Good Girl

Harley Madison

Harley Madison

Copyright © 2025 by Harley Madison

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Cover Designer: Jodielocks Designs

Editor: Autumn Reed

Contents

1. Dedication

2. Blurb

3. Chapter 1

4. Chapter 2

5. Chapter 3

6. Chapter 4

7. Chapter 5

8. Chapter 6

9. Chapter 7

10. Chapter 8

11. Chapter 9

12. Chapter 10

13. Chapter 11

14. Chapter 12

15. Chapter 13

16. Chapter 14

17. Chapter 15

18. Chapter 16

19. Chapter 17

20. Chapter 18

21. Chapter 19

22. Chapter 20

23. Chapter 21

24. Chapter 22

25. Chapter 23

26. Chapter 24

27. Chapter 25

28. Chapter 26

29. Chapter 27

30. Chapter 28

31. Chapter 29

32. Chapter 30

33. Chapter 31

34. Chapter 32

35. Chapter 33

36. Chapter 34

37. Chapter 35

38. Chapter 36

39. Chapter 37

40. Chapter 38

41. Chapter 39

42. Chapter 40

43. Chapter 41

44. Chapter 42

45. Chapter 43

46. Bonus Scene

47. Brat Baby

48. About Harley Madison

Dedication

To my naughty little subs, this book is for those who love post-orgasm torture. IYKYK.

All of the books in this series have a content warning. Please visit my website for more information.

https://harleymadisonauthor.com/content-warnings/

Love, Harley x

Blurb

Four daddies. One weekend of pleasure and pain. Twenty thousand dollars.

Last night, they rocked my world.

Now they want to keep me for the weekend.

When I got the private invitation notification with the two red gift boxes, I almost passed out. Twenty thousand dollars, on top of the ten thousand I’ve already earned?

I wouldn’t have to work for my entire college career. I could concentrate on studying and maybe even graduate early. My future could be here sooner than I ever considered.

So, turning down their offer would be stupid, right? What’s two more days of them using me however they please? Letting them strip away my dignity until I’m nothing but a begging mess of a girl at their feet?

One more weekend. That’s all their new contract covers.

Then they will be done with me.

It doesn’t matter that I want them to keep me for good.

No, all that matters is that I’ll be set to concentrate on my future after this weekend.

I’ll never have to rely on someone else to support me.

I’ll never have to use the SugarLife app again.

I’ll never have to see them again.

And that’s exactly what I want.

Good Girl is the second book in the Sugar Life series. It is a high-steam why choose romance with one baby girl, four daddy doms, one weekend of extreme pleasure, and delving deeper into the world of kink.

Chapter 1

Emery

Twenty. Motherfucking. Thousand. Dollars.

I sit—emotionally numb—in the back seat of the cab as it pulls into the parking lot for the on-campus student housing at Newton University.

Who the hell are these bastards that they have thirty K—including the ten from tonight—to blow on a living sex doll for the weekend? They don’t give off gang vibes. Well, Xavier tips the scale the smallest amount with the blood thing, but no. You don’t see gang members wandering around in tailored suit pants.

The mob, maybe? Is that even still a thing? Even then, the thought of them being criminals doesn’t sit right. I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by the slime of Chicago; Derek, Hudson, Darcy, and Xavier don’t give off the same vibe.

Daddy.

Viper.

Angel.

Hunter.

I mentally run through the names that I gave the men I just spent the last two hours with, letting them use my body in ways I’ve never even thought about. And now they want me to give myself to them for the entire weekend.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I startle at the cab driver’s heavily accented voice as it pierces the void that has surrounded us for the entire trip from the hotel to here.

Our eyes connect in his mirror, then he turns to look at me, concern written all over his face. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

I choke on my laughter because, yes? No? I have no fucking clue.

If he asked me that after any other sexual encounter I’ve had, I probably would have answered with a no, when I should have said yes.

But this time? I want to answer with yes, but I should say no.

I feel like I’m fracturing from the inside out. They tore me apart at the seams, rearranged the pieces, and put me back together in a jumbled-up mess that somehow feels right.

More right than just a few hours ago.

“I’m . . . fine,” I reply, because what else can I say?

Sorry I’m a touch spacy right now. I just let four strange men, double my age, rail me into the mattress until my soul was wrenched from my body?

He actually turns around and looks at me through the plastic divider, dark eyebrows pulled together over dark eyes. “Are you sure?”

Am I sure?

Not really, no. But I also don’t think that I’m not fine. So . . .

“Yeah, I’m sure. Thank you for the ride.” I gather my things and get out of the cab.

When I glance back in, I can tell he wants to say more, so I just wave and shut the door before heading toward the gate that opens to the student apartments.

Black lampposts line the way, the golden glow from the old-school lantern-like fixtures lighting my way down what would otherwise be a very dark path because of the thick trees that create a canopy against the wall of the buildings.

I dash up the outer staircase and swipe my security token against the black panel screwed into the wall. The little light above the handle flicks to green, and I pull the door open and launch myself up the two flights of carpeted stairs to my apartment door.

Swiping the token again, I wait for the door to engage, then push into the room. For some reason, I’m shocked when I find the lights and TV on. I expected Oakley to be asleep. But, really, it’s barely even ten on a Friday night.

Speak of the devil—I spot her sitting on the couch, a scoop of ice cream inches from her mouth as she stares back at me. An ad for toothpaste plays on the TV as her face twists in confusion. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah,” I reply as I drop my shit right there in the doorway and march into the kitchen. Snatching up a spoon from the drawer, I head over to the couch, drop onto the cushion next to Oakley, and steal the ice cream tub from her.

I ignore the way my vagina is twitching with all the movement. And not in a good way.

Oakley’s gaze bores into the side of my face as I scoop up some . . . oh, yum, cookies and cream. With my eyes closed, I relish in the frozen dessert, using my tongue to search out the chunks of chocolate cookie.

I’m on my third scoop before she loses her patience.

“You’re going to have to give me a little more than yeah,” she demands as she retrieves her ice cream from me and takes her own scoop. “Did they not turn up or something?”

I snort. “They definitely turned up.”

Her nose scrunches. “Didn’t match their pictures? That is always a deal-breaker for me.”

She offers me the tub, and I take another scoop. “Uh, no, they definitely matched.”

She tips her head to the side, and the topknot of blonde curls tips precariously to the side. “Then why . . .”

I suck the ice cream from my spoon and eye her warily. She’d been supportive earlier today.

Holy fuck. The discussion about check-in times and being murdered had only been a few hours ago.

Apparently sensing my hesitation, she adjusts to face me fully and reiterates her words from earlier. “This is a judgment-free zone. We barely know each other. I’m hoping we’ll end up bosom buddies and drink wine together until we are old, but the only way that is going to happen is if we both spill our guts to each other and promise to never, ever judge. Even if one of us admits to having a crush on Anakin Skywalker.”

“Bosom buddies?” I can’t help but chuckle. “What are you, fucking eighty?”

She shrugs and turns back to the TV, taking the ice cream with her, ever so nonchalantly. “If you don’t want to be my bosom buddy, then you don’t need to tell me why you are walking with a limp.”

“Oh my god. I do not have a fucking limp.” I drop my head onto the back of the couch. As I stare at the white ceiling with vague stains here and there, I decide to just blurt it out. “Fine. Anakin Skywalker, it is. And you better mean it, because shit is going to be hella awkward for the next year if you don’t.”

When nothing but silence greets my statement, I figure that’s a green light.

“It was gang bang central, Oaks. At one point, I had three dicks inside of me.” The couch creaks as she readjusts to look at me, and I roll my head on the cushion so that I can see her. “And one of them liked to watch and hold me still, so the others could use me. They used my own fucking lingerie to tie my hands up.”

Oakley’s eyes are as wide as saucers, and her spoon is hanging limply from her fingertips. “Three? At once?”

I hum. “Yeah, and I don’t do anal, so you do the math on that.”

Her mouth pops open, and I snicker when her gaze darts down to my crotch for half a second before returning to my face.

I point a finger at her. “Anakin Skywalker.”

Oakley’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click, then her entire bottom lip disappears into her mouth. Seemingly remembering the spoon and ice cream, she places them both on the coffee table before rearranging herself into a weird leg pretzel, pulling the scrunchie from her blonde hair, gathering it over her shoulder and then resettling into the corner of the couch. Then she stares at me. “I mean this with the least amount of judgment possible, but wow, girl. Jumped straight into the deep end with that one, didn’t you? Can I get you anything? Ice, maybe?”

I huff out a laugh and wave her off. “I know, right? And no, I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Was it good, at least? Did they, you know . . . Did everyone get an orgasm?” She doesn’t quite stumble over the words, but she isn’t comfortable saying them.

“I think it might have been the best sex of my life,” I reply, but then I call myself on the lie as memories fling themselves from the locked closet in the back of my mind. “No, scratch that. I don’t think it, I know it. It was the best sexual experience of my life. And the not having permission to come was—”

“Wow, hold on. You didn’t have permission to c-come? What does that even mean?”

I stare at Oakley, because isn’t that self-explanatory? Taking a serious moment, I look at her. I hadn’t really noticed anything beyond all the designer labels and perfectly styled blonde hair, but now that I’m looking at her, I’m thinking she might be a little more innocent than I’d originally thought.

“Oaks, are you a virgin?”

She sputters at my question, cheeks glowing red. “No, nope. Definitely not. I’ve had sex, plenty of sex. Long-term high school boyfriend.”

Okay, so not a total virgin. I raise an eyebrow. “And?”

Her eyebrows furrow. “And, what?”

“And who else?”

Somehow, she looks even more confused. “Who else . . . have I had sex with? No one. Just him.”

My other eyebrow joins the first.

She mimics my expression. “Why, how many men—people—have you slept with?”

“Men, boys,” I confirm, and without thinking, I blurt out my answer. “More than fifty, less than one hundred.” Oakley’s mouth falls open again, and I jab a finger in her direction. “Anakin Skywalker. You promised.”

A squeak escapes her, and she darts off the couch. “Okay, just, ah. Give me a minute. I need a minute.”

She scoops up the tub of ice cream and the spoon and disappears into the kitchen.

Fuck, did I say too much?

I’ve never done the chick best friend thing before. It was always Tray and me against the world. We were each other’s everything. He did his best to protect me when he could, and I was always there to bail him out of whatever situation he’d gotten himself into. Hence, the high body count. I was usually all he had to pay his debts with.

Oakley is gone long enough that I turn to look into the kitchen. She’s gripping two glasses of water as she comes back and retakes her seat, offering me one of the glasses.

“So, let me get this straight. I signed you up to SugarLife, you cherry-picked a red box invitation, met four men at a hotel, had a gang bang, you’re home way earlier than expected because they double stuffed your taco, and now you’re walking with a limp?”

Chapter 2

Emery

Water lodges in my throat, and I hack up half a lung as I glare at her through watery eyes. “Rude.”

She shrugs, all blasé and shit. “It’s not like that was the first thing you choked on today.”

The grin that spreads across my face is probably a little feral, but I’m really starting to believe in her idea that we could be bosom buddies. “Oaks, if I was into chicks, I think you might have just stolen my heart.”

Oakley rolls her eyes at me. “Shut up.”

I recline back on the couch again, resuming my sprawled position while balancing the glass on my stomach.

“So, about the not coming thing,” she starts, but then pauses, as if she isn’t sure where to take her sentence.

Not wanting to force her to figure it out, I offer the details she wants. “After my first orgasm, I was told not to come again. Every time I wanted to come, I had to play this fucked-up game where I’d warn them I was about to come by begging for permission to come, but then they would ease up to stop me from going over the edge.”

Oakley’s eyes are wide, and her blinks exaggerated. “Damn. That sounds . . .”

“Fucking hot, right? Because it was. When they finally let me come at the very end, pretty sure I blacked out for a few minutes.” Remembering how the fire had consumed me, I squeeze my legs together.

Best. Fucking. Sex. Of. My. Life.

This time, it’s Oakley’s turn to take a sip of her drink.

I smirk at her and turn my attention back to the rom-com on the TV. It must almost be over because the big yelling scene in the middle of a busy street is currently happening, with the female character crying while the guy stands there, all stoic and shit. Doesn’t he know all she wants is for him to chase after her? To pick her?

“Too bad it was only for the night. Not having to fake orgasms sounds amazing.”

“Actually, they sent me an invitation to extend our date for the entire weekend.”

Oakley borderline shrieks and launches up to her knees, water almost sloshing over the edge of her glass. “What? Why are you all, blah?” She waves her hand over my body, as if trying to shoo a fly away.

I shrug, watching as the female character gets in her car and drives off into a storm. “I’m in shock, I think.”

In my peripherals, I see her put her glass on the coffee table and sit back on her haunches. “Shock? Are you okay? Do we need to go to a hospital?”

The concern in her voice makes my skin feel uncomfortably tight, and I shake off the feeling. “No, not like physical shock. Mental. The gift—it’s more, Oaks. A lot more.”

“Well, that makes sense. Ten thousand dollars for a single night is their bar. For the whole weekend, I’d expect them to offer you at least another five.”

I take a deep breath. “Try twenty. On top of the ten. So, thirty total.”

“Holy shit, do you have a magical vagina?”

Her outburst catches me so off guard, I can’t help but laugh.

“Why the hell are you sitting here, laughing, and not packing an overnight bag? For that kind of money, I’d beg for orgasms for a week.” Oakley shakes her head, amazement lacing her words.

“I take it you think I should accept?” I ask, voice as level as I can make it.

I think I should accept the invitation, but this was supposed to be a one and done. Get the cash I need to ride out at least one year of college, hopefully more, if I can score a part-time job.

I’m not supposed to let myself fall back into old patterns.

This was a one-off exchange of my body for cash.

A final hurrah.

But when I’d made that decision, I hadn’t factored in another twenty fucking thousand dollars.

I would be able to push through nearly my entire college career with thirty thousand dollars in my bank account. Realistically, I’d only need to buy the occasional new clothing item, textbooks, groceries, et cetera. My housing is paid for by a scholarship, and so is my tuition, both of which are dependent on my grades.

And I have absolutely zero plans to let those slip.

“Yes, I think you should accept! Girl, are you crazy? That’s a goddamn car. It’s a deposit for a house. It’s . . . it’s . . . Damn, I think that’s minimum wage for a year, and you would earn it in a weekend.”

It’s actually more than minimum wage—almost double—but I don’t bother pointing that out.

I take another sip of my water, not really sure what to say.

“You said it was good, right?”

I glance back at Oakley. “Really good.”

“And they didn’t hurt you?”

Not in a way I didn’t like. “Nope.”

“They matched their pictures, they made sure you had a good time, too, and they didn’t hurt you. I’m not seeing the problem. Unless there is something you aren’t telling me?” She keeps her tone level, applying zero pressure on me to respond.

But, since we are going to be bosom buddies, I decide to throw her a little something.

“If this was a romance novel, and I was the female main character, my tragic backstory would make all the dark romance girlies on BookTok go all gooey in the knees.”

She huffs a laugh. “I’m one of those dark romance girlies.”

I smirk and then focus on the glass in my hands. “Oaks, it's the classic shitstorm. Dead parents. Foster care, with every deadbeat foster parent type you can imagine. Sleeping with men to protect the people I cared about. Tonight was supposed to be for me, for my future. Then I would be done. Set myself up, so I don’t need to stress about money for at least a year.”

The quiet that stretches between the two of us makes my skin crawl, and when I can’t take it anymore, I look at her. Immediately, I squint my eyes at her sad and pinched face. How she still looks cute is beyond me. “You said no judgment. Sheesh, it was your rule, you could at least respect it.”

My voice sounds wobbly, even to me.

She sucks in a breath and straightens up, gathering her hair and rebuilding the messy bun on the top of her head. “You’re right. Okay. Look, tragic backstory aside, I think that, if you are emotionally up to continuing with your fuck fest and netting yourself another twenty K with four smoking-hot men who know how to make you come—or not—I totally stand by you. I’ll be waiting for you to come home Sunday night. I’ll get us some wine, there will be a cheeseboard and face masks. Candles. Whatever you need.”

I blink at her. More than once. “Face masks?”

She laughs. “Whatever. Just something to make you feel good. To re-center or whatever you need. Shit, I’ll have a personal masseuse waiting for you in the apartment, if you think you’ll need it.”

We lapse into silence again, and I stare blankly at the TV.

Twenty motherfucking thousand dollars.

Well, thirty, really.

I work through the numbers quickly and almost choke on a laugh. Over a three-year period, that’s just shy of two hundred dollars a week, if no interest is accrued.

I will have to pay taxes for the first time in my life because I’ll be making money.

Just this weekend.

Then I’ll stop.

They won’t want more, once they have gotten everything they desire this weekend.

Okay.

Just the weekend.

Then I’m done.

“Just the weekend,” I say to no one in particular.

Chapter 3

Emery

Needing a minute to myself, I grab my things, head to my room and close the door behind me, only to be confronted with the half dozen black bags of lingerie that I didn’t take with me tonight. Needing the comfort of my bed, I quickly remove everything and pull the blankets back before climbing in and snuggling down into the two pillows as best I can.

My room is bare, save for the furniture that the room came with—bed, one bedside table, and a chest of drawers, all of which have seen better days. Not that I can judge the state of the furniture, considering I turned up with my duct-tape-and-pins backpack and two garbage bags containing all my worldly possessions.

The foster system didn’t really allow for having anything more. And after a couple of weeks bouncing between shelters and street camps, my shit was limited. The majority of my clothes are hand-me-downs or from thrift stores. Besides the lingerie I bought earlier today, I own nothing brand new.

The lingerie shopping was today.

Today’s timeline of events is seriously shocking my system.

The cab ride to the hotel was today.

It all happened today.

Why does it feel like it was weeks ago?

It’s like my internal clock has been forever shifted, and I have no idea if the dial was rotated forward or backward. It’s just before hotel and after hotel.

I pull up my phone and go to the SugarLife app. It’s still open to the yet-to-be-responded-to private invitation. Doing my best to not think about it too much, I scroll down and click Accept. My breath catches when I scroll back up and spot the green icon next to Brat4Us, indicating that they are online.

A message comes through, and the screen auto-scrolls to the message.

Brat4Us: Thank you for accepting our invitation, Emmy.

Brat4Us: We have an apartment that we have adapted to our particular tastes and would love to share the space with you for the weekend.

Several grayed-out images with an icon of a closed eye appear, and I tap on the first one to enlarge it.

A stunning black, chrome, and reflective kitchen appears. Then a bedroom with an absolutely massive bed. But the next photo . . . damn. I’ve seen some of the pieces of furniture in my recent research. A St. Andrew’s Cross. A pillory. A spanking bench. A wall of paddles, whips, and crops.

Holy shit, how many do they need?

Brat4Us: If this doesn’t suit you, we are happy to book a larger suite at the same hotel for the entire weekend. Let us know your preference, and we will take it from there.

My preference? I don’t have a fucking clue. Does accepting the apartment as our location for the weekend mean I am saying yes to all of . . . that? I mean, I’m not against it. The idea of being cuffed to that spanking bench and being forced to choke on one of their cocks while another paddles my ass has my pussy trying to rally.

And the fact that I’m even thinking about sex shit like that is mind-boggling.

Could I spend an entire weekend at their mercy? Letting them use all of that on me? Or should I opt for the hotel room and force them to keep the kink light?

We would have that limits discussion again, though, right? I could tell them my yeses and noes, and then I would just have to trust them to keep to their word. And after tonight, I feel fairly confident that, while they are fucking filthy bastards, they are gentlemen.

So, apartment or hotel?

I allow the heavy thread of want that is running through my veins to tempt me as I reply.

SugarBB_Emmy: The apartment, please, Daddies.

My message is Read immediately. Bubbles appear, and I nibble nervously on the side of my finger as I wait for their reply.

Brat4Us: Perfect. Here is the address. Please use a rideshare or taxi and arrive in one hour.

A link to a map appears next. I raise my eyebrows when it loads—it’s actually super close to campus. Not quite walking distance. Convenient. Besides, they probably don’t want it to too close to their actual homes or workplaces, because that would look sus as fuck.

Four men in their late thirties all sharing a one-bedroom apartment, with women coming and going. Yeah, sure, nothing shady happening here.

I exit out of the map and return to the chat.

SugarBB_Emmy: I can be there in an hour. Do I need to pack anything, other than my new lingerie?

Brat4Us: We may choose to keep you naked and ready for us in the apartment all weekend, but just in case we want to take you out, it would be good if you brought a couple of outfits with you. We prefer sundresses.

Naked and ready? All weekend?

My thighs clench while my brain misfires, only picking up on keywords. I feel like I have drunk my weight in alcohol with the way I can’t seem to connect the dots on things. One thing I do know? I need to respond, then I need to go ask Oakley if I can borrow some sundresses—whatever the fuck those are.

SugarBB_Emmy: Yes, Daddies. See you soon xx

I can’t help but to brat, just the tiniest bit.

SugarBB_Emmy: P.S. My pussy feels stretched and used. I can still feel you all inside of me.

Chapter 4

Emery

Oakley not only lent me several sundresses—cute little floral things that barely covered my ass and had my boobs pouring out of the top—but she also supplied a pair of ballet flats and a set of heels. Very conveniently, we wear the same size shoe.

The little baby-pink rolling suitcase that I pull out of the back of the cab is also courtesy of Oakley, as is the little handbag I have hanging from my shoulder. I’m really going to have to thank her somehow after all of this. She’s basically bankrolling my start into this sugar baby thing. All she asks in return is that I message her every few hours and that I dry clean anything of hers that I wear, besides shoes.

“Thank you,” I call into the interior of the white sedan, then close the door, having already organized payment with a tip. I’ve never had enough fucking cash to pay someone, let alone tip.

The last sixteen hours have been a complete mindfuck.

From one dollar and six cents in my bank account, to a pending transfer of ten thousand. And just over one hundred left from the bills Oaks loaned me.

Imagine if Tray could see me now. His dark brown, narrow eyes would be glinting with all the ways he could spend my money.

A slimy feeling unfurls inside of me at the thought. If he knew how much money I could make from the app, I’m sure he would find a way to monetize it to support his issues. And I would let him because he was there for me in the exact moment that I needed him. He saved me.

But not anymore. I’m distancing myself from all of that.

Fresh start.

