike had tied his first knot.
She whimpered, unable to keep her cry to herself.
“Again.” Mike’s cheeks creased as she bucked on Quinn’s lap.
Smack.
“Now let’s see if you’ll behave.” Quinn ran a hand down her back with a firmness that comforted her. The knowledge of his and Mike’s unwavering strength, especially when used to dominate her, were her rock in a stormy sea.
Gently, he turned her over. She groaned into her gag as her tender butt scraped against his jeans as he set her on his lap. His answering chuckle, with its full-bodied richness and unapologetic glee, had all the hallmarks of Lucifer himself.
“Poor sub. Next time you’ll heed our warnings.” His arm formed a brace for her back. He brushed hair out of her eyes, then trailed his finger down over her cheek to under her chin. The men’s touch—hard one minute, tender the next, and always in control—reduced her to a trembling mess.
Gazing down, she spied her pointed nipples, pink from rubbing against the leather. They ached for a Dom’s pinch—right along with the tender flesh between her legs. The idea of either of them, pinching, sucking on her clit, was the divine torture. God, she needed that sweet bite of release so badly.
Mike sat down beside Quinn. His strong hands clasped her legs, shifting them over his lap.
Quinn gave her a hard look before untying the gag. “If you cuss or yell, I’ll strap a muzzle over your mouth. Understood?”
Yikes. She licked her parched lips. “Understood”
Mike snatched up the bottle of water lying beside him, opened it, and held it up to her lips.
Thank, God. She drank with greedy abandon, relishing the wetness filling her mouth and drenching her throat. “Thank you,” she managed after he lowered the bottle.
“We want to take care of you, Reagan.” Mike tucked the bottle behind some cushions. His hand moved back to her legs, sliding up and over her knees, tracing the outside of her thigh.
A flurry of shivers raced up the side of her leg, but it was the pulse of her clit that made her clench her thighs. And then Mike moved his other hand.
Pushing it between her legs, his fingers glided over the silky wetness on her inner thigh. “As long as those ankles of yours are tied, you won’t get a lick of pleasure.” His finger dipped closer to her pussy, barely grazing an outer lip. “Not.” Dip. “One.” Dip. “Lick.” Dip.
Needing to ease her torment, she wiggled her hips. Her tender skin rubbed on the rough jeans.
Oowwee. A sharp burning spread over her bottom. She hissed, inwardly cursing as those tiny flares shot out and settled between her legs. Far from gaining any kind of relief, she’d forced her need higher.
Mike’s eyes shone as she bit her lip. “All it takes to undo those knots is a few simple answers from you.”
She gasped as Quinn flicked a thumb over one nipple, then the other. “What”—he flicked the other—“Oh, heck, answers?”
“What happened in the diner’s restroom, Reagan?” Quinn’s voice was deceptively soft.
Jesus, they wouldn’t let that go. “Nothing.” She thrust her hips, but Mike foiled her ploy, sliding his finger higher up her thigh. Dammit. “Please, touch me. Just a little.”
“No. Answer the question.” Quinn pinched harder, twisting her nipple, using his fingernail to scrape the very tip. A hot flash of exquisite pain flared for all too brief seconds.
“Aaahhh.” Her clit pulsed as she threw her head back. “I don’t care about the stupid restroom. Please, please, touch me.” She humped air, using the rub of Quinn’s jeans on her tender bottom for stimulation. Christ, she’d gotten that desperate.
“Time we raised the ante.” Mike’s voice hardened with purpose.
At any other moment, her internal alarm bells would sound a warning. However, she’d come too far, her desire was too strong. And the thrill of defiance, when her girl parts went all tingly waiting for their retribution, goaded her further.
Could she do it? Manipulate them to punish her so beautifully, gloriously hard that she’d cross over some magical line? Therefore her body’s release to those dark sensations would make giving into their demands a moot point?
“I’m sure you’ll appreciate the fact we planned ahead.” Quinn rose from the couch with her in his arms. “If there’s one thing we’ve learned about you, it’s your stubborn streak.” He walked behind the furniture to the center of the room, stopping directly under one of the large wooden beams that crossed the ceiling. A pulley system rigged with chains hung over the beam, the end of the chain secured to one of the four posts equally spaced around the room.
Mike stepped behind her as Quinn held her against his long, hard frame. With her ankles bound, she swayed like some drunken fool. A tiny part of her brain registered the appropriateness. Drunk, yes. Not from cheap wine. Make that naked, dirty lust.
A few expert tugs from Mike and her wrists were free. With a firm but gentle grip, he moved her arms forward, massaging her shoulder joints. “Any stiffness or pain, sub?”
Could she risk fibbing? Just one tiny fib? If she said yes, would they give in and allow her an orgasm to make it all better? She peeped up at Quinn. Those eyes of his, trained for combat, in and out of the BDSM playroom, stared back, assessing every inch of her.
“No, I’m fine.”
A sharp pinch blistered her backside. Answer properly. “Aaah, I mean, no, Mike.”
“Better.” He swatted the offended skin, just hard enough to make her rock against Quinn for support. The lines around the big Dom’s eyes deepened with his amusement at her yelp.
“Now comes the extra fun part, not that spanking you wasn’t fun, at least for us,” Mike said from behind as she saw his arm come up and pull down on the heavy chain. He wrapped leather cuffs around each wrist and secured the buckles with tiny padlocks before clipping the D-rings of the cuffs together.
Her pulse kicked up a gear at the extra dimension of restraint added by the padlocks. Even if he unclipped the D-rings, she had no way of removing the cuffs. The added weight of the leather acted as a constant reminder of her submission.
“What are you going to do?” She could ask, right? They hadn’t told her yet she couldn’t speak.
Both men ignored her as Mike raised her cuffed wrists above her head and then clipped them to the end of the chain that dangled down. She twisted around to look over her shoulder, watching as he moved to the vertical beam that secured the end of the chain.
He pulled on the metal links until her arms were extended high yet slack enough to allow a slight bend at the elbow.
The ratchety clank of the chain as it slipped through the pulley sent a shiver over her spine.
Quinn waited until Mike had locked the chain in
place before speaking.
“Do? We’re going to do a great many things, sugar.” He gripped her chin, firming when she would have pulled away. “None which you need to know of in advance. Remember”—a soft kiss fell on her mouth—“you have your safe word.”
Damned if she’d give them the satisfaction.
Quinn walked to a large table off to the side, his back to her as he studied whatever was laid out. She couldn’t get a clear view of their chosen instruments of erotic torture. He grabbed a long metal pole which had leather cuffs at either end. Spreader bar. She recognized its use from his ad hoc version in the bathroom. At least with her legs spread, she’d be wide open to their touches, right? That had to be better than clenching her freaking thighs.
Mike squatted down in front of her and made short work of the rope keeping her legs together. His hand curled around one ankle. Such a strong grip. It never failed to make her pulse skitter.
“Spread your legs,” Mike said.
She thought he’d never ask.
With more glee than she guessed was appropriate, she rushed to obey, spacing her legs wide apart.
Quinn headed back over with the metal pole, which he then handed to Mike. “I don’t know why you’re smiling, sub.” His brows formed a dark line then they rose, as if something clicked inside.
She lowered her gaze. Cards to your chest, idiot.
“You think this makes it easier on you, sugar? Having your legs open?” As he stood beside her, he rubbed his jaw against her cheek, scrubbing her skin with his whiskers. “Darlin’, it simply opens you up for more. Think how easy we can push you.” His finger tapped the hood of her clit. She jolted against the touch. The chains above clinked. “Touch you.” Another tap. “Make you scream.”
