“Accommodating?”
“His youngest sister, who moved in with him after a divorce, has crippling arthritis.”
“How old is she?”
“Sixty-five. She’s been disabled for most of my adult life. A bad roll of the genetic dice.”
“It’s a lovely home,” she said, thinking about all the fields and trees. “This house feels solid, like it could outlast the apocalypse.”
“Oh, it could. The stone was sourced from a local quarry, and the walls are twice as thick as they need to be. My grandfather wanted to raze the house and plant an orchard here.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“I asked him not to,” Raphael said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a man to defer to his grandson’s wishes. Maisie wondered if it had to do with Raphael inheriting the estate one day.
She couldn’t imagine going through life thinking about who was going to get her stuff once she was dead. That part of being rich she could do without.
“Do you drink beer?” Raphael asked.
They were standing in the middle of a large living room. If Maisie had seen this room first, she never would have thought this was servants’ housing. The entire building was much, much larger than she’d first believed.
She nodded, and Raphael smiled. “Wait here.”
He returned a few minutes later carrying four beers.
“This way,” he said.
They passed through a long but narrow hallway lined with beautiful, carved wood antique chairs that probably hadn’t held the weight of a person in centuries. Classical paintings of landscapes hung on the walls.
One of those paintings would pay off her student loans several times over. Hell, the elaborate wood frames alone might do the trick.
She folded her arms even tighter around herself.
Her bosses were wealthy. She’d known that from the beginning, but it was one thing to know it, and another to be walking through one of their homes at night.
It made her feel like an outsider.
Spending her days working for janitorial services wasn’t helping, either. The gulf between her social station and that of her bosses had never felt so wide.
“All right,” Raphael said, coming to a stop in front of an open door. The room behind it was dark. “I’ve thought a lot about how to make up for our earlier misunderstanding.”
He handed her the beers.
“I don’t regret fucking you in the limo, Maisie. That was one of the hottest scenes of my life. But I do regret that it began as a punishment you didn’t deserve.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Apologies have their place,” he said. “As a lawyer, I know they’re often not sufficient. So, here’s what’s going to happen. In a few minutes, I’ll come back here for you. You can ask me one question—any question—and I’ll answer it. Then I have something to show you.”
He brushed a hurried kiss across her cheek, then disappeared into the darkened room, closing the door again behind him.
Maisie’s mind was racing as she perched on the edge of one of the chairs. The beers were sweating, dampening her fingers.
Any one question?
She wondered if he really meant that.
She had so many questions. About their plans for Byron Ballystock. About her bosses’ previous relationships with other women. About the contents of the envelope that she’d hidden in the back of her closet.
She could ask Raphael for the name of his band. Or for the story behind his tattoo.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She knew what she wanted to ask—about Ethan’s scar.
If anyone knew what had truly happened that night, it would be Trent or Raphael.
She heard a man’s voice. At first she thought it was Raphael, calling her through the door, but then she realized it was coming from back the way they’d come.
Slowly, she stood, her neck craning, her eyes narrowing in concentration.
A man’s deep voice laughed.
That was Trent’s laugh. She smiled. She would have known it anywhere.
A few seconds later, Trent and Ethan came into view.
She waved her fingers shyly and smiled, but inside, she was conflicted. There was no way she could ask Raphael to tell her the truth about Ethan’s scar when Ethan was standing right there.
Well, she could… If she wanted to piss Ethan off.
Which she did not.
No, at the moment everything in the relationship was stable, and Maisie was not going to rock that boat again. Absolutely not.
“Is it me,” Ethan said to Trent, “or does our submissive not look happy to see us?”
“Now I know why Raphael brought four beers,” she said. “I thought I was getting two.”
Trent’s gorgeous smile spread across his face, melting her heart. “You can have as many beers as you like,” he said.
Raphael opened the door. “You’re early,” he said to the other men.
“There was no way we were gonna miss this,” Trent said.
Maisie frowned.
“Have you settled on a question?” Raphael asked.
She shook her head. “Can I ask it later?”
“You’re giving her a question?” Ethan asked. All traces of his earlier humor had vanished.
“Yes,” Raphael said, his tone a little short. “I fucked up. I’ve never understood the point of pretending that doms are omnipotent gods. If the only way I can keep respect is to pretend to be infallible, then it’s not really respect, is it?”
Ethan glowered. “There’s a difference between admitting you made a mistake and letting the submissive walk all over you. Maisie needs a firm hand.”
“We’ve been dealing with her firmly,” Raphael said.
The two men were still several feet apart, but they might as well have been standing toe-to-toe.
Maisie wanted to say something to diffuse the situation, but she didn’t know what that would be.
Finally, Ethan threw up his hands. “Fine,” he said. “You’re making this harder on all of us. Even Maisie.”
He turned toward Trent as if looking for support.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” Raphael said quickly. “Tonight is my night. You two will have your dates.”
More dates? Maisie smiled.
“Maisie, you have two days to ask your question.”
Ethan groaned.