I’m getting out. I’m getting my degree. I’ll get my CPA. I’ll get my steady, stable accounting job. I’ll buy my own little house with a little fence and a little garden, get a little white cat, and everything will be easy.

Last night and this weekend are just going to make achieving my goals that much easier, because now, I won’t need a part-time job to subsidize my student loans.

Turning, I look at the building in front of me, slowly tilting my head to take in the sheer size of the thing. Tall, white, with the vast majority of the windows darkened. Not many other details are available, except for the golden glow of lighting around the front door and the obvious fact it was built in the last decade.

Inhaling so deeply that I’m worried about the seams of the dress I’m wearing, I stride forward in my borrowed ballet flats, dragging my borrowed bag filled with its borrowed clothing.

The rhythmic thunk of the wheels hitting the cracks in the pavement helps keep my heart calm as the glass sliding doors loom ever larger. I maneuver up and over the little ramp beneath the overhang and pause in front of the doors.

They don’t whoosh open.

Maybe the little camera thing didn’t register me?

I take a couple of steps back and then approach again.

Same result.

I glance around the doorway, awkwardness crawling up my neck as I try to figure out how to deal with this. Surely, they wouldn’t have given me the wrong address?

Just as I spot a security panel to the left that has a security call button, movement on the other side of the door catches my attention.

Angel—no, wait. Darcy.

He’s in the same button-up and suit combo he wore at the hotel tonight, not that I really took much notice earlier. But now I do.

Not-quite-black, unbuttoned suit jacket to show the white-with-black-pinstripe shirt, black jeans, and sneakers. For an old guy, he’s actually pretty trendy. It helps that he is hot as fuck, in a pirate kind of way. His long brown hair is once again pulled back into a bun, which just makes me want to mess it up. Thin lips framed by a dark brown beard smirk back at me. I can easily see him leaning against a fuck off expensive car, aviators covering his eyes while a camera clicks in his face.

I finally force my gaze back up to his face. His dark blue eyes twinkle, and there is a smirk on his lips as he stops close to a similar security panel to the one on my side of the door.

Embarrassment wants to pour itself down my body at having been caught checking him out, but I refuse to let it. I’m not a blushing wallflower, like some of my favorite romance novel characters. No, I’m more like a badass FMC in a romantasy. Kick-ass and take charge.

Darcy holds a sleek black card up to the security panel. A second later, the glass doors open and cool air-conditioned air kisses my skin.

He stands there, watching me, and the awkwardness returns.

“Hey,” I say as I break eye contact, dropping my attention to his mouth.

The smirk stretches across his lips and converts to a grin. “Come here, princess.”

My heart stumbles over a beat at the use of the nickname he gave me earlier tonight. Darcy holds out a hand, and I have to breach the entryway to slip my hand into his. As soon as his fingers close over mine, he applies gentle pressure, drawing me in until our bodies are pressed together and he is able to wrap his other arm around my waist.

Our height difference is very noticeable, with me in flats, and I have to tilt my head almost all the way back to look up at him. His shoulders relax as I place my hand against his chest and hold on to the fabric, praying he can’t feel how fast my heart is beating.

Darcy’s stare is intense. I have no idea what he is looking for, so I stare back and hope he finds it. Slowly, his smile returns, then he glances down at my lips.

Oh, I know that signal.

Raising my chin, I offer my lips to him, and he immediately lowers his mouth to mine. The kiss is slow, nothing but the moving of our lips, like he is savoring this almost-PG moment with me, and I am totally here for it.

He breaks the kiss after only a few seconds, and it’s only then that I realize my eyelids have fluttered shut. I open them, and he reaches up to brush a few strands of hair behind my ear. The act is so unexpected, but so completely welcome. I can’t really think of the last time someone touched me like that, with nothing but care.

“Thank you for accepting the second invitation,” he says softly, a direct contrast to the intensity in his gaze. Like he wants to devour me right here in the doorway of his building.

All I manage is a nod because there is a massive lump in my throat.

When has anyone looked at me like this?

Never, that I can remember.

Darcy slides his hand from my waist and links our fingers together. “Let me show you the apartment.”

He reaches for my suitcase, and I wordlessly hand it over, still having way too many feelings about a simple look.

This is temporary. Temporary. The look is nothing but a man horny for a woman he is interested in. Nothing more. It’s definitely not a romantic look.

For fuck’s sake, he had his dick sandwiched with one of his friends’ dicks inside of me only a few hours ago. He just wants to do that again this weekend, probably more than once.

This is merely a weekend of fucks. No romance to be seen here.

Get it together, Emery.

Darcy leads me around a slight curve in the cream-tiled foyer toward a bank of elevators. The curve opens to a security desk, and there is a man younger and thicker than Darcy sitting there. His haircut screams military, and the way he looks at me makes me feel the tiniest bit uncomfortable. Like he thinks I’m up to no good or something.

After the stony-faced full-body scan he gives me, he up nods Darcy, and there is no further interaction with the man. An elevator opens immediately after Darcy presses the button, and we step in.

I follow him in, but when I turn to face the front, Darcy stops me. He makes himself comfortable against the far wall, then pulls me to stand between his legs. I hesitantly reach up and wrap my arms around his shoulders as he swipes his card against another panel and then selects the nineteenth floor.

The doors close behind us, and the elevator starts to move.

Darcy doesn’t say anything to me as he pulls out his phone, thumb roving over the screen for a few seconds before locking it and shoving it back into his pocket.

A second later, I feel my phone vibrate in the little purse bag. Pulling it out, I see that I have two SugarLife notifications.

SugarLife

$10,000 has been gifted to you from Brat4Us. You can find your gift in your Vault.

SugarLife

Your vault balance is $20,000.

Let the weekend begin.

Chapter 5

Emery

I look up at Darcy, and the struggle is real to keep my sudden nerves off my face. Like, holy fuck, should I be getting down on my knees for him right now?

He’s watching me as the numbers on the elevator’s display slowly climb higher. Neither of us says anything, and I slip my phone back into the little bag.

Energy is flowing between us, or is it just my body going haywire with anticipation? The speed of the elevator decreases before there is a gentle ping and the doors open behind me.

I have no idea what to expect when I turn around, so I’m trying to prepare myself for just about anything.

Doors opening straight into a sex dungeon, a-la Fifty Shades of Grey?

Doors opening into an apartment that is essentially a giant bedroom?

The rest of the guys waiting for me? Will they be dressed or naked?

My thighs clench at the thought of seeing them standing, dicks out, all of them hard, ready for round two. Yes, please. Maybe. My pussy is kind of sore still, so maybe not. I could totally give blow jobs though.

It’s totally anticlimactic when I turn around to a regular, long, gray-carpeted hallway.

Darcy doesn’t say much, just clasps my hand and tugs me and my rolling suitcase out and down the hall. I can’t help but count the doors as we go. It’s something I have always done—count objects. It centers me.

I’d count anything. Tiles. Stairs. Streetlights. Thrusts.

Darcy stops at the last door on the left, in front of a door with a silver number plate proudly stating 1906. He doesn’t pause or give me a second to prepare myself for what’s on the other side. Instead, he simply scans his card against the handle and pushes the door open after it beeps and turns green.

My breath snags inside of my lungs as Darcy releases my hand so that he can enter with my suitcase and patiently hold the door open for me. There is a slight glow coming from behind him but not enough to illuminate the space so that I can see it.

Does the weekend begin the moment I step through the door? And will it be more of what we've already done? They mentioned showing me more of what they like, but they didn’t give too many details on what is actually going to happen this weekend.

I remember the hunger in Hunter’s—Xavier’s—eyes after he bit my lip and really hope it's more of the same. The way he looked at me . . . no one has ever looked at me like they’ve wanted to devour me like that. Well, except Darcy, Derek, and Hudson.

Sure, I’ve received lecherous stares and hungry gazes, but the men behind them have just been interested in using my body for their own personal needs.

These men, though . . . I get the feeling they don’t just want to fuck with my body. They want to fuck with my head, too, if I’ll let them.

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought, because I’m pretty sure I will.

“Changed your mind, princess?”

My spine stiffens as Darcy’s mocking voice repeats the first words that he spoke to me tonight. I glare at him, and he just grins, dark blue eyes twinkling with mischief, the asshole.

With bravado I definitely do not feel, I step through the doorway, and Darcy lets the door close behind me. I trail behind him as he leads me down a short hallway, the faint glow of light getting brighter with more of the space coming into view.

A massive dark colored sectional is right in front of me facing an equally large television that sits on a big chunky wooden cabinet. I can vaguely see the outline of a door on the back wall on the far side of the couch.

My breath catches in my throat as I scan to the left and find an ominous looking floor to ceiling black curtain. It runs the full length of the apartment, effectively cutting it in half, before turning a sharp corner and blocking the end shut as well.

With my heart beating fast, I try not to remember the pictures that they sent me earlier, to not let my imagination run wild about what is behind the thick fabric. I instinctively know not to touch it. Or even ask about it. Showing any form of curiosity is just asking for trouble. This is a lesson I learned the hard way in the foster system.

I take a deep breath and continue my inspection of the place I’m going to spend the next two days in. Turning even more to the left, I discover that the light glow comes from the black, U-shaped marble kitchen. The fixtures are all silver, and there is a dining table tucked into the corner.

Darcy waits patiently between the lounge and the curtain, almost hidden in its shadows, watching me as I take in their space. I stare back at him in confusion. He frowns and lets go of the suitcase to come back to me, the curtain barely twitching as he walks past it.

“What’s wrong, princess?”

“Where are the others?”

A flicker of something, then a smile, crosses his features. “It’s just me and you tonight. They’ll join us tomorrow.”

An ache, deep inside of me, throbs, like a bruise that someone has persistently touched my entire life. “But they are coming tomorrow, for the whole weekend?”

Darcy stops inches from me, concern replacing his smile as his gaze bounces between my eyes, and he reaches up to cup my face. “Yes, for the whole weekend. Tonight, it’s just you and me. We didn’t want to overwhelm you. But from the moment you wake up tomorrow, to the minute you leave on Sunday afternoon, all four of us will be with you. You won’t get a single moment of peace, unless you ask for it.”

The ache dissipates so quickly that a surge of tears forces itself past the lump in my throat and threatens to fill my eyes. I bit my lip and break eye contact, not needing him to see the needy little girl inside of me who is terrified of being abandoned for what feels like the millionth time in eighteen years.

All I can manage is a nod. Thankfully, Darcy doesn’t try to get me to talk some more, because honestly, I have no idea what will come out of my mouth if he does. Tonight has been such a fucking rollercoaster, I’m not sure I can take too much more.

He just takes my hand and leads me back toward my abandoned suitcase. I’m not usually a seesaw of emotions. I’m even, almost emotionless, because showing emotion in a group home was a weapon that could be used against you later. So I kept them bottled in, locked up tight, to almost sociopathic levels.

Somehow, though, these men are popping the lids open and I am one-hundred percent sure I don’t like it.

My last few months in foster care had been a repeatable series of events. Wake up, school, come home to study, sneak out with Tray to a party, maybe have some fun, but more often than not, bail Tray out of whatever bind he was in that day.

My emotions have to stay bottled up because if I think too hard about it . . . nope, nope, nope. Not thinking about it.

I’m not in that group home anymore. I’m not near Tray anymore. Though I had to sneak away in the dead of night and leave no trace of myself or where I was going, I’m here now. Only two nights away from starting the rest of my life.

I just have to get through this weekend.

Chapter 6

Emery

Darcy leads me through the door at the far end of the apartment, near the corner furthest away from the black curtain, and I’m not surprised when it opens to a bedroom. What I am surprised about is the size of the bed I’m standing at the corner of. The photo did not do it justice.

It’s massive.

And I don’t mean California King massive. I mean, it spans almost the entire width of the room, like the room was built around the bed, not the other way around. Even the pink and white duvet cover had to have been custom made. Five people could easily fit on that thing with plenty of room to move around.

The image that thought puts into my mind has me squeezing my thighs together right there in the doorway.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I have my first male induced orgasm and all of a sudden, I’m a horny teenager?

Pressure on my lower back forces me farther into the room so that Darcy can step in, dragging my bag with him. He drops a kiss on my hair before walking around me and the foot of the bed, along the far side and then disappearing through a square archway near the top of the bed.

Feeling a little like I left my brain in the elevator, I take a deep breath and try to catch up to my surroundings. There isn’t much light, just the glow from the room behind the bed that Darcy disappeared into. I step further into the bedroom with the plan to put my little handbag on top of the dresser against the wall opposite the foot of the bed, but pull up short.

There, right in the center of the white set of drawers is my teddy bear with its big, pink satin bow, my coloring in book, and my case of pencils.

I’d completely forgotten about them.

But here they are.

I drop my bag onto the bed and reach out to trace a finger down the brown fur of the teddy’s arm. So soft, just like he was when I bought him earlier today. For some reason, it feels like he should have changed since then. I know I have.

A noise from behind startles me and I spin around to find Darcy in the archway, one shoulder propped up against the wall as he watches me. “Does he have a name?”

I shake my head, feeling a little like I’ve just been caught doing something I shouldn’t.

He shoves off the wall and comes toward me. “Well, we’ll have to think of one then. Maybe by the end of the weekend he’ll have a name.” Darcy stops in front of me and holds out his hand. “Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.”

He leads me to the gap in the wall and I gasp as we round the corner. There is a massive walk-in wardrobe back here. Well, I guess it would be massive since it seems to be the same depth as the five-person bed.

Shaped like a U and completely white, there are enough hanging spaces, shelves, drawers, and mirrors that I couldn’t possibly ever fill them. Not in an entire lifetime. But that is neither here nor there, since I’m only here for the weekend. All I need is a space to put my little borrowed bag, which has been left in front of some weirdly angled shelves.

I scan the rest of the wardrobe and find that one of the sections has several hangers in use already, with dark jeans and shirts. Darcy has obviously been busy.

“The bathroom is just through here.”

Turning, I find Darcy standing to the side of a gold and frosted glass door, which is also the source of the light. He gestures back at my bag. “Feel free to unpack. Treat this space like it’s your own.” His smile turns hungry, and it reminds me of how he looked at me earlier tonight, just before I kissed him for the first time. “But it doesn’t mean we won’t use you in here as well.”

Use. Holy fuck.

Why does that one word make my thighs squeeze together?

Unable to speak, again, I nod.

Turning down his smile to a simmer, he gestures for me to come to him. I do so, without question. I’m going to have to keep reminding myself that this is what they are paying for, right? To follow their commands and let them use my body however they want for the weekend. I’m fairly certain I still have my safe words, and they have shown they will stop if I ask them to.

Darcy pushes the door open further and tugs me in after him. As I walk into the bathroom, I can’t help but feel lost. My reflection in the massive gold-trimmed mirror to the right shows my mouth hanging open, revealing my clear astonishment.

White marble, shot through with pinks and golds. Every fixture is unpolished brass. There is a huge bathtub with jets. A giant shower with—I have to walk closer to look—three shower heads. Three!

And there is a vanity table with a delicate-looking cushioned chair.

Standing in the middle of the room, I slowly turn. Creams, pinks, golds. The room is . . .

“You’re welcome to take a shower or whatever you need to do to get ready for bed,” Darcy offers, one shoulder leaning against the doorway. “I’ll wait for you out here. Take your time.”

“Okay, thank you,” I manage to say, my voice barely stronger than a mutter.

The hotel was completely out of the realm of my normal, but this apartment? This freaking bathroom?

I let out a nervous giggle. What the fuck am I even doing here? This is so far out of my comfort zone. Even wearing Oakley’s cute sundresses and flats, I don’t fit here. I’m a nobody, with no family, and zero fucking class. This is so not my scene.

But does that matter, when it’s only for the weekend? It’s not like they are asking me to stay indefinitely. They just want to take the weekend to turn me inside out, and then they’ll give me the rest of the money they owe me, and I’ll be on my merry way to my dream life.

Yes. Do them for the weekend. Get my money. Live my dream life.

Starting with sleeping with Darcy tonight.

Reality check complete, I go back out to the closet and unzip the bag, searching for one of the two lingerie dress thingies I bought earlier today. I easily find the purple negligee with the matching boy shorts. Knowing they paid for these removes any self-sabotaging thoughts about the four men not liking them.

I quickly duck into the bathroom, arms loaded with my clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, and deodorant. In less than five minutes, I have fresh breath, loosely double-braided hair, and the purple lace and gauzy set on. I have no idea if it’s appropriate sleepwear or not, but I doubt I’ll ever wear it again after tonight.

After carefully wiping down the basin, I scoop up my things before going back to the walk-in and packing it all back into the bag, leaving no trace of myself behind. Straightening, I take two deep breaths, then walk around to the giant-ass bed and pull up short when I see Darcy sitting on the edge, completely dressed and scrolling through his phone.

He looks up and locks his phone, his eyes scanning the full length of me. “All done?”

I shrug, arms feeling a little awkward, so I wrap them around myself. “Yeah, we showered at the hotel, so didn’t need to do much.”

Darcy nods. “True.” He stands up and shoves his phone into his pocket before gesturing back at the bed. “Well, princess, your bed awaits you.”

Looking at the bed from the side, it seems even wider than before, with far too many choices. When I don’t immediately move to climb onto it, Darcy leans over and pulls down the corner of the duvet, then offers me a hand.

My heart starts to beat a little faster as I slip my hand into his. And not going to lie—my pussy has a little heat in it, even though she is still waving a white flag from the treatment she received earlier.

My shoulder brushes against his shirt-covered bicep as I pass him and climb up onto the bed. It is suitably high enough, that it’s almost awkward for me to get up on my own, but I manage it. He relinquishes my hand once I’m kneeling, and I turn to face him, waiting for his first move.

But none comes.

That damn smirk is back as we stare at each other, like he has some sort of inside joke that revolves around me. The awkwardness from earlier starts to overpower the heat, and my brain fires off so many suggestions on what to do that I end up doing nothing. Well, that’s not true. I continue to stare at him.

He stares back. Waiting.

I have no fucking clue what to do right now. Am I supposed to make the first move? Do I just take my clothes off and let him have me? That thought sends a zing of pleasure from my stomach to my clit. Okay, so, don’t hate that.

Or maybe he wants me to help him take his clothes off before I blow him again? Do I just reach for his belt? My gaze drops to his black leather belt with a smooth, rectangular chrome buckle. How do I even undo that thing? I’ve never undone a man’s belt before. They usually already have it undone before they get to me. And this one looks way fancier than a regular buckle.

My stomach tightens as worry mixes with the awkwardness, and I start to feel small and out of my depth. I don’t know what to do. To my horror, my throat begins to tighten.

I will not fucking cry.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Except, when Darcy steps right up to the edge of the bed and tucks his knuckle beneath my chin and forces me to look up at him, I can’t make the emotions go away. His smirk has disappeared, and in its place is concern. Again. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, because there is no way I can make words right now, not with the lump in my throat.

“Princess, I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me. Let Daddy take care of it for you.”

Let Daddy take care of it for me?

This time, when I inhale, it’s shaky.

Besides Tray, no one has ever tried to take care of me before, not unless it’s a part of their paycheck.

Let Daddy take care of me.

My eyelids flutter shut, and I try to let everything go.

Let Daddy care for me.

Slowly, I open my eyes and look up at Darcy. “Daddy, I don’t know what to do.”

Darcy’s eyes darken, but his smile returns. “Okay, princess. Let me help.”

Capturing my hand again, he tugs me up to the pillows. He pulls back more of the duvet. “Which pillow would you like to sleep on?”

I look to the side and then down at the pillow directly in front of me. Five options. Too many. So, I pick the one that is directly in front of me and right on the edge of the bed. The middle seems too . . . much, somehow.

I point at the pillow I want.

“Okay, that’s a good choice. Now, lie down for me.”

Without giving it too much thought—because, really, what is there to think about?—I do as he requests and lie down.

Cool fabric kisses my skin as I lower my head to the amazingly soft but firm pillow. Which is so weird. How can a pillow be soft and firm at the same time? I start on my back but then roll to my side. I watch Darcy as he pays me no attention, going back for the blankets and slowly pulling them up my body, until they are tucked beneath my chin.

He lowers himself to a crouch so that we are eye-level, his fingers tracing along my hairline before tucking behind my ear. “I took the liberty of plugging in your phone to charge. It’s on the dresser. Which reminds me…”

Does that mean he went through my borrowed handbag? Do I care?

He stands and goes to the dresser, returning with my nameless bear. Gently, he lifts the edge of the blankets and tucks the bear in against my chest. Reflexively, I cuddle the bear tightly, snuggling it into my chest.

“The light switch is here, if you need it.” He points to a small LED panel embedded into the headboard that I hadn’t noticed before. It has the time and a bunch of buttons, but the only one I am concerned with is the one with the icon of a light bulb.

“Do you need anything else?”

I shake my head, my hair making a shushing noise against the pillow.

“Okay, well, good night, princess. I’ll see you in the morning.” Darcy leans forward and comes in for a kiss.

Okay, so we are starting. My pulse quickens as he gets closer. I close my eyes in anticipation.

I am expecting his lips to make contact with mine. Spoiler alert: they don’t.

Instead, I feel them on my forehead.

Before I even register what has happened, the room goes dark, and I hear Darcy leave, gently closing the door behind him.

What the hell?

Chapter 7

Emery

Dead, dark brown eyes stare back at me from my place on the giant pink bed. Tray’s frame is thinner than I have ever seen him. His cheeks are hollow and acne scars run along his temples.

“Why’d you leave me, Mery? Don’t you know I’m the only one who can keep you safe? You owe me.” He reaches out a hand toward me, a look on his face that I’m sure is supposed to be beseeching, but I see it for what it is. Desperation. He needs me to spread my legs for him. Again.

I scrabble backward until my back hits the bedhead. No, no, no. How did he even find me? How?

Suddenly, his face contorts with rage, and he shoves his hands into his dark brown curls. “No one else can have you. You’re mine.”

I suck in a huge breath of air as my eyes slam open, heart racing, and just a little disoriented. It takes me a few moments of whispering quietly to myself that I’m safe, over and over, until my brain focuses on the thing attached to the ceiling.

There, right above the center of the bed, is a massive, thick wooden photo frame. The fuck? Several long drawn out breathes later, while wondering what the fuck that is for, I remember where I am.

Their sex apartment.

Bolting upright to a sitting position, I scan the room, expecting one, if not all of them, to be in here, naked, waiting for me to wake up. But . . . nope. I’m all alone.

Again, what the fuck?

The same thought repeats through my brain as I glance to the side and can clearly see that Darcy slept on the far side of the bed. The evidence of rumpled sheets and head depression in the farthest pillow suggests that he slept with as much distance between us as he could possibly get.

Not to mention the pillow positioned sideways down the center of the bed, like a goddamn wall, to keep us separated. Because he didn’t want to accidentally touch me while he slept?

For some reason, that causes a pang of discomfort in my chest.

Sure, he can put his dick inside me, but he can’t cuddle while we sleep?

Which is just a big fat reminder that this is a weekend of sex. No different than last night at the hotel. They liked the way I let them use my body, and they wanted more of that. The invitation to extend our time together doesn’t mean anything else.

I shouldn’t even want him to cuddle me.

They like fucking me and I like their cash.

End. Of. Discussion.

Once I can’t hear my pulse anymore, the gentle murmur of male voices drifts to me. The bedroom door is cracked open, and now that the rest of my senses are coming online, the scent of whatever is cooking has my stomach grumbling.

A cursory glance of the room provides a few more details. It helps that the heavy curtains to my left have been pulled back, and morning light streams through a layer of gauzy fabric. Turning, I glance at the little LED thingy and check the time, just after nine. Awesome. I slip out of bed, bringing teddy with me, and separate the curtains to peek out the window. The bay stares back at me.

Last night, I didn’t really pay attention to where the Uber was taking me, and I’d only peripherally known we were getting closer and closer to the water. But I hadn’t realized the building is literally on the waterfront.

Makes sense, though. If they can spend thirty-thousand dollars on two nights with me, then they can afford an apartment in this building.

I turn around to take in the rest of the room, smirking when I see the armchair tucked into the corner between the curtains and the dresser. Something I’d clearly missed in my dazed state last night. The chair is cream and wider than normal. It actually looks like a perfect reading chair, with the wide seat cushion and high, rounded armrests that flare out slightly. The thought of stealing what is clearly Derek’s spot for my own crosses my mind, but I squash the idea before it even forms. I won’t be returning to this apartment.

My attention once again snags on the thick wooden frame in the ceiling, and besides a few decorative metal circles, it is completely smooth and seems out of place in the room. Everything else is delicate, in muted pinks and creams, while the frame is thick and masculine.

Deciding it’s a mystery that doesn’t need to be unraveled right this minute, I head into the bathroom to freshen up. As I’m washing my hands, I scan my features in the mirror and consider putting on a little makeup and fixing my hair, which has mostly stayed within the braids I did last night.

Maybe they’ll like the fresh-out-of-bed look? And if they don’t, I’m sure they will tell me.

I don’t bother changing into my day clothes, since I have no idea what they have planned for the day and figure I’ll need guidance. Maybe they plan on having me walk around naked all day, as previously threatened. If so, what would be the point of even putting on clothes?

Nerves tumble around in my stomach as I draw closer to the bedroom door and the voices get louder. Not allowing myself to give in to the nerves, I squeeze the teddy to my chest, open the door, and walk through.

Light pours into the space through two floor to ceiling windows either side of the TV. The black curtain is still up, and my fingers twitch with the need to sweep it aside, but I don’t. Something tells me that, if I take a peek behind that curtain, I’ll be the living definition of curiosity killed the cat.

The soles of my feet are quiet against the dark wooden floor, and I skirt around the lounge before it occurs to me that the conversation has stopped. Glancing toward the kitchen, I find all four men staring at me, and I almost trip over my own feet. I pause where I am and almost strangle my teddy as I wrap my arms around my middle, regretting coming out here in my purple pajamas.

“Morning, princess. Did you sleep well?” Darcy asks as he puts down his coffee and strides toward me, his sneakers making a muted thud noise with every step.

My gaze dances over his shoulder at the other three before I finally look him in the eye and muster a smile, even though his mention of sleep reminds me that, while we may have slept in the same bed, we did not sleep together. “Yeah, slept like the dead.”

I do not think about my dream, barely able to suppress the shudder that wants to take over my body.

He stops in front of me and cups the side of my face before dropping another forehead kiss on me. Pings of something I choose to ignore erupt inside of me, and I have a feeling it would be very easy to become addicted to these tiny shows of affection.

“Are you hungry?”

I place a hand over my stomach and nod. “Starving.” And then, to be just a little bit of a brat . . . “I worked up an appetite last night.”

Darcy grins down at me, the kind of grin that says he would totally be down to be my partner in any mischief I might like to come up with. “Well, breakfast will be ready in about a minute, so why don’t you come over to the table and say good morning to everyone?”

While his words may have sounded like a question, I take them like an order and slowly approach the other three. Honestly, if it weren’t for Darcy’s hand on my lower back propelling me forward, I probably would have taken far longer to make my way to them.

As I approach, Derek turns back to the stove. Something sizzles, making my mouth water. Xavier has his back pressed against the outside of the counter and watches me. My nickname for him from last night resurfaces, and I can’t help but find it even more accurate this morning.

Hunter.

He watches me like I’m his prey. It’s difficult to remind myself that he enjoyed the taste of my blood on his lips, with his halo of sandy blond curls and soft hazel eyes. The scruff on his cheeks has been shaved clean, giving him a boyish look.

When I get within reaching distance of him, he offers me his hand. With as much confidence as I can muster, I release my grasp on my teddy and place mine in his, allowing him to pull me forward. He doesn’t say anything until I’m flush against his chest, my head resting on his shoulder, his arms around me, and the bear hanging loosely by my side.

“You were perfect last night.”

The words are barely above a whisper, and I melt into the hug. I’ve never been called perfect before.

I look up at him as I pull back. He is watching me, his face giving away absolutely nothing, and I almost convince myself that I imagined his words. His hands squeeze around my waist before he lets me go, his fingers releasing one at a time, like he has to convince each digit to relinquish its hold on me.

Viper—Hudson—is to Xavier’s left, in between the end of the counter and the table. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his navy chinos, and his blond hair is styled in that up-and-away look men do with their fringe. The smile on his face doesn’t reach his icy blue eyes. Something in the way he watches me almost freezes me to the spot. Wariness, maybe?

Internally, I laugh at myself. How could I possibly make this man nervous? There are absolutely zero things about me that are threatening to them. There are four of them and one of me, they are all larger than me and, in Xavier’s case, twice my size. They have the power, the money, the life experience.

I’m the one who should be wary.

But I’ve weighed the pros and cons of this situation, and even if this weekend turns out to be a fucked-up hell, it won’t be much worse than what has already happened to me. And there is the money. Worst case, I walk away with the twenty K they’ve already sent to my SugarLife account.

“Good morning, Emmy,” he murmurs once I stop in front of him, his eyes capturing my own.

He doesn’t move to touch me, and because I refuse to let the awkwardness win, I put the bear on the counter beside him, place my hand on his chest and rise up on tiptoes. He stays completely still as I place a light kiss on his cheek. “Good morning, Hudson.”

It feels super weird to say his name out loud.

I lower my heels and give him a few seconds to make a move, but when he doesn’t so much as blink, I step to the side. I trail my fingers down his chest and over his side as I circle around him and head into the kitchen.

Derek is holding a frying pan and tongs, transferring sausages onto a plate. He glances at me as I approach and smiles. “Morning, baby.”

Coming up behind him, I wrap my arms around his apron-covered waist and press my cheek into his back. “Morning.”

The very natural urge to call him Daddy is only stopped by sheer willpower. I have no idea if I’m allowed to call them that outside of a scene. I can only blame the shock and exhaustion for calling Darcy Daddy last night. Derek’s back muscles shift under my cheek, then his hands grip my forearms, gently prying me away from him.

My heart sinks. Did I—

I suck in a sharp breath and almost let out a squeak when he suddenly turns around, grips me under my arms, and hoists me up until my butt lands on the counter right next to the plates he’s placed food on. My knees immediately fall open when he leans against them, stepping into the gap between my thighs.

He doesn’t say anything, simply stares down at me. His gaze flicks to my lips, and déjà vu hits me from last night with Darcy. I lift my chin the smallest amount possible and maintain eye contact with him, ready to drop my mouth away if his lips don’t look like they intend to land on mine.

Derek doesn’t hesitate. His lips on mine are firm, hungry, but I can feel the restraint in him. His hands cradle my back, and I lean into the kiss. He breaks us apart a few seconds later, and I bury my face in his neck.

He gives me a squeeze. “Breakfast is ready. Let’s sit down and eat. We have some things to talk about.”

My insides lock up. Oh shit, have I fucked up already?

Chapter 8

Emery

Five minutes later, I have a mug of hot chocolate and a plate with sausage, eggs, toast, and strawberries. I’ll be lucky if this doesn’t put me into a food coma. This is my normal food intake for an entire day.

Besides asking to pass the various plates around, so everyone could serve themselves, the table is quiet. Too quiet. After forcing down one bite of butter-covered toast, I lean back in my chair, stomach churning.

To be honest, it’s been churning ever since Derek said we have something to talk about. Doesn’t he know that is the fastest way to make a person squirmy?

I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of anything I’ve done wrong since arriving here last night, but have come up empty. Are they ending this weekend before it’s even really started? Is it because I didn’t sleep with Darcy last night? That wasn’t my fault, though. He put me to bed. Was I supposed to wake up and fuck him during the night? Was it a test?

Fuck, I wish I had my phone with me. I need to check my SugarLife vault and start the second transfer so that they can’t take the money back from me. Would it be weird if I went and got it?

I sneak a look at the bedroom door and instantly discard the idea. The apartment is outrageously large, but the walk would be way too nerve-racking. I’ll just wait until they say something, then go lock myself in the bathroom before coming back out with my things.

“Do you not like your breakfast?”

I snap my head up to look at Darcy. His features are pinched in concern as he stares at me.

My eyes widen, and I nervously look at the other three. “Uh, no, it’s um. It’s great. I just . . .”

They all swap looks, and then Darcy pushes his chair back from the table and pats his leg. “Come here, princess.”

My chest gets heavy, and I swallow nervously. “You want me to sit on your lap? Like a child?”

That smirk is back. “Like my baby girl. Unless it makes you uncomfortable.”

I stare back at him, feeling like there is more going on, but I have no idea what. I did agree to being their baby girl for the weekend. If they want me to sit on their laps, then I should, right?

With that thought in mind, I push my chair out and go to Darcy. He takes my hand and guides me between his legs before placing his hands on my hips and forcing me to sit. His arm bands around my waist, pressing my ass into his stomach.

“Relax,” he whispers into my ear, his breath causing me to shiver.

I try, I really fucking do, but I’m way too nervous about the things that need discussing.

Derek has stolen my plate of food and is methodically cutting everything up into small pieces. Not knowing what the fuck to do with myself, I watch him until he stands and reaches across the table to put the plate in front of me.

“Thank you,” I reply, but the words are quiet.

Honestly, I have no idea what is going on right now. This Little Miss Meek thing I’m projecting isn’t at all like me, but I can’t seem to stop. It’s because of the money, I tell myself. I want the money, for me. Not for Tray or for anyone else. My future is at stake.

There is absolutely no other reason for me to be this nervous. None.

Darcy picks up his fork, then stabs a piece of sausage from my plate. He brings it to my lips, and heat burns my cheeks when I realize he intends to feed me, like a child. Keeping my eyes downcast at the table, I slowly lean forward and open my mouth, biting into the sausage and sliding it from the fork.

The arm around my waist tightens before he whispers in my ear again. “Good girl.”

The heat in my cheeks heads south, and I tighten my thighs as I chew. The nerves in my stomach have no idea what to do, and when I swallow the mouthful, I’m a little nervous it’ll reverse its direction.

Darcy’s arm loosens, and he lowers his hand to my upper thigh. My bare thigh, since my lace boy shorts cover absolutely nothing. His pinkie slips to my inner thigh, and every nerve in my body hones in on the contact.

“I think we need to move up our timeline.” The rumbly words come from Xavier, who is sitting directly across from me. He is leaning back, forearm resting on the table, fingers playing with the handle of his coffee mug as he stares at me. His plate is clean of food.

Actually, I glance at the other plates and see that the others are all finished as well. Did I zone out through the entire meal?

“Agreed,” Derek replies. He leaves the table and strides over to a hallway table that I failed to notice last night.

Fuck me, did I even notice any details about this place, besides the huge-ass black curtain?

Darcy shifts beneath me, stabbing a piece of egg and then bringing it to my lips. I automatically open this time and take the food. Hudson and Xavier get up, clearing the table of everything but my plate and hot chocolate.

When Derek returns, he has a large yellow envelope in his hand. Once everyone is reseated and I’ve been fed my third bite, he opens the envelope and spreads out the papers.

I cock my head to the side as I try to get an angle on the writing. At the bottom of one of the pages is my signature.

Ah, the contract from last night. Except, there are several extra sheets.

The fingers on my thighs shift, and a zing of awareness shoots straight into my pussy. Darcy’s fingers curl in toward his palm, fingertips disappearing beneath the edge of my boy shorts.

The egg goes down on a hard swallow. I lean forward and grab my hot chocolate, but that only causes Darcy’s hand to press into my thigh more.

I take a sip of the now lukewarm drink and try not to turn into a thirsty bitch.

His hand is only on my fucking thigh.

Needing to take back a little control, I return my mug to the table, then pluck the fork from his fingers, spear some eggs and sausage, and bring it all to my mouth.

“Emmy, this is the contract you signed last night,” Derek starts, placing three sheets of paper in front of me. They are actually printouts of the photos I sent.

“I have the originals in my bag, if you would like them,” I offer, the words just popping out of my mouth.

He smiles at me. “Thank you, baby, that would be great. You can get them once you have finished eating your breakfast.”

I take a bite of toast with a smile. The satisfaction at having made him happy makes any of the remaining nerves fade away. And the mention of the contract makes me think that they aren’t ending things. They want to add things, if the extra pages mean anything.

Another piece of paper is placed in front of me.

“This is an addition to the previous contract to say that we have extended our agreement to last the weekend. It will last until four p.m. Sunday afternoon.”

I glance around the room, eyes stopping on the oven just as Xavier offers me the time.

“It’s nine-thirty.”

Nine-thirty-three, but close enough. Thirty hours and thirty minutes to go. I nod, even though there was no question.

“There are two other changes,” Derek says. “The first is that we would like to explore domination and submission with you. You had a little taste of it last night, with the orgasm restriction and having your hands bound. We’d like to take that further this weekend.”

While I’m a little surprised, I’m not shocked. The four of them each have an air of command, even over text. They haven’t hidden their requests to dominate me, the preference having been listed in the invitation, as well as the original contract.

Their wanting to extend it brings both trepidation and interest.

“And the second?” I ask as I reach for my hot chocolate and take a sip.

“The second is about public sex.”

I choke on the liquid in my throat and only just manage not to spew it out my nose and across the table. I reach for the napkin and cough into it.

My voice is raspy when I can force out words again. “You want to fuck me out there?” My gesture toward the wall is meant to convey not in this apartment. “Where anyone can see?”

“No, princess.” Darcy starts moving his fingers, brushing them in strokes along my thigh. “Not where anyone can see. Well, maybe, but only if they were watching carefully. We’d never do anything to put you in harm’s way. It’s more about playing with you in private in public.”

“Exactly.” Hudson nods his approval. “We don’t plan on spending the entire weekend in the apartment. We’d like to take our plaything out for lunch. On the drive there, we might want to tease that pretty little pussy or have your mouth wrapped around one of our cocks. Or we might take you into the bathroom at a restaurant and fuck you in a stall.”

My heart is beating erratically, and I’m not sure what to think, but my brain is not screaming out red flag! Neither is my pussy. No. It’s green all the way.

Lust is drenching my brain at the imagery, and I’m struggling to come up with words. All I can manage is a breathy, “Okay.”

Chapter 9

Emery

My breakfast is forgotten.

Hudson has taken over my brain with his filthy words. I imagine sitting at an entirely different table, one with a tablecloth long enough to hide a hand up my skirt and beneath my panties. Or being in a fitting room, with my breasts pressed up against the mirror as one of them rails into me from behind, a hand covering my mouth so that the salespeople don’t hear.

Unintentionally, I roll my hips, needing friction against my clit. The seam of my shorts presses into my clit as Darcy’s hand tightens around my thigh and stops me from moving. “I think Emmy likes the idea of that.”

I bite my lip, cheeks blooming with heat. There is no point in trying to deny it. I want the visuals to become my reality, so I nod as my breathing picks up pace.

They are all staring at me with varying levels of hunger on their faces.

Darcy rearranges his hand on my thigh so that his thumb slips between my tightly squeezed thighs and his fingers wrap around the outside. “Good girl. We want to know what turns you on, so no hiding things from us, okay?” He presses his thumb against my clit, and I gasp, both of my hands gripping his forearm.

“Y-yes,” I stutter as he makes the smallest circular motion known to mankind with his thumb.

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I get another small circle, and I drop my chin to my chest, trying to withhold the whimper that I’m desperate to make. They still want me to call them Daddy. I hadn’t gotten it wrong last night. They aren’t taking that away. But, we aren’t in a scene? Well, not really. At least they haven’t said that we are? Does this mean I get to call them Daddy whenever the urge to do so hits me?

A pen is placed on the papers in front of me.

“If you’re okay with exploring domination and submission some more, with semi-public scenes and free use, sign and date at the bottom.”

Darcy removes his thumb, and I take several deep breaths to clear some of the fog in my mind. “Free use?” The term intrigues me.

Hudson takes a turn at answering, the words are so lazily said, I don’t quite register them at first. “Having you open and accessible to us, anytime, anywhere. Our very own living and breathing sex toy. The idea is that you won’t say no. If we want it, you offer it willingly. Consensually, of course.”

I stare at him, and he doesn’t break my gaze, not even to blink. With a shaky inhale, I pick up the pen, scanning over the first paragraph about the extension of the contract.

The second is about the semi-public scenes and explains that I can use my safe words at any time. The use of a safe word will stop the scene but won’t stop the outing or the weekend. I must explicitly ask to leave if I don’t want to be at the location anymore. It also states that they won’t put me in a position to be arrested.

That settles something inside of me.

I may have a history peppered with gray areas, but I’ve never been in actual trouble with the cops. Sure, they have been a part of my history, more times than I care to recall, but only to remove and re-place me. Neither to cart me off in handcuffs. Absolutely no need to start now that I have finally taken control of my life.

Picking up the pen, I sign and date across the line, then lower the pen back to the paper. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe this is why Darcy didn’t touch me last night. We only had the contract for our time in the hotel.

Did he need to sleep on the other side of the bed so that he wouldn’t be tempted to touch me?

Before I can finish my mental conversation with myself, the last piece of paper is placed in front of me. It has a table with three columns on it. The first column is labeled Denied Orgasms, the second column is blank, and the third column is Reward.

The first column goes down to twenty, basically the length of the page. In the second column, there are crosses on the first six rows.

I look up at Derek. “Is this a reward chart?”

“Yes.”

“For when I beg to come and you don’t let me?” Holy fuck, is it hot in here? I wiggle in my seat, trying to dispel some of the lust that is clouding my mind, but that only causes Darcy’s thumb to press into my clit again. I tense up and almost bite my lip clean off to keep the gasp inside.

“Yes.” The smug bastard stares back at me, nothing but a knowing, confident smile on his face.

“So, last night, when you said I would be rewarded for every time I asked for permission to come, that wasn’t just an in-the-moment thing you said? I’m really going to get rewards?”

“Yes. You earned six rewards last night. You may earn more over the course of the weekend. We’ll let you know when you are on orgasm restriction.”

I squeeze my thighs together, my core throbbing at his words. Darcy presses down on my clit and this time I can’t control the gasp as heat builds in my core. Swallowing, I try to keep my brain online. “O-okay. Uh, one last question.”

Derek nods for me to go ahead.

“What goes in the reward column?” The motion of Darcy’s thumb is barely enough to stoke the heat growing in me, but it is definitely enough to drive me the tiniest bit insane.

How is he doing this to me? I’ve had my clit played with before—though not often—but it has never, ever felt this good. Usually, it's a precursor to making me wet enough to slide a dick in or the rare guy who wanted to try and help me loosen up and enjoy myself.

But it was never just to tease me.

“A description of your reward. We’ll fill it in once we have given you the reward so that we don’t ruin the surprise. This will double as a list of everything that you have received from us. These rewards are on top of our SugarLife gifts to you,” Derek explains as he takes the pen and all the sheets of paper back.

Hudson stands and leaves the table, skirting behind Xavier and disappearing behind the black curtain. I track him with my gaze, still trying to listen to Derek, but really, all I am paying attention to is the barely there movements of Darcy’s thumb.

“When you make it to ten, there will be a larger reward. Emmy, are you listening?”

I snap my focus back to Derek. “Yes, sorry.”

He simply stares at me, waiting.

Oh, shit.

“Yes, Daddy. Sorry. I’m listening.”

Darcy’s finger applies a little more pressure.

Fuck. Me.

I can’t concentrate.

Also, what the fuck is behind that black curtain? Is it really like the picture?

“Emmy, last night, you were very good for us, but we need you to know that, if you are on orgasm restriction, there will be punishments if you fail to comply with your restriction.”

I hear the snick of a cabinet opening and then closing behind me.

Darcy squeezes my thigh. “Listen to Derek, princess.” Then he swipes his thumb over my clit with a heavy sweep of pressure.

I gasp. “Yes, Daddy. Punishments if I orgasm when I’m not allowed to.”

“Good girl.”

Pleasure zings through me as the curtain flutters and Hudson slips back onto our side, somehow managing to not even give me a sneaky peek of what is back there. He’s carrying a large black and gold gift bag and places it on the table in front of Darcy.

I look up at Hudson, then back at the gift bag. Am I allowed to take it?

Darcy seems to notice my hesitation and reaches for the bag, slowly pulling it in front of me. “Hudson picked this gift for you.”

My heart is racing for an entirely different reason. I was imagining small rewards, like a book, or maybe a small teddy bear or something. Whatever is in this gift bag is way bigger than a book or bear.

I’ve received gifts in the past, not often and nothing expensive. Usually something from a thrift store—or stolen, if it was coming from Tray.

Whatever is in the bag isn’t going to be from a thrift store or stolen.