“Make it a good one,” Trent said. “I don’t think any of us will be crazy enough to offer that deal again.”
“All right,” Raphael said. “I guess I’ve got a real audience.” His gaze rested on Maisie. “This is my apology,” he said. “It’s bigger than you’re probably expecting, but when I fuck up, I’ll always make it right, Maisie.”
Trent leaned over and brushed his lips against her ear. Excitement jittered along her skin. “We’ll always make it right. All three of us. No matter what happens, you can count on that.”
When he straightened up, Raphael was gone. Ethan’s troubled expression had eased somewhat.
The two men each took one of her hands and led her through the door.
20
Maisie had been expecting to find another fully appointed dungeon, just like the one in the penthouse near the office.
At the very least, she’d expected a bed.
After all, their relationship thus far had been based around sex. Well, sex and dealing with the Ballystock fiasco.
The last thing she’d expected was to find herself in a small theater.
Six rows of seats led down to a stage.
In the middle of the stage was a wooden stool, a microphone on a stand, and a guitar.
“What is this?” she asked, breathless.
Neither Ethan nor Trent answered her. Instead, they led her down to the front row.
She lowered herself into a plush seat upholstered in blue velvet. It was like settling into a warm hug, and she shivered a little in anticipation.
Ethan and Trent sat on either side of her. She was surprised to see that Ethan was slouching somewhat, his long legs kicked out in front of him.
It gave her a sudden glimpse of what he must have been like in college. Irreverent, challenging, demanding.
He must have felt her gaze on him, because he looked over and smiled. “You’re in for a treat,” he said, “but don’t get into the habit of expecting us to do things like this all the time, or you’ll be disappointed.”
“I never expect anything from the three of you,” she joked.
“Watch your tone,” Ethan said, his gray eyes flashing.
Trent leaned forward. “Her, I can gag,” he said pointedly. “You, on the other hand…”
Maisie giggled, and Trent raised a finger in warning, but he was kidding.
She loved this. Maybe everything was falling apart, but when they wanted to, these three men made her happy.
Raphael walked onto the stage, carrying another guitar. He’d changed into a pair of ripped jeans, flat-soled sneakers, and a faded T-shirt.
But it was his dark hair that pulled her attention. He wore it longer than most other attorneys, but he tended to keep it styled back, out of his face.
Now it was a sexy, rumpled mess. He looked like a bad boy cologne model, ready for a photo shoot.
“Apologies to the audience,” he said, looking at Maisie. “I had technical difficulties, but they’re now resolved.”
He leaned on the edge of the stool, looked down, and began tuning the guitar, plucking at the strings and then adjusting the tuning keys.
Maisie couldn’t help staring at the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders as he moved.
In the small photo in his office, Raphael had been younger and thinner.
He’d filled out into a devastatingly sexy man.
“I’m only going to sing one song tonight,” he said, “but it’s one I wrote.”
His fingers were moving across the strings, playing a melody that Maisie could barely hear.
“I saw her on the beach, barefoot and lovely and sad,” he sang.
She smiled. He hadn’t written that song; everyone knew it was Taylor Lynn Tate’s. A year ago, Maisie hadn’t been able to go anywhere without hearing it on the radio, and it had been deemed the song of the summer.
Like everyone else who didn’t live under a rock, she knew all the words.
But she’d never heard it sung like this before.
He did it slower, so that it was almost a ballad. And his voice… It sent shivers racing up and down her spine.
“Thrown from the water, from the sand, we weep and fast and beg.”
She’d never seen Raphael so at peace, so masterful, as now, when he was bending the guitar to his will.
He reached the chorus and leaned back slightly, his eyes closed, his brow lightly furrowed.
“Tossed through the waves combed back,” he sang, and Maisie’s heart felt like it was going to explode. Taylor Lynn Tate pretty much screamed that line, but Raphael was giving it the weight it deserved.
By the time he finished, she was stupidly in love with him. It took a moment to process the reason why.
It was the way he had unapologetically bared his soul.
She jumped to her feet and applauded.
Raphael opened his eyes and momentarily looked surprised, as if he’d forgotten where he was. He stood, bowed a little, and walked off the stage.
“Damn,” Ethan said. “He’s pretty good.”
“So long as he doesn’t try to leave the firm again,” Trent said. “Maisie, do us a favor and pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”
Yeah, like she could hide the emotions running riot inside her.
“That was amazing,” she gushed when Raphael walked back out. “Seriously. It’s a good song, but the way you sang it was so much better than Taylor’s version.”
“That’s why I don’t sell them anymore,” he said, sitting on the edge of the stage. He raked a hand through his hair.
“Wait… Were you serious? You wrote ‘Break My Love’?”
“Credited as R. Lattimore. You can check the liner notes if you don’t believe me,” Raphael said. “Though maybe someone can help me out here. If a submissive suggests that I’m lying, is it better to spank her or whip her?”
His casual demeanor had vanished.