Reaching up, I tip the bag toward me to look inside. There is crumpled gold tissue paper covering the top, and I gently remove it. All I see is cream and gold. I’m surprised that my hand isn’t shaking when I reach in and grip the leather handle and slowly pull the reward out of the gift bag.

I hold it up in the air and stare.

Without lowering my arm, I look at Hudson. His face is shuttered, and his hands are in his pockets, the table a barrier between us.

He bought me a backpack.

A cream leather, with gold zippers, clips, and embellishments backpack that I’ve always imagined an it girl would own. It has a cute little gold chain that swoops from one side of a front pocket to the other, and I can envision hanging girly things from it.

I lower it to my lap and run my fingers over the sides, my throat aching and my vision going a little blurry.

Darcy’s hand slips from between my legs and then fingers run down the side of my neck, scooping up my braided hair and moving it away from my face. “Princess, if you don’t like—”

Fear catapults through my chest at him taking my bag away. I hug the bag to my chest and turn to glare at Darcy. “It’s mine.”

His lips twitch, and his gaze flickers up to Hudson before returning to me. I follow his gaze and see Hudson watching me. I place the bag on the table, get up, and walk around the table to Hudson.

He turns to face me, and I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. At first, he doesn’t return the hug, but then I feel him shift and his arms wrap around me.

“I love it,” I whisper into his neck.

His arms tighten around me. “Anything for my kitten.”

Chapter 10

Emery

“Go sit down and finish your breakfast. Then you need to get ready to go out.”

I pull back from the hug and look up at Hudson. “Go out?”

Excitement bubbles in my stomach, and clearly Hudson can see that my thoughts have gone straight to the gutter, because his eyes light up when he sees my interest.

Well, what did they expect after talking about having sex in public-but-not-public? I’m intrigued, sue me.

“We want to take you shopping and then out for lunch,” he replies as he leads me back to my seat on Darcy’s lap. “So, be good and eat your breakfast. No breakfast, no shopping.”

Darcy hasn’t moved from his spot in front of my plate, so I resume my earlier position. My new bag has been moved to the side, and I glance at it as I start to eat. It takes all my self-control not to snatch it back into my lap.

They bought me a backpack.

I completely forgot about the rewards and gifts. To be completely honest, I thought it was just something they said during sex, with zero intention of following through. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had made me promises to get what they wanted and then left me hanging.

While the other guys turn on the TV and clean, Darcy and I stay at the table while I work my way through my breakfast. He captures my hair and unwinds both braids, then twirls and tugs on it as I eat. It’s not until I’m full to bursting and I put my fork down that he places the small Dutch braid over my shoulder.

My mouth pops open and I gently touch the ends with my fingers, not wanting to accidentally ruin it. I’ve never been able to manage a Dutch one before.

Darcy presses his lips into the exposed skin of my shoulder blade. “Go get ready, princess. We have five more rewards to buy for you.”

“Yes, Daddy.” My hands tremble slightly as I stand and reach for my bag, cradling it to my chest. I make it all the way to the bedroom before I turn back and look at the four of them.

None of them are looking at me and, fuck, I’m thankful for that. I can feel myself unwinding at the edges, and I just need a fucking moment to get it together. I shut the door and lean back against it as hysterical laughter threatens. When my gaze lands on the ridiculously large bed, I can’t hold it in.

Throwing myself at the bed, I pick up Darcy’s pillow and laugh into it until my stomach aches and my lungs burn.

Too much has happened in the last twenty-four hours. I’ve gone from a broke college student—and I don’t mean the kind of broke where I can still afford bread and milk—to spending the weekend in an apartment that I’m sure costs more than my entire life to date.

The bed has a fucking duvet and what are easily the softest sheets I’ve ever felt, for fuck’s sake. My bed in my student housing with Oakley is the nicest one I’ve ever had, and it only has the set of sheets I took with me from my last group home and a blanket I got from Goodwill for two dollars. I’m lucky the place came with a pillow, or I would have been sleeping head to mattress.

Lowering Darcy’s pillow, I place it back on the bed and smooth it out. The faint woodsy scent of him lingers, and I inhale deeply to keep it with me. My throat is burning and my chest aches, tears threatening.

The whiplash of my circumstances finally catches up with me.

Not wanting them to hear me cry—especially if this turns into an ugly sobbing situation—I take my brand-new backpack, swipe my phone and Oakley’s bag from the end table, lament the fact that my teddy is out in the kitchen, quickly skirt around the bed, and head straight to my borrowed suitcase. I don’t bother to sort through it to find what I need, instead grabbing the handle and taking the entire thing into the bathroom.

I flick the polished bronze lock closed and feel the first tear roll down my cheek. This might be a little too much, even for me. I’m used to having to adapt to new situations at the drop of a hat, since foster care didn’t make for the stablest of environments.

But this . . . The massive upswing . . .

A tear rolls down my other cheek, and I use the backs of my hands to wipe the tears away. I stare at the floor because I can’t handle looking at all the extra-ness that surrounds me. This entire thing is just . . .

I press the back of my hand to my open mouth, trying to stifle the sob that desperately wants to escape. How am I supposed to map this to any version of my reality? It’s too surreal.

Too much.

Poor, broken girl meets four hot, older men, who whisk her away for a weekend of spoiling and orgasms, then deposit her back in her normal life with tens of thousands of dollars in her bank account.

Yeah, right.

Sounds like a fairy tale.

. . .but what if I do think of it like that? Surreal. Fiction. My own personal fairy tale. An amazing fantasy that I can cross off and keep as a dirty secret to warm my heart when I’m secure and living my dream life?

Can I spend the weekend living in the moment and not giving a shit about anything outside of that exact second? Can I pretend that this is my normal, just for the next thirty-something hours?

Can I live my own fairy tale?

I scan the bathroom with its bronze fixtures, pink towels, and cream marble. The massive shower calls my name. I think about the bed and imagine myself sleeping on the pillow right in the center. Of sitting on a different lap for each meal.

And the black curtain.

I’ve done enough research that I can guess what’s behind that thing, even without the visual of the picture they sent last night.

Can I handle this place for the weekend? This reality?

Yeah. I think I can.

One more tear trickles down my cheek, but before it can roll past the curve of my jaw, I dash it away. No more tears—at least, not sad ones. I have a feeling they plan to make me cry in desperation at some point this weekend.

After last night, I’m totally here for it.

I scoop up all my things from where I dumped them on the floor and carry them to the vanity table. Taking a few minutes, I carefully arrange the limited toiletries that I brought with me. Then I go through the suitcase and find my outfit for the day—a sky-blue sundress, the fabric some sort of frilly ruffle thing.

When Oakley showed it to me, I instantly loved the tiny straps and love-heart bustline thingy. She’d laughed at my expense and explained that it’s called a sweetheart neckline. Whatever, it’s cute as fuck. And bonus, it has pockets.

I dig out the little black belt and the ballet flats from last night. The whole outfit screams cute and young, perfect for the four daddies wanting their own baby girl.

Once I have what I need laid out, I turn to the shower and twist the closest tap. Thankfully, it turns on the closest showerhead, and I don’t have to call one of them in to explain how to use the fancy-ass shower. Water falls from a circular shower head that hangs from the ceiling.

As I wait for it to warm up, I start to strip out of my lingerie and am slightly embarrassed when I see how wet I am. How was I so turned on? Besides a minute or two of Darcy playing with my clit, nothing actually happened.

Was it the tease? How they all watched as Darcy clearly played with me beneath the table? Did I like that?

My clit throbs at the memory. Apparently, yes. Hopefully I’ll get to find out just how much this weekend.

When the glass of the shower starts to fog, I step into the water and realize a second too late that my hair is going to get very wet. But then I notice that there is one of those removable showerheads at eye level. Trying to keep my head out of the downpour, I look for a lever or something to change the flow of water. Finding it just above the tap, I rotate it until the water pressure comes to a stop.

Smiling as the water redirects and starts to come out of the lower showerhead, only to let out a high-pitched squeak when ice cold water blasts me for a few seconds before it heats up. Glowering at the showerhead for its betrayal, I turn my back and let the water pelt my spine.

Okay. I’m just going to go for it. All weekend.

Balls to the wall sugar baby duties.

Then, Monday morning, I can start living my life and making my dreams come true.

Chapter 11

Emery

The rasp of the zipper does crazy things to my chest. I’ve transferred my things from Oakley’s handbag to my brand-new backpack. Sure, it might be a little too big for a day bag, but I need to use it. I can’t explain it; all I know is that I can’t bring myself to part with it for even a moment.

It’s got a neatly folded cardigan in the bottom—I had no idea what the fuck that was until Oakley explained it’s like a button-up sweater, but classier. I’ve also put my shitty phone, my purse with the remainder of Oakley’s cash and my student ID, and a lip gloss in there. So, the bag is basically empty, but I don’t give a fuck.

There is a faint knock at the bedroom door before I hear the latch click. “Kitten, are you ready to go?”

The crazy flutters turn into a full-on swoop at Hudson’s words. I take a quick look at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror fixed to the wall before answering, just to make sure that I haven’t ruined the blue dress somehow.

Nope, all good.

“Yes, I’m ready,” I call back after a final backward glance at my reflection.

Picking up my bag by the little handle on top and the original contract, I walk from behind the privacy wall and into the bedroom. Hudson has his shoulder propped against the doorway, his eyes dropping down to my feet as he scans me from black shoes to flowing hair with the slight kinks left in it from Darcy’s braid.

His chest expands on a breath, and then he smiles at me, the heat in his eyes strong enough that my skin should be on fire. “You look beautiful.”

Fuck me, why are my cheeks getting hot?

“Uh, thank you,” I reply, almost stammering over the words, not really sure what to do with the compliment.

When he holds out a hand to me, I walk toward him to take it. Hudson raises my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the knuckles, and I swear to god, my knees almost buckle. I remind myself this isn’t a fucking romance novel. It’s just all part of their weekend fantasy.

They are going to spoil the shit out of me now. Then they are going to fuck the shit out of me later.

Yay for the symmetry.

“Come on, I think that if we keep the others waiting any longer, Xavier is going to come in here and carry you to the car over his shoulder.”

I picture myself over Xavier’s shoulder with this short dress and giggle.

Giggle. I fucking giggle, all cutesy like.

Jesus christ.

Who even am I, right now?

Balls to the wall, I remind myself.

I mentally shake off the awkwardness I’m feeling and grin at Hudson. “I’m not sure I want my panties on display for everyone like that.”

Hudson shrugs as we leave the room and make our way to the other three all milling around the hallway that leads to the door. “Have you ever tried it?”

I tip my head to look up at him. “Tried what?”

“Having your panties on display for everyone to see.”

I open my mouth to reply, but I’ve got nothing. “That’s a thing?”

His lips quirk when he looks down at me. “Yes.”

That’s all he gives me.

“Ready?” Derek asks as we approach them, and Hudson affirms that we are.

I offer Derek the papers and he places them on top of the yellow envelope that sits on top of the hallway table.

Darcy steals my backpack, and for a moment, I feel bereft without it, but he shoots me a smile and I simmer down.

It’s not until we are in the elevator and heading down to the underground parking that it occurs to me that Hudson is still holding my hand. Our fingers aren’t laced; instead, they are clasped together, much like how I would hold my younger foster siblings’ hands.

There are four cars parked side by side with 1921 spray painted on the floor at the front of each parking spot. I scan all four cars and mentally place the men in each one.

The huge, dark gray SUV is totally Derek. Big, stable, protective.

The silver sports car is so Darcy. Flashy, quick, sleek.

I flick my gaze between the blue electric car and the black sedan.

The sedan is that brand that has the rings like the Olympics, but I can never remember what it’s called. It’s almost boring, compared to the other two. It doesn’t fit either Xavier or Hudson.

However, I can totally see Hudson driving the electric car. That leaves Xavier with the sedan, even though I can’t see him in it.

We pause by the SUV, but before we get in, Darcy stops us. “Well?” he asks, and I look up at him, confused. “I saw you scoping out the cars. Who do you think owns what?”

I twist my lips and decide to let my brat out to play. “What happens if I get it right?”

A delighted look crosses Darcy’s face. “I’ll owe you a request.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Like a favor I can cash in at any time?”

He nods.

I grin and open my mouth to reply.

“But if you get it wrong, I get one hour of cock warming.”

This time, I furrow my eyebrows. “Cock warming?” That’s not something I researched.

“You’ll kneel between my legs for one hour with my cock in your mouth, without sucking. Well, minimal sucking. I can be generous.”

A vision of that exact scene appears in my mind’s eye, and heat floods my core. Darcy on the couch, watching TV, the others lounging near him, me between his legs, head resting on his thigh as his semi-hard cock rests in my mouth. The vision is so strong, I can almost feel the way his fingers would stroke through my hair.

It’s so good that I almost don’t give my real answers.

But I want my request more than I want to be used like that. But only just. Definitely something I want to try in the future though.

“The only one I wasn’t sure about was the sedan, but deductive reasoning says that it belongs to Xavier. Hudson drives that one.” I point at the blue car with the T badge. “Derek drives the SUV, and you drive the sports car.”

When no one responds, I look around at each of them and almost shrink in on myself. None of them are smiling. Oh shit, did I offend them?

“I’m sorry, I—”

My free hand is tugged until I am facing Darcy. I only get a quick glimpse of dark blue eyes before lips collide with mine in a kiss that only lasts seconds but attempts to steal my soul.

When he breaks the kiss, I gasp in a breath of air. “What was that for?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” he asks with a smirk but doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “You get your request.”

I grin back at him.

“Come on, we need to get going, or we won’t have enough time to get all of your rewards,” Derek states, dragging my attention back to everyone else.

The SUV lights up, and the thud of the locks disengaging echoes around the concrete space. As expected, Derek heads to the driver’s seat. Xavier takes the front passenger. Hudson holds the door to the back seat open, and by the time I climb in, Darcy has gotten in from the other side, and I find myself sandwiched between the two of them.

Just like last night.

Chapter 12

Emery

The drive to the mall is quiet. Like, really fucking quiet. I find it incredibly hard not to fidget, hyperaware that every time I move, I end up touching one or both of the men on either side of me. Not that I can’t touch them . . . I don’t think. Actually, we didn’t talk about that.

What if I want to reach out for them, am I allowed to?

All the nervous energy results in me gripping my hands together in my lap as I fight the urge to pick at the skin on my fingers.

How far away is the place they are taking me?

Just as I work up the nerve to ask some questions, Derek turns into the mall that I was at yesterday. I almost sag with relief. I need out of this car, ASAP.

As soon as Derek pulls into a space, Hudson places his hand on my bare thigh and gives it a squeeze. I whip my head around to look at him, but he is already getting out of the car. Fingers lace between my own, and I turn to look at Darcy, who is smiling at me.

“Come on, princess. We have some spoiling to do.”

I take a deep breath and let it out before sliding across the seat. Darcy doesn’t let go of my hand as he steps back to make room for me. As we walk away from the car, I remember that I have belongings now and turn back to the car with a little bit of panic. “My bag.”

Derek holds it up. “I’ve got it.”

I have no idea how he is the one in possession of it, but I nod my head.

Feeling like I’m two steps behind everyone around me is not something I’m used to, but I need to find a way to catch up.

The sun is warm enough to heat the bare skin of my shoulders, and I tip my face toward the sky, basking in the rays of warmth as they rejuvenate the dark corners of my soul. I’m not sure why, exactly, but ever since I can remember, whenever I’ve needed a minute to myself, I’ve turned to the sun.

Derek and Hudson walk ahead of us, their voices not loud enough for me to hear what they’re saying. Darcy distracts me, anyway.

“So, do you know what you want your other rewards to be?”

I frown as the glass sliding doors whoosh open and we walk through, the sounds of people talking and music playing surrounding us. “I get to pick?”

He squeezes my hand. “Some of them. I know that I have a reward in mind for you, but if your heart is set on something you see today, then I can probably be persuaded to change my mind. I believe Derek has something in mind as well.”

I turn to look at Xavier, who is walking on my right, but just behind. “Do you have something in mind?”

He nods, then replies in a deep but quiet voice. “I already have something coming. It should be ready tomorrow.”

Xavier makes eye contact with me, examining me as he speaks, and I have to suppress a little shiver. Trepidation tries to rattle up my spine, but the persistent heat in my core that I have around these men ratchets up a few levels, and I have to wonder if I prefer psycho-type men.

“So, that leaves you with two rewards of your own choosing,” Darcy summarizes, unaware that I’m silently questioning my sanity.

Two rewards that I get to pick for myself. Brand-new things that no one has ever used before.

“Anything?” I ask, trying to think of even one thing that I want.

“Within reason, yes.”

I can think of things that I need, like textbooks, sheets and blankets, sneakers, a toothbrush, just off the top of my head. But things I want?

Though buying lingerie for the guys yesterday was hard, knowing it was for someone else made it easier. But buying for myself? The closest I’ve come to doing that was the teddy bear, crayons, and coloring book yesterday. Even then, they were for the scene in the hotel room. Sure, I’m going to get some added benefit from them after this weekend, but they weren’t primarily for me.

Maybe I could get one of those battery bank things, so my phone doesn’t go dead all the time?

Derek and Hudson are standing together outside of an electronics store, waiting for us. Derek holds out his free hand to me, and Darcy lets me go so I can go to him. I’m pulled into a hug and given a kiss on the top of my head. I absolutely do not hold on for even a second longer than I should.

When Derek talks, his voice is low and quiet, for only me to hear. “Last night, when you were in the shower with Darcy, you know that we saw your backpack.”

I stiffen in his arms, and he holds me tighter. Swallowing, I nod as the icy feeling of embarrassment tries to force my feet to flee from this situation.

“Well, we also saw your phone and how the screen is severely cracked.” Thankfully, he doesn’t mention that the phone is easily several generations old. “I would like to replace it for you as my reward to you. If you’re uncomfortable with that, I’m going to replace the screen and buy you a protective case and screen protector.”

I… what?

A whole ass new phone. Like, brand, brand new. It’ll still have packaging.

The thought of having something that new and shiny makes every muscle in my body pull tight, and I’m not sure I’m even breathing. Besides the fact that I’ve never had my own cash to buy myself things, there was no point in getting anything brand new, since it would have just been stolen from me.

That’s how group homes worked. You kept your shit hidden or broken, so no one else would ever want it.

To Derek’s credit, he doesn’t push me, just holds me, his palm slowly running circles on my lower back. I focus on him, on his heartbeat beneath my ear. I can do this. I can accept this gift—no, this reward. I’ve earned them. And I don’t need to pick a fancy one. Just something I can text and make calls on. Maybe scroll some social media. It doesn’t need to be expensive.

It’s not until I reply that I notice that my hand has clenched into a tight fist in his button-up shirt. Fuck. I try to smooth it out, but he gives a squeeze around my waist. Swallowing, I look up at him.

Expression softer than I’ve ever seen it before, he asks his question again. “So, what’s it going to be, baby? Brand new or replace the broken parts?”

I swallow at his words. The symmetry between his request and the plans for my life is way too close for comfort.

Balls to the wall, I remind myself and try to sink back into the role I’m supposed to be playing and give him what he wants. If he wants to get me a new phone, who am I to stop him?

“New phone, please, Daddy.”

He smiles like I just made his day. “What my baby asks for, my baby gets.”

Just over forty minutes later, I’m fighting back tears as I hold the latest iPhone in my hand, with a crazy, silver bejeweled case, phone protector, and a fluffy pink pom pom hanging off the corner. My sim card was transferred over, the phone unlocks with my face, and I can play games on it. Plus, the battery apparently lasts all day before needing to be charged.

Derek leads me over to where the guys are sitting at the same café where I had hot chocolate. When they see us coming, Darcy pats his knee for me to sit, and Derek takes the spare seat next to Hudson. Xavier follows us out of the store with a purchase of his own.

“How’d you do, princess? Show me what Daddy Derek got you.”

Still in a little shock, I proudly show Darcy my phone. He oohs and aahs over it like he’s never seen a smart phone before, and I giggle at him.

“That’s two rewards down, four to go. Think you can handle more?”

I hold my phone against my chest and nod, wondering what else I can handle more of.

Chapter 13

Emery

Staring at the store, I’m wondering if I really want to go in there. I’ve seen the ads for this place and always thought their products were stunning but ultimately not for me. At least, not the previous version of me.

But this new version of me—can she have nice things?

With my brand-new sparkly phone in my hand and my pristine white backpack on my back, I decide, yes, I can have nice things. I don’t need to keep borrowing from Oakley. I can walk into this store and buy a sundress or two. Some cute belts. Maybe even one of those floppy sunhats that look irritating as fuck but seem to be what all the hot chicks wear on TV.

“Are we going in, princess?”

Darcy is at my side, our fingers once again laced together. He and Derek are passing me between the two of them, with Hudson and Xavier mostly watching on. I’m not sure how I feel about it, to be honest. I know we are in public, and I look like I could be one of their daughters, but . . .

I sigh at myself.

When did I become this wimpy, whiny version of myself? These men are turning me inside out. I’m finally feeling like I’m catching up with them, but I have no doubt that they will turn the tables on me again soon.

And all the casual touching is driving me crazy. Who knew hand holding could be so erotic? Darcy keeps tucking his thumb between our hands and drawing circles on my palm. And Derek’s hand on my back, so low that he’s almost caressing the swell of my ass? Fuck. Me.

I kind of want to just go into this store and get the shopping over with so that we can go back to the apartment and let them split me open again.

“Princess?”

I jump, totally lost in the idea of the five of us on that giant bed, arms and legs all tangled together. “Ah, yeah. I mean, yes, Daddy.”

He gives my hand a squeeze and we walk into the store. It’s one of those fancy places where you have to push the glass door open, the ambience of the space completely separate from the mall itself.

“How may I—oh, well, hello. Do you need some assistance?” The saleslady’s eyes drop to our joined hands, then shoot up over my shoulder as Derek, Hudson, and Xavier all walk in.

“Um, no, thanks. I just want to look around, is that okay?”

She scans the four men with me and then offers a tight smile. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Let me know if you need help with anything. I’ll just be over here.” She gestures to a rack of dresses, then picks up a weird little vacuum cleaner that has steam coming out of it.

My—the—men fan out and leave me standing alone. I almost ask for them to come back to me, wanting to ask for their help with choosing because this store is so out of my league. But they haven’t just wandered off in an uninterested haze. Nope, they are actively looking at clothing.

Dresses.

Jumpsuits.

Skirts.

Tops.

Hudson even has a coat hanging from his fingertips.

My eyes go wide, and I glance over at the saleslady. She is tracking each of them, the vacuum thingy aimed at nothing as steam froths from it. Slowly, she turns to look at me with an expression I can’t place, and it’s my turn to offer her a tight smile.

Let her think whatever she wants.

She turns back to the men, and seeing that they all have a few hangers in their hands, she claps her hands together. “How about I get you a rack, and we put your lovely young lady in a fitting room?”

Obviously, whatever she was thinking moments before has been tucked away in favor of the big commission she’ll get from this sale.

She disappears for a moment and then comes back with an empty clothes rack on wheels. “The fitting rooms are at the back.”

Figuring that is an instruction for me to follow her, I make my way toward the back, pausing to look at a cute cream lace dress. The neckline reminds me of something a priest would wear, the bodice gives the impression that it will mold to my body, then it flares out from the waist, thick folds giving the skirt flare. I carefully retrieve my size, then go to the fitting rooms.

There are four, two on each side with a space in between that faces a big mirror at the very back and some comfy-looking chairs at the opening, which the men have all taken advantage of. The saleslady has chosen the far back left, with the huge pale blue curtain pulled back by a thick white rope.

The woman follows me into the fitting room, and I’m immediately confronted by the now-full clothing rack.

“Okay, if you go ahead and hang that dress—oh, isn’t it lovely? Just came in today. I can’t wait to see it on you—but yes, hang it on the rack, then change into one of the outfits your, erhm, friends have selected for you. Then give me a call, I’ll come in and make sure everything looks perfect or nix an outfit if it isn’t working for you before they see it. How does that sound?”

I watch her reflection in the mirror, and while I can tell she is slightly uncomfortable, she isn’t going to say anything.

No, wait, I’m wrong.

“I’m just going to ask—you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to—but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t.”

I brace myself. Is she going to ask me if I’m a prostitute? An escort?

A cool hand lands on my elbow, and I turn around to look into earnest eyes. “Are you okay, sweetheart? Do I need to call security?”

This random stranger is worried about me? What am I projecting out into the world that is so different from a few days ago that the cab driver and this sales woman think I need help? It’s ironic, really. This is the one time in my life that I don’t need help.

I know my eyes are wide and my eyebrows are raised, but I can barely feel my face because of the shock. I swallow and try to form words because, with every passing second, more concern fills her face. “Yeah, I mean, yes. I’m okay. They’re actually my—”

What do I say? Lovers? Family friends? One is my dad, and the rest are his friends?

Interest sparks in her eyes, and I decide that I’m sticking with my balls to the wall mantra. And besides, the truth might make her day.

I lean into her and quietly say, “They’re my sugar daddies.”

Her mouth pops open with an O. “Oh, well, wow.”

Grinning, I hang my dress on the rack. “Yeah, this shopping trip is a reward for . . . things.”

I glance at her from the corner of my eye. Wide-eyed, she nods, her eyes going unfocused, and it’s hard not to snicker at the idea of what she is imagining. Is she honestly picturing the five of us together?

After a few seconds, she straightens and adjusts her blouse before grinning at me conspiratorially. “Well, it sounds like we need to make sure they spoil you really well. How about we start trying these on, and once I have your shape and fit, I’ll pull a few extra things that I think will work well for you?”

I nod and hold out my hand. “I’m Emer-Emmy.”

“Rhonda,” she offers with a quick shake and then gestures at the clothes. “It’s nice to meet you, Emmy. Okay, let’s get started.”

Almost an hour later, and four thousand outfit changes, I’m pulling off the dress I selected, tired but happy. I have no idea which outfits or how many I’m walking out of the shop with today, but I know that I want this white dress. Even if I have nowhere to wear it.

With nothing but my strapless bra and a black thong on, I giggle at the memory of the men—the daddies—seeing me walk out of the fitting room with the almost schoolgirl uniform outfit that Rhonda selected. She’d whispered something about playing into their fantasies.

I really like Rhonda.

If I didn’t have plans for my thirty K, I’d totally be coming back here to give her the biggest commission she’s ever received.

Just as I start to bend down to retrieve my sundress, the curtain flutters. A laugh bubbles out of me, as I assume Rhonda is coming back in with yet another outfit. “I thought—”

But it’s not Rhonda.

It’s Hudson.

And the look on his face in the mirror has my knees going weak.

No, not Hudson. Viper.

Viper presses up behind me, his chest into my back. With a low, grumbling tone, he issues an order that my body automatically follows, as if my brain has decided, Daddy’s here, I don’t need to think anymore.

And honestly, I don’t hate it.

“Put your hands on the mirror and spread your legs.”

As soon as I comply, his hands settle on my waist, and he dips his head down to my ear, his warm breath caressing my cool skin. “Look at you being a good little girl for me.”

His hand disappears between us, and my heart almost beats out of my chest, the heat they have been teasing out of me all morning coming back to life.

Is he going to fuck me right here? In this fitting room that is only cut off from the rest of the store by a heavy curtain? Fuck. Why am I so excited by that idea?

Oh, shit. Is this the semi-public sex they were talking about? Will this be my first taste?

My gaze drops to my barely covered pussy as I feel him cup me from behind, his fingertips appearing in the mirror between my thighs. “This pussy is mine for the weekend, isn’t it?”

He drags one of his fingers over my clit, sending zings of pleasure throughout my body. “Yes, Daddy.” My words are a whimper.

“And I can do whatever I want to my pussy, correct? Because it’s mine. Mine and theirs.”

I nod while putting a great deal of concentration into keeping my knees locked so that I don’t press my thighs together.

“And if I want to play with my pussy, you are going to give it to me, aren’t you? You’re going to be a good girl and open those pretty thighs, spread those knees wide, and I can play with my pussy however I want. Can’t I?” Viper drags that finger over my clit again and my core clenches.

Holy shit.

My heart is beating so hard that my entire body thuds with the force of it. Images flicker in my mind.

Me, straddling Viper in the back of Daddy’s SUV as he fucks my pussy while we drive home.

Viper bending me over the kitchen counter, slowly thrusting in and out of me, ignoring me as he talks to Angel who is cooking dinner, neither of them acknowledging my existence.

Me, lying on the dining table, legs spread as Viper eats from a plate between my knees.

Another whimper slips past my lips, and I’m panting now. I think I might actually come just from his words and the filthy images in my head. “Yes, Daddy. This pussy is yours to play with, whenever and however you want.”

I’m pulled tight like a bow, but I’m also a quivering mess, and I just need him to do something, anything.

This time, he crooks three fingers and presses more firmly, the pressure moving the fabric of my thong out of the way so that two fingers slip into my soaking entrance.

I gasp, my fingers clawing at the mirror as I try to keep myself upright.

“What a slutty baby girl you are. So wet for us. A good girl, but slutty, nevertheless. And you know what good girls get, kitten?” Viper pumps his fingers in and out of me, so motherfucking slowly that I think I might die right here and now.

There is absolutely no way I can answer him. My brain has gone totally offline.

“Good girls get rewards.” His fingers disappear from between my legs, and this time, my whimper is less oh my god and more no, don’t go. “Shh, it’s okay, kitten. I’m just getting your reward.”

In the mirror, I can see his arm moving, hand dipping into his pocket, but besides a flash of purple, I see nothing. Seconds later, both of his hands slip between my legs. One moves my panties to the side, while the other slips—oh shit, how many fingers is that?

He moves and adjusts things around until smooth silicone presses against my clit. My panties are put back in place, then both of his hands are on my waist, one set of fingers glistening with my wetness and my vagina feeling full and heavy.

“How does that feel?” His fingers flex, and it takes me a moment to process his question and the fact that he has just inserted something inside of me and left it there.

I wiggle from side to side, moaning as rough texture rubs against my clit. “G-good.”

“Not uncomfortable?”

I squeeze the inner muscles of my pussy. “No, Daddy.”

“Perfect.” Viper kisses the curve of my neck, then steps back toward the curtain, one hand jammed into his pocket.

My eyes widen as I watch him prepare to leave me here, like this.

Just before he leaves, he reaches into his pocket. “And, kitten?”

I keep staring at his reflection.

“You have permission to orgasm as many times as you need to until we get back to the apartment. Then you are on restriction. Okay?”

I nod, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket before disappearing behind the curtain.

As many times as I ne—

“Oh fuck,” I whisper-cry, knees buckling.

High speed, continuous vibrations surround my pussy. The rough texture over my clit is rushing me to the edge of an orgasm while the part that is inserted inside of me is stimulating my pussy and making me spasm like I never have before.

My pelvis rocks back and forth with a mind of its own, chasing the fireworks it knows to expect from these men. Heat flares out from my core, consuming every ounce of my consciousness. The strapless bra is suddenly too constricting as my tits grow heavy and my nipples tighten. My whole fucking being tightens. I’ve never had a fucking toy—let alone a goddamn vibrating one—inside my body before, but holy shit, I think I am about to die from the pleasure. Cause of death: brain-melting orgasm.

It doesn’t take long—less than a minute—before my orgasm crashes over me. The vibrations are relentless and perfectly placed. I gasp and moan and do my best to be quiet as fuck, but I have zero idea if I manage it. I couldn’t give a fuck if I don’t. And besides, I’m pretty sure Rhonda would be happy to know she is a part of this dirty fantasy.

The vibrations slow down after my orgasm, gently petering off, leaving me a panting, sweaty, and wet mess against the mirror.

What the actual fuck?

My legs feel like goddamn jelly and my lips are numb. Every muscle in my body is trembling as I suck in massive lungful’s of air.

When I finally push upright, aftershocks continue to catch me by surprise. My panties are soaked, and somehow, my hair looks like someone has been running their fingers through it aggressively. And my eyes, oh my god. The pupils are huge. My cheeks are rosy. I look like I’ve just been fucked hard, and fucked fast.

A dirty little quickie. And quick it had been.

I glance down at my panties and see that, from this angle, there is the tiniest bulge. Am I supposed to leave this in? Viper didn’t give any directions about leaving it in, plus we are going to lunch now.

Then it clicks. This is why I have permission to come as many times as I want before we get home. They are going to drive me insane with this thing inside of me. Semi-publicly.

My eyes flutter closed at the thought.

As many orgasms as I want until we get back to the apartment.

Why is the thought of being on restriction after that so goddamned hot?

Chapter 14

Hudson

My cock is rock hard in my pants, and I’m thankful I have the barrier of my briefs against my zipper.

Standing just outside the fitting room and listening to Emmy orgasm as I used an app on my phone to control the vibrator I’d inserted into her is a fantasy that I’ll replay in my head for the rest of my life.

Her surprise when it had first turned on . . .

The way she’d tried to stay quiet . . .

Her whimpers and moans . . .

Fuck.

I didn’t even need the app to tell me when she orgasmed—I heard it. I doubt she even noticed she was whispering my name and begging Daddy to let her come. I think I even heard her say something about a viper, but I’ll have to ask her about that later.

My cock pulses, and I reach down to give it a squeeze, slightly worried I might come in my fucking pants like a goddamn teenager, right here in the middle of the store.

I’ve never played like this before. No woman has ever allowed this kind of control and depth of fantasy. The way I just spoke to Emmy, like she was my toy to play with as I pleased, made her pupils blow wide and her pulse increase. Most of the women before her had run from my filthy words.

With how Emmy reacted today, I’m looking forward to seeing how far I can push her tonight.

Noise from inside the fitting room lets me know that it’s my cue to leave. I scan the store and spot Derek and Xavier at the register, collecting several bags. While we didn’t say yes to everything Emmy had tried on, there were very few things we said no to. This was her first self-selected reward, after all.

That plaid pleated mini skirt and white blouse combo was a hard yes from all four of us.

When my attention lands on Darcy, the asshole is smirking at me. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

I jerk my head toward the doors, then leave the store, the quiet music replaced with the hustle and bustle that is a mainstream mall. The door opens and closes behind me and then Darcy is right there.

“That was . . .” I can’t find the words.

“That was the start to our weekend,” he says, finishing my sentence but not using any of the words swirling around in my head.

Stunning. Exhilarating. Perfection.

“I think—” I don’t get to finish my sentence. The store doors open once again, and Derek, Xavier, and Emmy walk out.

Emmy is back in that fucking amazing blue dress, has her backpack on, her cheeks are rosy, and there is a sparkle in her eye only an amazing orgasm can give a woman. Derek is holding her hand, and both he and Xavier are carrying bags.

When they get to us, Derek looks down at Emmy and gives her hand a little squeeze. She looks up at him, the rosy hue of her cheeks deepening, before turning to look at me. Her gaze darts to the woman eyeing us as she walks by, not making it any secret that she is being a judgy bitch.

Emmy straightens her shoulders and stares back at the woman before returning her attention to me. “Thank you for my orgasm, Daddy.”

Not giving a fuck that Derek is holding her hand, I step in close and kiss her forehead. “You’re welcome, kitten.”

I cup the side of her face and pull her close until she places her head against my chest. Soaking in the feel of her against me, I close my eyes and enjoy the moment.

Before I really want to, I step back from the cuddle and look to my three best friends. “Lunch?”

“Actually, I wanted to go grab some more charcoals. You four go on without me, and I’ll join you at Lizzote’s,” Darcy responds, already taking a step back from us toward his preferred local art supply store.

“Charcoals?” Emmy asks. “You draw?”

I snort a laugh. Does Darcy draw? She’s lucky he hasn’t turned up the last two days covered with some sort of artistic medium splattered all over his clothes or under his nails.

Darcy smiles at Emmy. “I do. I sculpt and paint as well, but drawing is my preference.”

And he is equally good with each. The galleries who fight for his latest collections can attest to that.

Darcy takes another step back, and Emmy tracks him with her eyes. I watch her intently as she brings a hand to her mouth and nibbles at the side of her nail.

Does she not want him to leave, or is it something else?

“You still have one more reward of your choosing. Do you want to go with Darcy to the art supply store?”

Her gaze snaps from Darcy to mine, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and wonder. “I can buy art supplies?”

Something twists in my chest. “Of course, you can. It’s your reward. You get to choose whatever you want.”

“And you won’t take them away from me at the end of the weekend?”

That twisting sensation turns into a red-hot poker. I had suspicions last night after seeing the state of her backpack and the few belongings she’d tucked away in there. Her reaction to the backpack this morning also firmed up those suspicions.

I don’t think Emmy’s life has been as easy and bountiful as we’d like to imagine.

“No, we won’t take them back from you. Everything you receive this weekend is yours to keep,” I reply, but my voice is rougher than I’d like. “Why don’t you go with Darcy, and we'll put all your bags into the car, and then we can meet up for lunch?”

When she hesitates, Derek makes the decision she so clearly wants to make for her. “Go on, baby. Darcy will help you pick the things you want.” He lets go of her hand and gives her a gentle push in Darcy’s direction, who is holding out his hand to her.

With one final glance, she takes his hand, and they head off in the direction of the art supply store.

“She’s off-balance,” Derek comments, a small smile on his face.

“Mmm,” I agree, still feeling a pinch of concern. “Lunch is going to be interesting.”

“I think we might need to do a little interrogating over lunch,” Xavier rumbles, his voice barely above a murmur.

I nod. Yes, we definitely need to find out more about her.

And I know exactly how we are going to do it.

Chapter 15

Emery

Lizzote’s turns out to be an old-school Italian restaurant, with low lighting, exposed brick, and real candles in tiny lanterns. The scent of garlic wafts to me as the hostess shows us to a rounded booth at the back, and I’m ushered into the center, with Derek and Darcy to my left and Xavier and Hudson to my right.

If a mafia gunfight breaks out while we eat lunch, I won’t be surprised. That is the vibe this place gives off.

As soon as my ass hits the overstuffed leather of the circular bench seat, I’m reminded that I have a vibrator jammed into my pussy. My breath hitches as the rough spot grazes over my clit. Every time I scooch farther into the booth, the damn thing rubs shooting sparks of pleasure all through my body.

Xavier took my backpack and the bag containing my haul from my trip to the art supply store—a set of charcoal pencils and a sketch pad— promising he would keep it safe for me beside his seat on the outside of the booth. I tried to hide my discomfort at having my things so far away from me, but I’m not sure I fooled any of them.

I’m honestly surprised by my behavior. I’ve never been territorial over my shit before. Not that I’ve ever had anything that was still in its packaging and specifically for me. Maybe that’s it?

Am I freaking out over not having my stuff with me because, for the first time in my life, I have stuff that is actually mine?

Fuck.

I want to smash my own head against the table with all of this psychoanalyzing I’m doing. Who gives a shit why I’m like this? Not these men. Yeah, they’ve spent all day spoiling me, but really, they owe me. It was a part of the rules. If I have to follow the rules, so do they.

“Hello, can I—oh! Hi, Master Derek,” a perky voice greets, my attention swinging from the red and white check pattern of the tablecloth to the woman only a few years older than me. Her insanely high blonde ponytail bounces as she greets the other men as well. “And Masters Darcy, Hudson, and Xavier. You were all missed at last weekend’s event.”

Why is she calling them Master? And what event?

“Hello, Dylan,” Derek replies. “We had a prior engagement last weekend.”

Dylan’s eyes clash with mine, her smile dipping the smallest amount, before returning her attention back to Derek, a question clearly written all over her face. “That’s okay. Will you be there tonight?”

A very fine film of discomfort has fallen over our group. I try not to seem too interested in their conversation, but come on. This girl practically has hearts falling out of her eyes for Derek.

“No, not tonight. We already have plans,” Derek states in a voice that says the conversation is over. “How about we order our drinks?”

“Oh, okay. Um, yes. What can I get you?” She scrambles to pull a pad of paper and a pen out of her apron pocket.

Disappointment is written all over Dylan’s face, and I’m surprised by the tiniest bubble of sympathy that forms for her. But, at the same time, I’m insanely confused by this whole thing.

“Emmy?” Derek asks, and I ping-pong between his face and Dylan’s.

I blink a few times. “Uh, I’d like a Coke?”

Derek raises his eyebrow at me, and I glance at Dylan, her gaze also ping-ponging between Derek and myself. My cheeks burn, but I do as implied.

“Please, Daddy, may I have a Coke?”

Dylan’s eyes are wide. “Daddy—”

“Dylan.” Xavier cuts off whatever she was about to say.

She turns to look at him, her face going a little pale as Xavier glares at her. “S-sorry.”

“Yes, baby, you can. I’ll take a Coke as well,” Derek responds, pretending like the last few seconds didn’t happen. The others place their orders before the girl disappears.

Silence falls. I feel like I should be asking questions about what just happened, but why? I’m not whatever Dylan thinks I am. I’m temporary, only here for the weekend. And even though my stomach feels tight, it’s a good reminder that the information isn’t something I need to know.

“So, Emmy, tell us a little bit about yourself,” Hudson says, breaking the silence. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and then shuffles the place setting in front of him closer to the center before bracing his elbows on the table.

Stomach suddenly doing an internal belly dance, I lean back and pretend to discreetly fan out my skirt a little more, giving me a moment to think about how I want to answer this. Is there really any need to tell them about me, if what we are doing ends tomorrow? I learned a long time ago to not hand out too many pieces of myself. So, I decide to go with a flirty, if a little bratty, response.

“I’m not very interesting. I’d actually like to know more about the four of you. How did you become friends? And how did you get from friends to friends who fuck in a group?”

Darcy grins but looks away.

Hudson leans closer. “I highly doubt you are uninteresting. Tell us about your family. Where do they think you are this weekend?”

I grit my teeth and mask it as a smile. Fuck, came out swinging with that first question, didn’t they? “There’s nothing to tell.”

Hudson quirks an eyebrow before reaching for his phone and opening an app. “How about this? For every answer you give us, I’ll turn on your vibrator for one minute.”

I swallow heavily, my tummy growing warm as I dart my eyes around the almost full restaurant. “Here?”

He hums and leans back, taking his phone with him. “Well, that is entirely up to you. You can choose to say no, and we can sit here and discuss the weather, no getting to know you and no orgasms. Then, when we are back in the apartment, you’ll be on restriction until the end of our time together. You’ll spend the rest of the weekend being used by the four of us, whenever we want, however we want, with your orgasms few and far between. If any.”

We stare at each other for long enough that a waiter—not Dylan—comes back with our drinks. They all ordered sodas as well, which is kind of strange for grown-ass men, but whatever. Maybe it's a solidarity thing, since I’m too young to legally drink. Not that drinking is going to be a thing I waste my money on.

How much can I tell them before it’s too much? Telling them I’m an orphan and there isn’t a living soul on the planet who gives a fuck if I live or die—well, maybe Oakley—is definitely too much for weekend fuck partners. But that’s my answer to the question they’re asking.

Apparently, I’m taking too long to answer, because a very gentle internal vibe begins inside of me.

“How about a little incentive to start?”

My chest raises on a sharp breath, and I really want to rock my pelvis to get the little toy to press deeper inside of me. I’m a slave for this toy. Holy fuck, with how fast it pushed me over the edge in the fitting room, I’m seriously considering spending some of the thirty K on one for myself.

“That’s not fair,” I whisper, already feeling myself start to cave as my heart starts to race.

Maybe I can just tell them the outline of my life? Of me? I don’t need to go into great detail. Something similar to what’s written in my Department of Child and Family Services file.

The vibes suddenly cut off, and I refocus on Hudson.

“You can use your safe words, Emmy. You can use them to end the questions. You can use them to veto a question. We just want to get to know you a little better. It’s up to you.”

I scan the four of them, my pussy aching with an abandoned throb. They are all staring back at me intently, some more relaxed than the others, but very interested. They really want to know?

“What color are you, princess?”

Fine. Surface level. Just enough to keep the toy vibrating. With a deep breath, I answer Darcy. “Green.”

Chapter 16

Darcy

Emmy’s chest is flushed red. The knot that formed at her initial reticence unravels. I need her to share with us. I need for them to all connect with her on more than just the sugar baby level.

She’s it for us. She is what—who—we have been waiting for. I know it. The same way I know what color a canvas is missing or what strokes to use to bring a drawing to life.

Emmy is ours. I just need the others to see it too.