Maisie had been attracted to Raphael from the moment she’d first seen him. But now, it was more than that.
“Up on the stage,” he said.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
She knew better than to ask Raphael if he was serious. She also realized that it was unlikely she’d get any help from Ethan and Trent.
Taking a deep breath, she stood.
Raphael stood and leaned down from the stage to offer her a hand.
The instant his fingers wrapped around hers, he was pulling her up. It happened so quickly that Maisie had a moment of disorientation. The bright footlights weren’t helping; she felt half-blinded.
Raphael hopped down from the stage. “Strip,” he ordered Maisie as he sat in her recently vacated chair.
“Strip?” she asked, her voice weak. There was so much light. Too much.
“Strip,” Ethan commanded.
What could she do?
She removed her clothing, beginning with her dress.
By the time she’d peeled off her panties and tossed them to the side, her nipples were erect buds, and a bead of moisture was dripping down her inner thigh.
Embarrassed, she squeezed her legs together.
It was a mistake.
Her bosses had noticed. They were all sitting up straight now, paying close attention.
Ethan leaned toward Raphael and said something.
Raphael nodded, then conferred with Trent, who quickly got up and left the room.
Maisie’s forehead dampened with sudden sweat.
“Turn around and bend over the stool,” Raphael said. “Spread your legs wide.”
She closed her eyes, but only briefly; she didn’t want to incur additional punishments. Her bosses could be brutal, and it had been such a nice evening.
How strange, she thought. It’s not the punishment that bothers me. It’s displeasing my bosses.
She turned and bent over the stool. Its hard, round seat pressed uncomfortably into her stomach and breasts.
“Grab the legs as far down as you can,” Ethan said.
Then he was on the stage. He knelt in front of her, and his gaze went to her breasts, squished by the polished wood.
“Raphael apologized to you, but I’m not Raphael. You know your safe word. You know your safe gesture. That’s all you have, Maisie. Tonight, we’re taking everything else.”
“Ethan,” Trent called out.
Ethan lifted his right hand and caught the small bundle of wadded-up cloth that Trent tossed to him.
“Go ahead and struggle,” Ethan said, dropping the bundle to the floor, where it began to loosen.
She looked at the bundle and realized it was a bunch of ragged strips of cloth. Her eyes went wide. Raphael had said they were going to find out if she was serious about pretending to resist.
These men planned to tie her up.
And then what would they do?
True fear and excitement made her shiver. Her pussy clenched.
“Damn, that’s a gorgeous sight,” Trent said. “Let’s work her over here before we take her upstairs.”
Maisie opened her mouth to scream, but Ethan was faster, shoving a thick strip of cloth into her mouth.
Her scream came out as a muffled grunt.
Someone smacked her ass.
Someone else pressed on the small of her back, keeping her in place.
“Sometimes,” Ethan said gently, “we’re going to punish you just because we want to. Because it makes our cocks stiff.”
A broad palm slapped her ass hard, and the stool slid forward.
She whimpered. A single tear spilled down her cheek.
&nb
sp; Then a thick cock was being shoved into her pussy.
If this was their idea of punishing her, then Maisie wanted it every single day.
All right, so maybe the spankings were a little harder than they needed to be.
Another slap landed. More tears flowed from her eyes. She sniffed hard, so her nose wouldn’t run.
She didn’t know who was fucking her, but he hadn’t spent much time preparing her. When he pulled out, she almost cried with frustration.
But then he was prodding at her ass, and before Maisie could mentally brace herself, he was shoving that cock into her back door.
He was too large to be going in dry. Oh, how she loved when they pushed her limits.
She cried and kicked her legs, and then somehow, miraculously, the stool tipped to the side.
The men hadn’t yet tied her down, and Maisie stumbled away triumphantly. She almost lost her balance, but then she was upright and moving fast, running for the exit.
21
She didn’t make it very far before Trent caught her. His arms were like steel bands around her body, and his chest was a slab of rock.
“Oh, you’re a bad girl,” he murmured, and she bit her tongue to stop from giggling.
Ethan fastened a rough, oatmeal-white rope around her neck. He’d gotten it so quickly… This must have been planned.
Trent set her down. He ran a finger between her shoulder blades, and she shivered. “Any objections to taking her for a walk?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Raphael said.
Even though it hung loosely and with plenty of slack, it might as well have been knotted tightly, because Maisie felt bound to the man holding the other end of the rope.
The three men began walking toward the exit. Maisie followed, her hands clasped in front of her.
With every step, the rope swung back and forth. Sometimes, the fibers brushed across her nipples, which had hardened to almost painful little peaks.
They led her through the house, then out into the mild night.
It was a gorgeous evening. Fields of fireflies blinked, mirroring the winking stars overhead. The air was still and quiet.
Ethan was moving faster now, and she had to hustle to keep up. It wasn’t easy in heels. Her breasts bounced. She was too busty to ever go without a bra, and she had to support her chest with her hands.
Willful Violation (Lawyers Behaving Badly Book 3) Page 10