She splays her hands on the brown leather seat on either side of her thighs, and I reach out to link our pinkies together. My princess looks at me, nervousness fluttering in her eyes.

“So, where does your family think you are right now? Girls’ weekend away?”

Emmy shakes her head and reaches out for her glass full of soda and ice. Derek picks up one of the paper-covered straws that the waiter left behind, rips it open, and drops the straw into her drink. She smiles at him, but it drops away quickly.

“I wasn’t lying before. There isn’t anything to tell.” She takes a sip of her drink. “They’re dead. The only person who knows I am with you is my roommate.”

My heart trips and tumbles in my chest, the feeling so real, I’m almost shocked when I don’t end up with the organ in my lap. “You’re an orphan?”

With a shrug, she twirls her straw through the black liquid, making the ice clink against the glass quietly, steadfastly avoiding all our gazes. “Yeah, my parents died in an accident when I was six. Been in the system ever since. It is what it is.”

Well, fuck. I shoot a look at the others, because I was not expecting that. A sleepover at a friend’s house, hell even a night with a non-existent boyfriend—all things I was expecting to hear. But this? Can we go ahead with our plan after she dropped something as heavy as that? It’s like she can hear us all losing our mental-dom marbles, because she laughs and relaxes back.

“Can I have my minute now, Daddy?” she asks, her voice dripping with overexaggerated bratty innocence.

Hudson doesn’t have to be asked twice. Anything to give us time to process what she just admitted. With a few taps of his thumb, he activates the vibrator and places his phone down on the table.

Emmy sucks in a breath, and her finger clamps down around mine. “Oh, fuck.”

She slinks down in the seat a little and tips her head back, eyes closed, pelvis tipping forward until her back arches.

Oh fuck, indeed.

My blood runs south so fast that I barely have time to adjust myself so that my cock isn’t bent in my briefs. The others all seem to be having a similar reaction. With her eyes closed, Emmy doesn’t see Hudson take control of the vibrator. He holds his finger over one of the pulsing dots on the screen, then slowly drags it down to the bottom of the screen.

Emmy lets out a whimper. “No . . .”

But then he drags it all the way to the top of the screen, and her no drags out until she has her mouth open in an O. As her head raises off the back of the booth, and her body curls inward, she barely breathes as the speed of what I’m assuming is the clit stimulator goes to maximum vibration.

Hudson eases back down, then starts drawing a circle over and over again on the screen. Emmy is whimpering and moaning, until she whispers, “I’m close. I’m so close, please don’t stop.”

I glance down at the timer on Hudson’s screen. “You’ve got fifteen seconds. Fourteen.”

She fists her hand, taking my pinky finger with hers, and rocks her hips. “Please, please, please.”

“Eleven, ten, nine.” I continue counting down for her.

Hudson, helpfully for us, slowly eases the vibe back down.

She gets more frantic, chasing her climax. “No, don’t stop, please.”

“Three, two, one.”

The vibe turns off, and she huffs out her annoyance. She turns a glare on Hudson, who is smiling back at her. “Problem?”

She purses her lips. “Is that the next question?”

I cough to dispel my laugh. Damn, she’s quick.

“Is Emmy your real name?” Xavier asks before Hudson can reply.

She tips her head from side to side. “Yes and no. It’s a shortened version of my name.”

“What’s the full version?”

This time, it’s her turn to grin. “Nuh-uh. I answered the question. I want my minute.”

“She isn’t wrong,” I say, backing her up. This bratty side of her is amazing. I’m totally here for it.

Xavier smirks. “Fine, but remember this for later.”

Instead of his words making her nervous, they make her stomach clench, and she raises her eyebrow at him. “I can’t wait. Now, my minute?”

Xavier takes the phone from Hudson and turns the vibe on. For the entire minute, he never keeps a consistent pace or pressure. His finger zigzags, spirals, waves, and does a random drag all over the screen.

Emmy is panting, and one of her feet is raised from the floor, knees spread as wide as she can get them under the table. I’m thankful for the tablecloth because anyone who happened to look our way would see our baby girl’s panties on display, and nope. We might have joked about it earlier, but that is a sight only for us. As much as we all like the titillation of almost-public sex, we don’t share with others. Unless it's for a scene at Obsession. Even then, the crowd will be handpicked.

This time, Xavier does a countdown for her. “Four, three, two.”

Emmy cuts him off before he can say one. “My real name is Emery. Don’t stop.”

Emery.

It suits her. Not that Emmy doesn’t. This bratty side of her is definitely Emery. But the shy, sweet baby girl who wants to please us? That’s Emmy.

Derek steals the phone from Xavier. He takes pity on Emmy and slowly increases the speed over ten seconds, holding it just below maximum until the end. Her whimpers and moans get louder, and just as I’m starting to wonder if she needs help keeping quiet, she turns to me and buries her face in my chest.

I wrap my free arm around her and feel her moan against my peck. Her hips and legs are taut with tension as the orgasm burns through her. She starts to go limp in my hand, but instantly tenses again when the high-strength vibes continue.

Emmy shakes her head into my chest, and I can only just hear her saying no.

It’s not a safe word and she knows that, so I don’t say anything. Helpfully, and with a smile, I count down the timer for her again. “Nine, eight, seven.”

Her whole body is spasming, and she is gripping her skirt tightly.

Without being told, she knows she isn’t allowed to remove the toy.

This girl is perfect.

And she is going to be ours.

Chapter 17

Emery

“Three, two, one.”

The vibe dies down during the last few seconds, and I both hate and love that it’s finally fucking off. The mindfuck is real. Like, it was borderline painful on my clit, but holy shit, I’d wanted it to go on forever.

Pin me down, spread my legs, and vibe that clit for life.

My bones feel like Jell-O. The first orgasm in the fitting room was a-fucking-mazing. But this one? The way they fucked with the settings dragged it way the fuck out. By the time I actually came, my clit was screaming.

Arms scoop beneath my legs, and I’m deposited onto Darcy’s lap. His woodsy scent, tinged with the faint scent of something really clean, aided in my orgasm and now feels like a warm cuddle. Or is that his arms around me?

“You okay, princess?”

I nod, lazily. “Yeah, that was so good.”

He chuckles. “It looked like it was more than good.”

I roll my head back to look up at him. “It was good. Last night’s orgasm was better.”

My mouth goes dry when his eyes darken with lust, just like one of my billionaire book boyfriends.

Hello, Angel.

“You’ll be getting more orgasms like last night when we get back to the apartment. For now, you’ll need to suffer through.”

I pout, feeling a little ridiculous but leaning into it when I see him trying to hold back his smile. “Fine.”

“Can I take your order?”

Dylan is back, her eyes carefully trained on her notepad. I try to get off Darcy’s lap, but his hand clamps down on my thigh and slowly moves up toward my panties.

My clit gives a painful throb, and I become very aware that my panties are wet. Soaked through is probably a better description. I squirm at the uncomfortable feeling. It’s only then that I feel the hard dick under my ass.

Darcy makes a noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t move to stop me. So, I wiggle again.

“We’ll take a classic tomato bruschetta to share,” Derek says. “And I’ll have the grilled Guancia di Manzo.”

Darcy’s hand moves all the way up to my panties, and before I can stop him from touching the wet fabric, he twists his finger under the edge and slides it straight into my still hungry pussy.

“The grilled octopus stracciatella,” rumbles Xavier.

With the toy in the way, Darcy can’t do too much without dislodging it. “These panties are awfully wet, princess.”

I whimper as he crooks his finger, jostling the vibrator just enough to graze my clit.

“The aragosta cocktail for me.”

Hudson’s order barely registers as I rock my hips, which has the added benefit of making Darcy finger fuck me.

Like I’m not grinding all over his lap, Darcy places his order, his voice clear of any strain. “Ravioli Amarticana.” Somehow, he manages to slip a second finger in as he gives my hip a squeeze. “And you, princess? What are you going to eat?”

The fucker continues to slide his fingers in and out of me, and I scramble to think of something. “Spaghetti carbonara, please.”

Dylan can’t get away from our table fast enough, and I don’t miss the way Xavier shoots a look at Derek. Derek simply stares back, and I wish I could understand their silent conversation. But the subtext is flying right over my head, and with Darcy actively pumping his fingers in and out of me, not even trying to be subtle now, I don’t care to work it out.

My entire core is overheated, like it’s questioning whether I really want to start the climb to the top again, when it’s already allowing itself to get hot and bothered.

“Emmy’s panties are soaked,” Darcy announces to the table, and I stutter out a laugh, my cheeks burning as I turn my face into his chest to hide. “I think she should take them off.”

I stiffen and lean back. “W-what? No, I can’t walk around in public with a vibrator inside of me and no underwear on.”

Behind me, there is a growl and I turn, my eyes darting between Hudson and Xavier, unsure who made the noise.

“What makes you think the decision is up to you? If we want you walking around with no panties on, then you take them off and say thank you, daddy while you do it.” Hudson’s voice brooks no arguments.

My mouth snaps shut. Right.

Darcy pumps his fingers into me one more time before pulling them free. He raises them up to his lips, the digits covered in so much wetness, there are thin ropes of it connecting his fingers.

Both fingers disappear into his mouth, and he hums appreciatively before speaking again. “Everyone in favor of Emmy removing her underwear?”

There are four raised hands.

Darcy pats my hip. “Up you go, princess. Remove your panties.”

With a shaky breath—because, fuck, could I get arrested for this?—I stand up between his spread legs and the table. The space is kind of awkward, but I manage to get my hands under my skirt and hook my fingers into my panties.

I feel wetness drag down between my thighs and cringe a little. When I can’t reach any farther down without disappearing beneath the table, I drop the panties to the floor. Using my foot, I bring the panties to my hands, then ball them up, hiding them behind my closed fists.

Darcy pulls me back down to sit on his lap, but on the opposite thigh, so I’m sitting facing toward Hudson and the back of the booth. Then he frees my panties from my grip and drops them in the center of the table for everyone to fucking see. And wouldn’t you know it? The wet crotch lands face up.

Hudson hands Darcy his phone and I see what I assume is the vibrator’s app open on the screen. Brain still a little sluggish from my orgasm, it takes a minute for the situation to become clear. The vibrator is going to be turned on, again. I both want and don’t want more. But, like everything else with the four of them, I don’t seem to have too much of a choice, unless I want to red out.

“Remember, good girls get rewards, princess. Being a brat will only end up landing you in a situation you probably won’t like.” He does something to the app and then the internal vibe turns on, the setting so low, I don’t think it will actually turn me on, but enough that I can feel the gentle hum.

He drops the phone onto the table, forces me to take a sip of my coke, then encourages me to cuddle into him, tucking my head beneath his chin. The action makes me emotional in a warm and thick way. Like melted honey.

Normally, I would think it was gross and shut that shit down. But right now, I just let it wash over me.

If I only get these feelings for the weekend, I’m going to completely immerse myself in each of them.

Chapter 18

Derek

Emery.

It suits her. But a fucking orphan? She couldn't have surprised me more.

Emery is partially dozing on Darcy, who has pulled up her skirt high enough that he can cup the bare cheek of her ass. I know this because I glanced down and saw flesh where I expected to see her blue dress.

I know for a fact that, if anal wasn’t on her hard limit list, he’d be playing with that tight little hole while she was sleeping. Out of the four of us, Darcy is the biggest ass man. We all love it, but he will worship a tight little asshole for hours. And I have no doubt that Emery’s is as tight as they come.

Hudson is watching Emery and Darcy, hunger written all over his face. This girl may be his downfall. She’s more than happy to go toe-to-toe with him during their verbal spars, and she doesn’t shy away when he objectifies her, which is exactly what he craves.

From the corner of my eye, I see Dylan approaching. I turn my body to block her view of Emery, not wanting to disturb Darcy from providing Emery with her first piece of aftercare for the day.

We texted this morning before arriving at the apartment and all agreed that we would provide gentle aftercare after every scene, regardless of whether she indicates for it or not. Being so green to the kink world, she won’t understand what she needs.

There will be absolutely no sub drops for the rest of the weekend.

“Your bruschetta,” Dylan says quietly, placing the loaded plate on the table, with an additional stack of sharing plates.

When she doesn’t leave immediately, I shoot her a look. “That will be all, Dylan.”

Hurt flashes in her eyes before she scampers away. I sigh.

“You shouldn’t have given her a job,” Xavier mutters as he taps and scrolls on his phone. His thumbs fly over the screen, and I decide to ignore whatever he is doing right now. I have no doubt it’s something to do with Emery, and if it’s illegal I’d prefer not to know.

Ignorance is bliss in this situation. I know he will share any relevant information if he manages to find anything. Which he will. He always does.

I just don’t need to know how he does.

“I didn’t give her a job. Emanuel did. Excuse him for not knowing that the only reason she wanted a job here is because she knows I own it.” I sigh and reach for a plate and the dainty-sized bruschetta. “We had one scene together, which she pushed herself through when she should have used her safe word. I was the one to call an end to the scene.”

“Remember the apology attempt?” Hudson prompts as he selects a slice of toasted bread overflowing with diced and marinated tomatoes with red onion.

I groan. “Don’t remind me. Actually, how about we don’t talk about past subs for the rest of the weekend? There is only one I want to be thinking about right now.”

Mutual agreement flows across the tabletop as we all look at Emery, still curled up in Darcy’s lap.

It’s funny, how I can want Darcy to have her with him, all warm and soft, but also want her for myself at the same time. Not in a jealous or malicious way, but in a I want to capture her warmth kind of way. I’d feel the same if it were Hudson or Xavier holding our baby girl.

This weekend is a tiny slice of heaven for the four of us.

I take a bite out of the zingy but sweet bread and go over the plan for the weekend in my head. Each one of us wants to introduce Emery to our kinks. Beginner scenes, although she may not agree with the beginner status. One of us will lead each scene, focusing on our primary kink, with the others participating where required.

Movement to my right breaks my train of thought. Emery rouses from her little nap, and Darcy helps her to sit up. She blinks adorably, before remembering that she just orgasmed in a restaurant full of people. Her skin turns a delicious rosy hue which makes my chest ache.

This girl could wreck me if I give her the chance.

Once the weekend is over, I’ll have to be satisfied with all the memories we are going to create, because I have a feeling we won’t be getting another opportunity like this weekend again. Finding Emery was hard enough.

Darcy guides Emery to retake her seat, and both he and Hudson crowd into her sides. One of Hudson’s hands disappears from the table, and Emery pauses for a beat as she reaches for her drink and then lets out a shaky breath.

I smirk and take another bite. Hudson is going to keep her on her toes all weekend. Keep her this side of needy and wanting.

Darcy plates her up a piece of bruschetta, and Emery stares at it for a moment, a little furrow between her brows.

It dawns on me that she’s probably never had bruschetta before. Which means she has most likely never been to a decent restaurant before, if what she said about growing up in the foster system is true. Denny’s doesn’t count.

“Emery,” I say, to capture her attention. “Is there anything else you would like to purchase from the mall before we leave?”

Casually, I pick up the bread with my fingers and take a bite from the side, using my other hand to catch any crumbs that may fall. Not the most sophisticated way to eat bruschetta, but it will get the job done for now.

She shakes her head. “No, thank you, Daddy. I think you have all spoiled me enough. Plus, Daddy Darcy and Daddy Xavier still need to give me their gifts. And your gift is tucked into Daddy Hudson’s. I’m good for right now.”

My heart stumbles then pounds in my chest. I can feel the collective tension among my friends at how she casually, without prompting, without embarrassment, addressed us all as her daddies.

Emery takes a tentative bite with a noisy crunch. A few pieces fall into the palm of her hand, but she barely notices as the flavors hit her tongue. Her eyes widen and she stares at the remainder of the delicious morsel in her hand. “Oh my god.”

I don’t comment on the fact that she is talking with her mouth full. I just sit back and watch her eat the entire thing without putting it down on the plate, until she is licking her fingers clean.

When she’s done, Hudson hands her a napkin, and that adorable blush returns.

“That was so good,” she says, by way of apology, but her embarrassment isn’t enough to stop her from eyeing the remaining pieces on the plate.

“You don’t want to fill up on bread before your pasta comes out,” I admonish before she can try to take another piece. As much as I think she needs to eat more, I’d prefer her eating her actual meal, which will be far more nutritious than the bread.

Her gaze darts to my face, and while I can see a hint of the defiant brat in her eyes, she bites her lip and ducks her gaze back down to the tablecloth. “Yes, Daddy.”

I will never get over the little zing of pleasure that runs through me at those words passing over her lips.

With our little game over, I worry that an uncomfortableness will fill the table, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t take long for Emery to start squirming in her seat, the vibrator clearly getting to her again.

No one has adjusted the settings, so it's still on the low internal hum Darcy left it on.

“Is there something wrong, Emery?” I ask nonchalantly, as I reach for another slice of bruschetta.

“Daddy, I need—” But she is cut off from responding by our food arriving, thankfully without Dylan.

The dishes are placed on the table in front of us. After making sure Emery has what she needs, Hudson picks up his phone and turns her vibrator off. Emery visibly sags, and it's a delight to watch the disappointment and the gratefulness wash over her, the two emotions battling on her expressive face.

Something I hope to see a lot more of, over the next few hours.

I wonder if she even knows that she wears her emotions so transparently?

It’s going to make reading her so much easier, once I have her tied down and begging later.

Chapter 19

Emery

“I think I might be falling into a food coma,” I mutter as Derek pulls out of the parking lot. Reclining against the backrest of the backseat, I try to slink down to make my stomach feel more comfortable, but it’s no use. Even holding my little food baby doesn’t help.

There was so much food. And it was so damn good. And I couldn’t stop eating.

The creamy, cheesy, bacon—except, according to Derek, it’s guanciale, whatever the fuck that is—flavored sauce was literally the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.

Bar nothing.

I struggled to part with the half bowl of leftover pasta, so Derek organized a doggy bag for me, which is now sitting up front with Xavier.

Reclining my head back, I slowly close my eyes, letting the gentle sway of the SUV start to lull me into a nap. Before I can hand myself over to dreamland, fingers slide up my thighs and beneath my skirt, gathering the fabric until it pulls tight from where I am sitting on it. I open my eyes and look at Hudson. Nope, Viper is back.

“Up,” he demands as he tugs on the fabric, and just like that, I comply.

The cool, air-conditioned air of the car dances along my now uncovered thighs, pussy with the vibrator still in, and lower stomach as Hudson exposes me to everyone in the car. Derek has adjusted his rear-view mirror, and where before I could see his eyes, I can now only see his chest.

I have a feeling I know where this is going, and I’m totally here for it. Especially considering I’m going to be on restriction in less than twenty minutes for at least the next twenty-four hours. Maybe a little longer.

What I am not expecting is for both Darcy and Hudson to hook a hand beneath my knees and to spread me wide, my thighs practically resting on my chest.

“Oh, fuck,” I sputter and quickly shift so that I don’t feel so awkward and twisted.

“Whose pussy is this?” Hudson asks in a similar tone to when he asked me to pass him a napkin in the restaurant. My heart rate instantly picks up.

“Y-yours, Daddy,” I reply, watching him pull his phone out of his pocket and start tapping away at the screen.

“And what do I get to do to my pussy?”

My core heats. Why is being reduced down to just a pussy so damn hot? “Whatever you want, Daddy.”

“And if I want to turn the vibrator on and leave it on until it runs out of power, you won’t complain, will you? You’ll sit here, with your legs spread, and let me play with my pussy. Then, when we get back to the apartment building, you’ll get in the elevator, go to the apartment, and go lie on the bed until the vibrations stop. You’re going to let me torture that sweet little pussy, aren’t you?”

My mouth is hanging open.

Until the batteries run out? How long will that take? It only took like three minutes for me to come last time, and those last few seconds were amazing but also kinda painful, but so, so good.

My pulse pounds in my ears and I try to breathe. I’m surprised to feel excitement thrumming in my veins, with only the mildest touch of trepidation in the pit of my belly. But one glance at Viper and I know I am going to say yes.

Fuck.

“Kitten, I asked you a question. Are you going to let me torture my pussy?” He used his serious voice—it’s deeper and has a slight growl to it that makes my insides quake even more than they currently are.

Viper is hungry.

My throat aches as I nod and force words around the lump in my throat, worried that I’m disappointing him because I haven’t answered him fast enough. “Yes, Daddy. Please torture my pussy.”

There is a groan and accompanying moans from the other men in the car, but right now, I only have eyes for Viper. One side of his lips quirks up, and the sparkle returns to his ice-blue eyes.

“Good girl.”

That’s all the warning I get before he starts the vibrator, both internally and externally.

I gasp, thighs clenching, but the grips he and Darcy have on the backs of my knees force me to stay spread open for them. The internal vibe is so strong that it’s almost overpowering the sensation from the vibe on my clit.

Maybe if I don’t fall into the vibrations so willingly, I can hold off the orgasm and the torture he was talking about?

Taking deep, measured breaths, I close my eyes and try to make the pleasure racing through my veins turn into a background noise. At first, it kind of works. I just float along, letting the toy do its thing and enjoy all the warm and tingling sensations.

“What game is on tonight?” Viper asks no one in particular.

“Cubs, Marlins,” Derek replies, the sound of the blinker punctuating his words.

“Cubs need the win,” Darcy states, his free hand finding mine and lacing his fingers between them and the death grip I have on the seat’s edge.

Are these assholes having a conversation about grown-ass men hitting a ball around a dirt diamond while my pussy is spread open to the windshield and stuffed full of vibrating purple silicone?

The car comes to a complete stop.

“Kitten.”

I snap my eyes open, just as the clit vibrator ramps up. I moan, mouth open, body curling in, heat going from a simmer to a full-on inferno just as Xavier angles his phone and snaps a picture of me.

My brain says I should demand that he delete that picture, but just the idea that he might use it for future jerk-off material has my fight to hold this orgasm back on the ropes.

“Come on, Emmy. Let my pussy come. I want to watch as it spasms around my toy and your cum drips out from the sides.” Viper’s dirty words are only for me to hear, and damn it, they work.

“Yes, Daddy,” I whimper, fingers digging into the bench seat. “Please, Daddy, I . . . I . . .”

Both arms of the vibrator ramp up to what I assume is maximum speed, and my orgasm is ripped out of me. I moan out a scream, my body curling tight at the sudden pleasure that explodes throughout my body.

My entire being is nothing but the nerve endings that are touching the sex toy. Heat is exploding out from my core. My thighs tremble, and my stomach is drawn so tight, I can barely breathe. “Daddy, daddy, daddy . . .”

I keep repeating the endearment over and over, the orgasm going on forever. Even the toy is beginning to feel warm inside of me. Every breath rubs my peaked nipples against the inside of my bra, which causes flashes of pleasure to streak down to my core.

Except now, the pleasure is starting to burn.

“Oh, shit.” I try to clamp my legs down while also reaching between my legs to make the vibes stop, but Darcy keeps my hand pinned and Hudson captures my free one.

“Uh, uh, uh. No touching. This is my pussy and I’m playing with it.” Viper caresses the back of my knee, but I can barely feel the light touch.

My skin feels hot everywhere. Streaks of pleasure are shooting off in every direction and I have the very real feeling that I might pee myself.

“No, Daddy, please. I can’t. It’s too much. Please, please.” I shake my head from side to side, unable to stay pliant, even if I wanted to. I fight against their holds, trying to straighten my legs or move my hands from the leather beneath my ass. “I can’t, it’s burning. No, please.”

“None of those are your safe word, kitten.”

Sweat is beading below my bra and on the back of my neck as I continue to struggle and wonder why the fuck I’m not saying “red.” My mouth won’t even form the shape of the word.

Darcy grips my hand tightly and raises it with his own to the hand that is holding the back of my thigh. He releases my leg, but before I realize what’s happening, he recaptures it. His arm is now looped around my leg, and we are once again holding hands.

My clit is burning. My pelvis is twitching uncontrollably, like it isn’t sure if it wants to push away or get closer to the fucking vibrator. All of which is impossible, because it is fucking inside of me. Can’t get any goddamn closer than that.

Then Darcy flips the rules on me and drives two fingers into my pussy.

“Holy fuck,” I gasp as his fingers meet zero resistance.

“You should feel how wet she is,” Darcy says in a tone that he would use when he comments on the weather. “Her pussy is clutching at my fingers.”

He slowly, so fucking slowly, pumps his fingers in and out of me, fingers jostling the internal arm, and damn. Damn.

“Daddy,” I whimper, knowing I’m not going to get any relief but still having hope. “Help me, please help me. I can’t. It’s too much.”

Tears are rolling down my face, and I can hear the tremble in my voice, even as my words come out on moans.

“I know, princess. Here, does this help?”

The fullness inside me expands, and I can only assume he has added a third finger. He increases his thrusts, the palm of his hand bumping and grinding against the external arm.

Somehow it does help, and I start to climb the mountain again. I thrust down to meet Darcy’s fingers. My eyelids drift shut, and I let myself go. I forget that I’m in a car, that I’m stretched open wide, and that I’ve already come three times today.

There is a tug on the front of my dress and then on my bra until my breasts are exposed to the cool air. Not giving a shit who yanked my dress down, I moan as a hot, wet mouth clamps down over my nipple, teeth biting down on the nub.

“Ah, fuckkkkk,” I scream out as the shock of pain shoots me right up to the top of the mountain. “Fuck, fuck, please!”

More pressure in my pussy, more than just one additional finger. Bodies press close to me on either side, and the thrusting is uneven. In and out happening in parallel.

“Come for us, kitten. Again. You can do it. Give me that orgasm.”

Something shifts differently inside of me, almost like a scratching motion, and holy motherfucking fuck.

Blackness clouds the edges of my vision, and I’m pretty sure I black out completely as white-hot pleasure burns away every piece of awareness that I have.

Chapter 20

Hudson

Removing my fingers from inside Emmy, I’m careful to not dislodge Darcy’s fingers or the vibrator, which is still running on the maximum setting. I don’t bother to wipe off my fingers before picking up my phone and turning off the clit vibe and moving the internal vibe down to the lowest setting.

No fun in turning it off completely.

Derek adjusts the mirror so that it’s in the correct position, and we make eye contact. “Bit much, don’t you think?”

I grin, my feral-ness sitting just below the surface. “Not even close.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t break her.”

“You know me better than that,” I reply, covering my irritation by lowering Emmy’s leg now that Darcy has also removed his fingers from her.

Derek makes a noise that is neither agreement nor disagreement.

I get it, though, his concern. Very few women allow me to go as deep into the fantasy as I desire. Truthfully, none have ever let me go to my true depths. They are all for the edged orgasm, the dirty words and name calling in the moment, but they resist me sending them past what they would normally find tolerable, even if it would mean reaching a state of pleasure so excruciating it sends their body offline.

Emmy is the first to give herself up to me completely. She doesn’t fight it. She doesn’t ask for it to stop. She simply takes everything I force upon her, allowing me to play with my toy however I want. She completely abandons her right to self-autonomy and hands over her body to me.

Looking down at the girl with her breasts still exposed and the hem of her dress still hitched up to her belly button, glistening thighs on display as she floats in a state of unconsciousness, I wonder just how far she is going to let me take this.

Marking it as a conversation I wish I could have with her later, I start putting her back together so that, if she comes to, she’s not completely exposed.

I look to Darcy as I pop her seat belt. “You or me?”

“You,” he replies, voice husky.

We work together to maneuver Emmy until she is cradled on my lap. With her settled against me, I have to actively not think about how fragile she feels. While her breasts are gorgeously plump, the rest of her is not. Bones protrude just enough to be visible, and last night, every thrust of a cock had visibly moved her lower stomach.

Not to mention how she had practically inhaled her lunch today.

And the orphan bomb she dropped.

Christ.

The tiny noise of discomfort Emmy makes alerts me to the fact that I’m squeezing her. Taking a deep breath, I try to relax and focus on something else.

This girl is not mine to save. She’s just ours for the weekend.

It’s a timely reminder to myself.

Emmy twitches, saving me from my thoughts as her ass grinds into my hard cock, and it hits me that I can actually feel the gentle vibration through her. Since the fitting room, I haven’t been softer than a semi. My balls are begging to unleash, and if we continue with our plans for the weekend, that won’t be too far off.

One of us will stay with Emmy in the bedroom while she continues to come back to herself, maybe give her one more orgasm. During that time, we’ll rearrange the black curtains to expose our own private dungeon.

“Are we going to discuss what she told us?” Derek’s voice cuts through the silence of the car like a bullet through glass. “Do you think we need to adjust our plans?”

“Her social media is empty,” Xavier replies, fingers drumming on the center console.

“Don’t you mean private?” I ask. “Maybe she has good cyber awareness.”

He shoots me a look from the front passenger seat. “There is private, and there is empty. Hers is empty. If we want more information about her, I’ll need to get her date of birth and address.”

“I don’t think we should dig into her past. She isn’t ours, and she has a right to privacy. If she freely offers the information, that is one thing. We have no right to the information. This isn’t permanent. We aren’t her forever daddies.” My words create a pang in my chest, right below Emmy’s cheek. “If she were ours, it would be a different story.”

Across the seat, I can feel Darcy staring at me, and I look at him. His expression is . . . off.

“You don’t agree?”

He shakes his head. “I agree with the first part.”

Before I can request clarification, the car slows, and Derek is pulling into the underground parking for the condo. “So, change our plans, yay or nay?”

Only slightly out of sync, we all say nay.

The conversation dies there, and Derek parks the car. They all get out, and I remain waiting with our weekend girl.

There is a tap on my door before it opens, and Xavier is standing there, ready to take Emmy from me. The trunk opens, and I hear the rustle of bags as I pivot on the seat to allow Xavier better access. He takes her from me, carefully gathering her dress and making sure that she is completely covered.

Darcy starts gathering her bags from the trunk and Derek appears with a thin blanket that he gently tucks around Emmy. Once everything is secured and the car is locked up, we head toward the exit.

Without needing to talk about it, the rest of us surround their front and sides, protecting her from view of anyone who might happen to see us.

Thankfully, the elevator is empty, and we make it to our level without confrontation.

I get to the door before the others, holding it open for them to file through. Without a word, Xavier carries Emmy to the bedroom and disappears behind the closed door.

Before I can say anything, Darcy cuts me off. “He’s been sharing all day. Let him have this time. She was starting to wake up in the elevator, anyway.”

With a sigh, I trail behind the other two, over to the lounge. Derek reaches for the TV remote and turns it on to a sports channel, extinguishing the silence.

Emmy’s shopping bags are placed to the side, ready for her when she gets some free time to go through them this weekend or leaves tomorrow. We only have one more night with her and I’m not sure that it is going to be enough.

“What did she buy at the art store?” I ask as I flop down onto the couch, needing to redirect my thoughts. Again.

“Not much, to be honest. I was ready to purchase whatever she liked, but she only went to the register with charcoals and a sketch pad.” He flops down next to me, jostling my cushioned seat. “As it was, I had to put the cheap shit she picked back and practically had to strong-arm her into buying the better quality brands.”

“She’s not used to nice things,” Derek says, stating the obvious.

And even though it is obvious, it is such a dichotomy to our own lives, where we have nothing but the nicest things, that it sends a shock through to my core.

“We knew there was something going on from the state of her things at the hotel last night,” Darcy points out as he twists the ring on his index finger—his one and only tell that he is stressed. “The orphan puzzle piece, inability to purchase herself nice things, and her fear that we would take them away at the end of the weekend? I’m not liking the picture that is being painted here.”

It’s like he took the thoughts straight out of my head. Except for the painting part. I probably would have gone with a data analogy, like the measurable dataset is indicating a historically reduced input over a two-decade period for the entity.

“Well, we plan to spoil her for the weekend. And with all the cash she is going to walk away with, she’ll be able to fill any gaps in her lifestyle that we don’t. This time tomorrow, we’ll be saying goodbye to her.”

Derek’s right. Emmy isn’t our girl.

She is just our weekend girl.

With a sigh, I reach into my pocket, my heart jolting when I don’t find my phone.

I had it in the car . . .

“That fucker.”

Darcy and Derek snap their heads in my direction.

I wave my hand. “Not Emmy. Xavier. He stole my phone. She still has the vibrator in.”

The words haven’t even finished leaving my mouth when we hear a very feminine moan come from the bedroom.

I glare at Darcy. “Still happy we let him go in there on his own?”

Chapter 21

Emery

Cool air on my ass and heavy pressure on my calves barely register as I start to wake up. No, those sensations are overpowered by the relentless buzzing, pushing me toward another goddamn orgasm.

Holy fuck.

“No,” I whimper, rubbing my face into the sheets. “No, no, please, not again.”

The pleasure hurts. My pussy is swollen and hot and wet. So, fucking wet. My clit is fried, the nerve endings not knowing whether this is something they want or not. I have no idea what number orgasm I’m up to for the past twenty-four hours, but I don’t think I want this.

“Please, no. I can’t. It hurts.”

“That isn’t a safe word.” The voice is a quiet rumble, and I recognize it as Xavier’s. Or should I be thinking of him as Hunter? The pressure on my legs shifts, and then something thick is pressing in alongside the vibrator.

Fuck, is that his cock?

Wait, no. Those are fingers. Definitely more than one. Three, maybe?

I gasp. “Oh, shit.”

Xavier begins pumping his fingers in and out of me, his knuckles slamming into the skin between my pussy and ass, over and over. I try to flex my fingers and only just now realize that my hands are trapped against my lower back, Xavier’s other hand acting like a shackle.

I have to work to figure out what the fuck position my body is folded into.

In an attempt to get away from him, I wriggle my hips. Something soft shifts beneath me. A pillow.

Goddamn. This man has me face down, bent over doggy style, pillow beneath my hips, ass in the air, as he sits on my legs and pins my hands to my lower back while he punches his fingers in and out of my pussy.

And I am pretty sure I’m naked. How the fuck did he get my clothes off without me knowing?

His fingers jostle the vibrator, causing it to rock in and out and, by extension, move over my clit.

“Daddy, please,” I beg, dragging out the e, not entirely sure if I am begging for it to stop or for him to keep going.

I’m so wet that I can actually feel it spreading around my entrance and over his hand, the backs of my thighs becoming coated with every pump of his arm.

“We’re going to use this little body all weekend. You’ll be bent over, tied up, restrained, gagged, played with, denied orgasms, fucked, and used until we are done and you can barely stay conscious. This body is ours for the weekend. You’ll walk away baring our marks, your mind filled with the memory of our cocks. We are going to ruin you.”

Definitely Hunter.

The lowly growled words inspire images of all the things I looked up, but the woman is replaced with me.

Restrained on a bed, arms and legs spread out and secured with cuffs.

Tied face-first to a cross, a flogger lashing across my back.

“Oh, fuck,” I moan, my back arching up, pelvis curling in, breasts aching as my pussy pulses around his fingers and the toy. My moan drags on and on, turning into a painful cry as pain overtakes the pleasure of my orgasm.

Suddenly, the vibrating toy and fingers are yanked from me, but before I can relax, Xavier grabs my hips and tilts my ass up until my spine aches from the angle. A hot, wet mouth attacks my entrance, lapping and sucking, tongue twisting into me aggressively, as his five o'clock shadow rubs against everything that is sensitive.

My hands snap up to the bedding by my head, twisting the fabric in my fists. I turn my face into the pillow and scream as the sensations overpower me. I have no idea if this feels good or if it hurts, but I give myself over to the sensation, because that’s what Hunter wants.

Slowly, he eases up. His sucks turn to gentle licks. My hips twitch every time that devilish tongue flicks over my clit.

The ringing in my ears dies down enough for me to hear his dark chuckle. “Are you back with me?”

I nod sluggishly. “Yeah.”

The electronic click of his phone’s camera pierces the quiet of my brain.

He makes a rumbling noise. “Hold your pussy open for me.”

With my brain completely checked out, my body follows his order, and I slowly reach around, fingers digging into the skin on either side of my pussy. Using what little energy I have, I pull until my pussy feels like it is gaping open.

I hear the click again.

“Push out.”

I tighten and push my core, moaning as that causes a core-deep ache.

Another click.

“So, fucking wet. I wonder if we can get you to squirt for us. I think you were close in the car.”

Squirt? What the fuck is that?

“Let go and lie right here. No moving.” There is a soft thud on the bed, then warm hands wrap around my wrists, helping me lower my arms to the bed.

I instantly miss his weight on my legs as he leaves. Wetness cools on the backs of my legs, and if I had the energy to feel embarrassed, I would. My mind wanders aimlessly until it thinks of the other men.

Is Derek in the room? Did he watch all of this?

What about the others? Are they silently standing around the room, staring at my abused pussy?

And why the fuck do those thoughts stoke the ashes of my core?

The sound of rushing water is distant but calming.

I don’t even notice that I am falling asleep until I’m jolted awake by a quiet voice. “Come on, princess. Your bath is ready.”

Arms wrap around me and gently turn me over before lifting me against a chest. I snuggle into Darcy, and his arms tighten around me as a feather-soft kiss is pressed to my forehead.

The cool air transitions to a floral-scented steam, and then I am being lowered. Another set of arms wraps around me as I’m placed into warm water. I’m positioned between legs and encouraged to lie back against a warm chest. Cool glass is held against my lips and a little pressure on my chin forces my mouth open, allowing cold water to rush into my mouth.

After swallowing as much as I can manage, I make a noise and the glass disappears.

“Just relax, princess. Come back to us when you’re ready.”

I do as requested and let myself float, enjoying the platonic feeling of a warm, wet washcloth roving over my skin. Time seems irrelevant, and by the time I do want to resurface, the water is cool and only my human pillow and I are in the room.

Tipping my head back, I look up into hazel eyes.

Hunter stares back at me, his expression blank, giving me zero insights into his thoughts.

The door to the bathroom opens, and my eyes dart to the man there. My mouth pops open at the transformation of Derek.

Bare chested, eyes dark, low slung jeans, with nothing on his feet, he takes up a large portion of the doorway. Seeing that I’m awake, he strides toward the bath, primal lust flowing from him.

Daddy is here.

He crouches down by the bath so that we are at eye level. The way he stares at me makes me nervous to break eye contact, and I know that things are about to change.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low and commanding. “Your pleasure is over for the weekend. It’s our turn. I’m not going to lie to you—this is going to hurt. You might even beg for it to stop. It’s not going to stop. Not until we are done. The same rules as last night apply. You say ‘red’ and it’s over. We’ll help you pack up your things, and you can leave with the cash and gifts you’ve received. But only if you use your safe word. Otherwise, for the next twenty-four hours, you can scream the words ‘no’ and ‘stop’ until your heart’s content, but neither word will have any meaning. Your pain and pleasure are ours until you leave the apartment. Do you understand?”

My heart rate increases with every succinct word that Derek utters, my attention riveted to his face. “Yes.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, displeasure flashing through his eyes.

I tense at my mistake and quickly fix it, hoping it's not too late. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl.” He stands and offers me his hand. “Let’s get you dry, and then our first scene will begin.”

I take his hand and get out of the bath, careful not to step on Hunter. Daddy wraps one of the amazingly soft pink fluffy towels around my body and proceeds to dry me. I hear the plug being removed from the tub and the splash of water as Hunter stands and gets out.

Nervousness rushes through my limbs as the towel is hung and I’m led out of the bathroom. A backward glance connects my eyes with Hunter’s as he stands there drying himself. I’m not sure if I want him to save me from whatever is waiting for me, but the look on his face tells me there is no sanctuary with him.

As we approach the bedroom door, I’m hyperaware of my nudity in comparison to Daddy’s jeans-covered lower body. They look soft and worn in a way that says he has owned them for years. My gaze trails up his back and I gasp.

The left hand side of his back is one giant black and gray tattoo.

With the bathroom light fading to the red glow that fills the doorway, I only manage to make out a naked woman tied to a cross over his shoulder blade, her back a pattern of crisscrossed lines.

I’m distracted from my ogling by the low but heavy bass. The oddness of the quiet in the bedroom, versus the sound on the other side of the doorway, is confusing to my senses.

Daddy blocks my view as we leave the quiet of the bedroom. He turns to face me with a serious look on his face, the red glow behind him enhancing the dominant vibes he is putting out.

“The scene starts now, Emery. You can use your safe words at any time. You must use your safe words the moment they are requested, or everything will stop, regardless of your response. Just like last night, green will keep everything going. Yellow will slow things down. Red will be an immediate end to whatever activity is happening. The scene and the weekend will close. This is your last reminder. Do you understand?”

I nod, nerves tumbling about in my tummy. “Yes, Daddy.”

A smile fights to spread on his lips, but he keeps it back. “Good girl. And Emery? Do not forget that your orgasm restriction starts now. No coming unless we allow it. If you get close, beg. Failure to meet this rule will result in a punishment.”

My heart is hammering in time with the flutters in my stomach. Derek steps into the main space of the apartment, and the reason for him blocking my view becomes clear. The curtains have been pulled back, and the rest of the room is on display.

I try to take it all in, my focus jumping from one thing to another.

An X-shaped, human-size cross is positioned in the center of the far wall.

A padded bed that resembles a doctor's examination table sits to the side of the cross, but it's all black, and there are leather loops hanging from the sides.

A wall full of floggers and paddles. And I mean full—there are at least twenty kinds hanging from hooks, in a rainbow of colors, lengths, and sizes. There are drawers and cabinets placed around the space to create separate areas, all made of dark wood and darker fixtures.

In the corner closest to us is a completely blank space. The only thing that tells me it's a part of the space are the two walls that are filled with lengths of colorful rope. Bars close to the ceiling secure each colored piece, allowing them to hang free to the floor, creating a wallpaper effect.

The bars are what clues me in to where the red glow is coming from. Where the wall joins the ceiling, there is a black curved cover, with red light flowing from behind it. The cover forces the light against and down the wall.

With every new discovery of the space, my stomach tightens and my pulse quickens. There are so many things that I recognize from the research I did, but even more that I don’t. And the crazy thing? The fear and uncertainty about the things that I know nothing about is driving my insides crazy with excitement and interest.

I want to know what all the things are in this room.

I want to be tied down, up, restrained, and driven insane with every one of the tools they house in this room.

I want them to own my pleasure. To make me burn the way they did last night.

And isn’t that a complete mindfuck?

Chapter 22

Derek

Emery’s eyes are wide as she scans the room, taking in her reality for the rest of the weekend. It gives her an naïve and innocent look that causes the darker elements inside of me to rise up with the urge to corrupt.

We won’t be using everything on her, not even close; there simply isn’t time. But she will get a taste from each of us.

Hopefully, it will leave her hungry for more.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Darcy’s intentions are less than subtle when it comes to Emery. It’s plain as day that he wants to keep her, like he has a crystal ball that tells him twelve months from now she’ll still be ours. That she is and will continue to be, perfect for the four of us.

I can’t disagree that she hasn’t been perfect—so far. That, however, does not mean she will be perfect going forward. There have been plenty of women who have been perfect in the moment but have then turned unsuitable. Both in our single pursuits and in our very few group attempts. I’m not going to put myself, or my friends, through another sub who has a preference for one or more, but not all, of us. The outcome of this weekend will shed more light on how she fits with us, but I am refusing to let myself be as hopeful as Darcy.

Besides, Emery is eighteen. She has a whole world of possibilities to explore. For her, this weekend is about earning cash—a lot of fucking cash—as a sugar baby. About pleasing her daddies so her bank account is lined for however long she manages to hold on to said cash.

With that sobering thought, I return my attention to the moment. Emery has seemingly forgotten that she is stark naked. I follow the line of her attention and smirk when my gaze finds what has captivated her.

While she was in the bath with Xavier, the rest of us shifted things around out here, making the spanking bench the focal point of the room. I adjusted the lighting so that everywhere else is slightly darker, naturally drawing the eye to the space. It helps that there is a dimmed overhead spotlight.

I make eye contact with Hudson and Darcy, who are both standing in the shadows, and give a swift nod. Quietly, they prowl among our much-loved and minimally used black leather and wooden furniture until they stand close to the bench.

Emery jumps as I place my hand on her lower back, the wet ends of her hair tickling the back of my hand. When she looks up at me, her eyes are wide and questioning, triggering my daddyness.

“Daddy?”

“It’s okay, baby. We are just going to play. Come and have a look.” I gently apply pressure until she takes a hesitant step forward and then another.

I look at the bench and try to see it for the first time.

It could almost be confused for a wooden picnic bench, except for the fact that the tabletop is very thin—about the thickness of a hand—and padded. The arm and knee rests are positioned parallel to the main support; however, the positions are adjustable. Something for a future play. Right now, they are set up for a traditional kneeling position.

Belt-like straps hang loosely to the ground from every support. Emery can’t see it from this angle, but there is also a headrest ready to be positioned once she is strapped in.

Stopping beside the bench, I place my other hand on top of the black leather cushion and smooth my hand over it. “Do you know what this is?”

Darcy and Hudson have joined our space, but they’re standing back toward the wall, allowing Emery and I to have a moment together as I introduce her to my world. There is something to be said for playing with friends. They know all your quirks and how you prefer for a scene to unfold.

Emery turns her wide eyes to me. “Are you going to spank me, Daddy? Have I been a bad girl?”

There is a touch of fear in those big, beautiful hazel eyes and a slight quiver to her voice. The combination sends streaks of desire straight to my balls.

Reaching out, I cup her face and smooth my thumb over her cheek. “No, baby, you’ve been a perfect girl. You’ve made me very happy so far.”

She bites her lower lip, and her brows furrow, forming a cute little V at the top of her nose. “But why…”

“This is one of the many ways I like to play,” I reply, keeping my voice low and unthreatening. With a soft but continuous pressure, I pull Emery to me, cuddling her naked body against my bare chest. I want to moan at the sensation of her warm, supple body pressed against mine, but I maintain control of myself. “How about I show you what I am going to use on you once I have you restrained and at my mercy?”

Her breath hitches on my last word, then she nods her head jerkily.

I take the opportunity to start warming her up and swat her ass hard enough to make her jump. “Words, baby girl. I need words.”

The quiver is back. “S-sorry, Daddy. Yes, please, show me what you are going to use on me once you have me restrained and at your mercy.”

My cock thickens so quickly that I’m almost lightheaded.

Shifting movement from the side of the room lets me know that she isn’t only affecting me. The question, though, is this real or is this fake?

Is this all an act to get her gift at the end of the weekend, or is this a piece of the girl that makes up Emery? Something in between, perhaps?

The only noise in the apartment is the heavy bass that keeps the room loaded with tension as I guide her toward the area we’ve dubbed the Wall of Torment. All the floggers, whips, canes, paddles, and more that a masochistic sub hates to love.

And I’m a master wielder of each and every one.

The wall is black and made up of pegboard, allowing me to place hooks wherever I find convenient. It is currently organized from longest tails to the left, shortest in the center, and then to the right are the firmer toys, like paddles and canes.

When Emery pauses, I stop directly behind her and wrap my arms around her, my forearms below her breasts.

“This is the Wall of Torment. For this scene, I’ll be using some of the more…” I search for a word that will accurately describe a thud over a sting and come up short. So, instead, I pull down a suede twenty-tails. The falls are made up of a mix of black and red, which twine up into a diamond-patterned handle.

I link my fingers with Emery’s and hold both our arms out in front of us, forearms up, and give a flick of the flogger, allowing the tails to kiss against our skin. Fire licks along my arm but settles into a dull sensation. She tenses in my arms just as the light thud registers, and gasps. Slowly, I drag the tails down off our arms before repeating the action, except this time, I whip the tails away, causing more of a sting.

Emery is quiet in my arms, her hand still trapped within mine, but she doesn’t try to take it back. She stares at her forearm, the slightest blush starting to rise on the skin.

“What is that?”

“A suede flogger.”

She looks up at the wall and then down at the tool in my hand. “It doesn’t have any knots on the end.”

“No,” I reply. “This is a…low-intensity flogger. We’ll start here and work our way up in intensity. How does that sound, baby?”

A full body shiver racks her before she answers quietly. “That sounds good, Daddy.”

I wrap our arms around her and give a squeeze. “Good girl. Now, go over to the bench. Your other daddies are going to help me today.”

Emery turns and looks around the room, her eyes widening when she sees the other three, Xavier having joined us in the last few minutes. “They’re going to watch?”

There is a crack in her voice, and I laugh quietly. “No, baby. They aren’t going to watch. They are going to help. Every scene this weekend will have more than one of us involved. We have a lot to share with you, and we want to make sure our time together is well spent.”

Tension fills her again, and I know what my words sound like. We are paying for her time and her body, but it’s tied up in the sweeter package of a sugar baby arrangement. She wouldn’t be here if there was no gift.

And as much as I want to believe this could be more, that’s all it is for this weekend.

I swat her ass gently and send her toward the others, who are standing by the bench. All of us are bare chested, in jeans, and commando. This is our usual for scenes, even when we attend Obsession. It’s a point of difference between us and the other dominants at the club.

Honestly, I don’t understand how they can feel comfortable in leather and harnesses. Too much restriction of movement.

As Emery walks away from me, her hair swishes along her lower back. That won’t do.

“Darcy, could you please help Emery with her hair?”

He nods and disappears into her room as Hudson points out where to put her knees and forearms on the bench.

“Place your knee here, and then, just like you are mounting a horse, bring your other leg to the side. We’ll adjust things from there.” He doesn’t give Emery any time to second-guess what’s happening, just tugs on her hand until she is close enough to the bench that he can cup her knee and put it where it needs to be.

Xavier watches everything from his resting place against the back of the couch, arms folded across his chest. We discussed his scene with Emery earlier today. Tomorrow, after lunch, she is going to get a taste of his skill with a blade, and we are going to find out if she likes a slice of pain with her pleasure.

Darcy is back and encourages Emery to sit on the bench, legs straddling either side and that bare cunt pressing into the black leather. She squirms, clearly feeling a little discomfort from the overuse of the tender area in the last few hours.

A lethargic darkness starts to claw itself from my chest and out to my extremities as I fast forward to an hour from now, when the rest of her body will feel just as tender.

As Darcy secures her hair, Hudson gets to work adjusting one of the leg braces. I move to the other leg and bring up the brace until it takes Emery’s weight. She looks down at me as I grip her calf, and her throat bobs as I reach for the leather strap to secure her leg in place.

I cinch it tightly enough that she can move her feet, but her leg isn’t going to slip free, then stand. Darcy drops her braided hair onto her back as Hudson stands, having completed the leg on his side.

Gripping Emery’s chin, I turn her to face me. “Color?”

Her lashes flutter, and she strains her legs in an effort to move, but when she makes eye contact with me again, I can see that she is sure of her answer, thank fuck. “Green.”

“You will use your safe words, do you understand me? Do not play a hero and push through. That goes for the entire weekend. Safe words are there to keep both you and us safe. Use them.”

Emery attempts to nod, but I haven’t removed my grip from her chin. “Yes, Daddy. I promise to use my safe words.”

“Good girl. This isn’t the last time we will ask you for your color, however the check-ins will be less frequent, so as not to ruin the flow of the scene. The only reason we will do that is because we think you are hiding something from us. Hide from us, and the weekend is over. Done. We will pack your shit, and you will be out of here faster than you arrived. Do you understand?” I tighten my grip on her chin for a moment to make sure she is paying attention to me.

She blinks a few times, pupils increasing in size. “Yes, Daddy.”

Ah, she likes the sound of consequences. Something to experiment with next time.

No. Not next time. This is the only time.

“The scene begins now.”

I let go of her chin to grab her shoulders and force her flat onto her stomach. She makes a muffled noise, but I hold her down, anticipating her squirming. Darcy makes quick work of the lower and upper back belts, the straps indenting her skin the smallest amount as her squirming reduces. Hudson secures both arms, neither brace requiring a height adjustment, and then we all step back.

She’s gorgeous, restrained and with a slight tremble in her thighs.

Grabbing my suede flogger, I stride over to Emery’s head and crouch down in front of her, draping the tails over one of my thighs. Her head is positioned just high enough on the bench that it’s hanging off the edge without support. I reach behind her and grab the base of her braid and pull until she is looking at me.

Her mouth is open from the strain, and she groans. Now her pupils really are blown wide, almost completely eclipsing the hazel irises. Because I have apparently lost the grip on my self-control, I lean in and help myself to her mouth. The angle is too odd for her, allowing me to take and explore as I wish.

When I’m done, I release her hair and lower her head. She doesn’t even try to support herself.

The others have all taken up positions around the space, waiting for their cues to join. Normally, we aren’t this orchestrated. It's more of a free-for-all, the four of us moving in sync with each other. But with the limited time that we have, we’ve each planned our perfect scenes.

My scene is to light up Emery’s skin a beautiful cherry red, leave her covered in my marks, while my friends enjoy her body.

I step up to Emery’s side and swish my arm from side to side, getting a feel for the flogger and increasing the tension that surrounds my little sub.

It’s finally time to see if Emery loves the bite of my toys as much as I love seeing their marks.

With that final thought, I bring the red and black flogger down, lashing the tails over her skin in a barely there kiss. She gasps, and the sound fuels the darkness inside me and I raise my arm again.

And again.

And again.

Chapter 23

Emery

The first hit of the flogger is similar to the first demonstration Daddy gave me. A thud with barely any weight and a light enough sting that I know it happened. He sets a rhythm, and the impacts become consistent, the skin on my back getting hot.

It doesn’t hurt, exactly. At least, not yet. I have an inkling he is going easy on me right now.

My brain is a little confused about how to feel.

It really likes that I’m tied down, restrained, bound. At their mercy. Which is something that I never fucking thought would be a hot button for me. But then, those lashes will curl around to my ribs and the little bit of zing they leave behind makes me flinch away from the pain.

The two different sensations are pulling at my mind, and I don’t know which way I will fall.

Without warning, fire shoots across my ass cheeks. The rhythm hasn’t changed, but now Daddy is focusing on my ass and thighs and, holy shit, that stings.

I squirm and flinch with every fiery bite of the thin suede strips.

Low intensity, my ass.

He changes up his location again, concentrating on the cheek farthest from him. I grit my teeth and count in my head, figuring that, if he is going after the one side, he’ll probably do the other.

By the time I’m at five, my ass cheek is burning, and I’m sure it’s red. Am I bleeding? Has he raised blood?

There is a slight pause, and I brace, knowing the flogger is going to come down on the other side.

I gasp, my neck arching up as the flogger comes down exactly where I expect it. Except, the very ends of the strands also hit my exposed pussy and asshole, the nerves in that area screaming in shock.

I hear several low chuckles over the music, and Daddy continues on like he isn’t fucking whipping my pussy.

After the five lashes on this side, the pain stops. I suck in breaths and try to relax, only just noticing now that I’ve had my hands curled into fists and my nails have been digging into my palms. Forcing each joint to straighten out causes an ache in my fingers.

My skin is on fire, burning like I’ve grazed the full length of my back, ass, and thighs against concrete.

Just as I start to relax, there is a loud clap, and my body jolts before pain explodes from my ass cheek as a palm spanks the skin. It startles a little scream out of me, and I scrunch my eyes shut as fingers squeeze and knead the heated flesh.

I try to get away, but I’m restrained too well. “Ow, Daddy, that hurts.”

“I know, baby. But I wanted to see my handprint on your ass.” He removes his hand. “And look at that. Nice and pink. Look, Hudson, you can see all five fingers.”

A cool finger traces around the imprint, both soothing and painful at the same time. It starts on the outside of my ass, slowly working its way toward the center, so very close to my pussy. Without thinking, I clench, not ready for one of them to cause any more pain there.

“Aw, look, kitten is trying to close her pussy.”

“No, I—” My words are cut off as someone spanks my pussy.

Spanks. My. Pussy.

“Ow, fuck!” I yell as they do it again. And again. “Ow! Oh, oh…”

The third spank ends with a finger rolling over my clit. My stupid pussy gives a desperate pulse, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from moaning.

The pleasure is replaced with another spank, and my brain misfires as, again, the spank turns into pleasure. The skin and lips of my pussy feel hot and puffy from the overuse they experienced earlier today. That, combined with the spanking, has the dumb thing feeling very, very confused.

How does this feel good?

I’m panting when the hand disappears, one cheek burning more than the other. Blue and black strands of…suede, maybe, dangle in front of my face.

Wasn’t the flogger red and black?

And are those strands thinner? It also looks like there are less of them.

No one says anything as I stare, then the flogger disappears from view.

I hold my breath, waiting for the fire to return. But it doesn’t. Is it over?

Have they decided to stop?

I let the air out and shout in surprise as that steady rhythm starts up once again. This stings more, with less thud. I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut as he works the toy up and down my back, leaving no sliver of skin untouched.

All pleasure has left my body, and I’m floating on a sea of red-hot fire.

I almost sigh a breath of relief as Daddy starts to focus on my ass cheeks, but somehow, it’s more painful on the softer flesh.

“Daddy,” I sob, eyes burning. “Daddy, it hurts. Please stop.”

Daddy ignores me and continues to rain down fire on the backs of my legs. When he keeps the same routine as last time, moving to concentrate on one cheek, I let the sobs free, knowing what is coming.

Five on one side, then…

“Oh,” I moan, the sound hiccupping over the sobs that try to fight through. Just like last time, the ends flick against my pussy, and while I feel the sting, there is also a zing of something good. Something that seems like, maybe, I might like it?

After the five on the second side, the flogger disappears, and I stiffen, waiting for the spank, but it doesn’t come.

My entire body moves with every inhale and exhale, and a sweat has broken out on my neck and forehead. The fire in my back is a low hum, and my eyelids feel heavy.

The bench creaks, and someone shifts behind me, then grips my ass cheeks too tightly. I cry out, but again, they fuck with my head, turning my pained sound into one of pleasure.

“Oh, god,” I moan as a tongue disappears into the entrance of my pussy. It licks in and in and in, never stopping, searching for something.

I feel the fucking moan as my wetness mingles with their saliva.

“There it is, kitten. Give it to me.”

I have no idea what Hudson wants, so I try to just push my pussy against his face, and the sound of approval I get does things to me. My insides feel like outsides, and my brain wants to wave a white flag.

How can I have so much heat and pain hammering at my system, yet feel pleasure because a tongue is buried inside of me?

Cool air ghosts my overheated pussy as Hudson pulls away.

“No,” I moan and am rewarded with a spank to my pussy. I jump and almost cry out, but where I think I should be registering pain, I don’t. Instead, there is heat and sparks of pleasure.

I moan again and thrust my pussy out for more. Another round of chuckles, these a little darker.

“There she is. I think we might have a pain slut on our hands.”

I have no idea who said it, because I’m distracted by a hand in my hair, yanking my head to look up. My neck screams at the angle, and I groan.

“Open your eyes, baby.”

It takes more effort than it should, but I get them open. Everything is a little hazy, but I can make out Daddy.

“Daddy,” I say, but it sounds slurred and kind of fair away.

“Hi, baby.” He smiles down at me, but it’s not a kind smile. It’s a little feral, ragged at the edges, like he is coming undone. Kind of like he wants to eat me alive. “You starting to feel a bit floaty?”

Floaty? Is that what this haziness is?

I try to nod, eyelids drooping shut again. “Yeah. Tired.”

“Need help holding up your head?”

“Yes, please,” I reply, my lips not really feeling connected to my body.

There is a bump and a click before the sound of something being tightened. The entire time, Daddy keeps my head pulled back tightly. Once the noises stop, fingers grip either side of my head and my chin is lowered onto something padded. The padding extends up either side of my face, and when the grip on my hair is released, my face is left smooshed into the cushioned prop. I don’t feel like my face is pointing straight out, but I’m not far off, tilted down to the ground just enough.

“Open your eyes for me one more time, baby.”

I pry my eyes open, the heat starting to turn from the floaty pleasure back to pain.

In front of my face are green and black strands.

I immediately close my eyes, not really caring. I can only assume they are going to up the intensity.

The sound of a zipper being released happens very close to my face, so close that I feel the back of the hand against my lips.

“No teeth, princess.”

Angel.

A thick, blunt head is pressed against my lips, and I open my mouth at the implied order, my chin pressing into the cushion.

Angel doesn’t hold back, just slides right to the back of my throat. I gag, my body trying to bow up against the intrusion, but the first swish of the new flogger synchronizes with his thrust like they choreographed the move. A thousand flecks of pain race up my ribs and across my spine.

Angel removes his dick from my mouth, and I cough and splutter, saliva dripping from my lips as I cry out against the second impact of Daddy’s new toy.

That same damn fucking rhythm starts up again, and he makes sure to move up and down my back, never letting me know where the next hit will be.

When Angel re-enters my mouth, it's only slightly less savage. He grips the back of my head and thrusts in short, sharp motions, nudging the back of my throat, but not pushing down into it.

This flogger hurts.

I don’t know if I can keep going. My brain is not confused right now. This is pain. Almost too much.

A tear burns past my closed eyelids and trickles down my cheek.

I don’t know if I can do this.

I’m going to disappoint them.

Chapter 24

Darcy

At the sight of the tear rolling down Emmy’s cheek, I give Hudson a nod. He immediately resumes his position from earlier, gripping Emmy’s ass and tilting her up to his face.

I pause with my cock resting on her lips, because as much as I want Emmy to experience pleasure right now, I don’t need her biting off my cock. Emmy jolts as Hudson’s mouth makes contact, and then she moans as she attempts to thrust backward, the curve of her ass raising infinitesimally.

The swish of Derek’s flogger is almost hypnotic at this point, and if I was Hudson, I’d be a little worried about how close the strands are getting to my face. But Derek is a master of his toys and not once do I see Hudson flinch from a stray strand.

There is a furrow on Emmy’s brows, like she is working on a puzzle that has her stumped. Arguing with herself, perhaps? Does this feel good or bad? Do I need it to stop, or do I want that little bit more?

My cock still rests just inside of her lips, and her warm breath rushes over the crown with every moan and groan. The small O of her lips widens as I press forward at a leisurely pace, pushing until I’ve made it past the tight constriction of the back of her throat and her nose is buried into me.

I hold the back of her head and drop my own backward as her throat spasms and her tongue goes crazy on the underside of my cock. Fuck, that’s amazing. Pulling back just enough to let her get a breath, I relish the feel of her choking and gagging as air rushes in and out of her mouth.

Not too concerned about whether she is ready for it, I roll my hips forward and enter the back of her throat again. This girl is fucking amazing. I thought so last night as I watched her have her face fucked, never once protesting as we all became intimately acquainted with the back of her throat.

And the fact that she’d been soaking wet from the way we’d used her.

Opening my eyes, I slide back out of Emmy’s throat and, this time, really let her get some air. My cock is throbbing and my balls are tight, which is to be expected with how fucking tortured they got at the restaurant and in the car.

Emmy makes the most delicious sounds as she sucks in breath after breath, more than a little bit of saliva coating my cock as I leave an inch in her mouth. I give a tug on her hair to get her attention. “Suck.”

Even though she is still trying to get control of herself, she closes her lips tightly around my crown and starts sucking. The vacuumed pressure threatens to suction the cum straight out of my balls. Tingles race down my spine, my balls tighten, and it’s an effort to fight my urge to come.

Fucking. Exquisite.

I run my fingers down the back of her head, over and over, murmuring praise as I watch Derek signal to Hudson to move out of the way. “Good girl, princess. Suck Daddy’s cock. You make me feel so good.”

As with the last two rounds of the flogger, Derek doesn’t change his stroke pattern as he moves from her back to her ass and thighs. She clearly knows what’s coming, especially since Hudson’s mouth leaves her.

Her back is red, with raised lines starting to form. No broken skin, no blood. Just red, heated flesh. I’m looking forward to seeing all of that flesh decorated with my ropes, bound and at my mercy. On display, like one of my finished paintings.

As the flogger makes contact with her ass and thighs, Emmy jerks around my cock. Glancing down, I see blissed-out eyes staring back at me. Her pupils are blown out, and I’m not even sure she sees me staring back at her right now.

Emmy’s sucking gentles as Derek’s flogger starts hitting her pussy. Just like when Hudson had his mouth on her, Emmy raises her ass up to meet the blows. She moans with each strike, and I’m reminded of my earlier words.

Pain slut.

I look over at the couch and see that Xavier hasn’t moved a muscle. His jaw is clenched and his shoulders are tense as he watches everything we are doing to this sub, everything that indicates she is likely to enjoy his brand of domination.

Restrained.

Helpless.

Pain.

A touch of fear.

Time will tell.

When Derek stops with that flogger, a despondent groan surrounds my cock.

“I think our baby girl wants more,” I say to no one in particular, but Derek responds.

“She’s going to get more.”

This time, he pulls down a purple and black flogger; each of its strands has a small knot at the end. Ah, the crescendo. Derek nods to Hudson, who steps up behind Emmy, pants undone and cock out.

With her strapped down in front of us, we are going to fill her from both ends while Derek torments her. Hudson is going to come in that pussy, then Xavier. I’m going to unload down her throat. Then, when we are all done, Derek will have his turn.

Emmy makes a noise of protest as Hudson fills her in one swift motion. She wiggles and cries, trying to get away from his thighs pressing against hers.

“She is soaking wet. Almost dripping,” Hudson comments as he digs his fingers into her ass cheeks as he pulls out and pumps back into her.

Emmy’s sobs are back, so I shush her by filling her mouth. Not all the way, just enough to stop the noise. I glance down at her hands and grin when I see they are relaxed, almost floppy.

Our girl is enjoying this.

I pull all the way out as Derek’s arm comes down, because I know I’m not the only one who wants to hear Emmy cry out. Hudson times his thrust so that his thighs smack into the back of hers just as the knotted strands light fire on her skin.

Her pain is gorgeous.

Red faced, neck corded as she strains and tries to pull away. Tears appearing once again. A keening cry that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

But her eyes—they tell a different story.

Our girl is floating.

On one of her moans, I thrust my cock back into her mouth and chase my own orgasm. Hudson does the same, and honestly, neither of us is going to last long. We’ve been blue balling it all day, and I’m having to grit my teeth to hold off so it’s not over too quickly.

After only a few more thrusts, my balls constrict, and I know it’s over for me—sorry Derek. I grip Emmy’s head and bury myself just like at the start, rocking into her face, her throat squeezing me absolutely fucking perfectly, and then I unleash with a groan.

I pull out as I come, leaving a trail of cum on her tongue. Lazily, I continue to thrust shallowly, drawing out my orgasm.

Hudson follows shortly after, unloading in that little pussy. Xavier finally joins us, cock out and ready as he stalks in our direction. He stuffs his cock into Emmy before any of Hudson’s cum can leak out of her.

She continues to suck on my cock, keeping it from going completely soft and making my balls tingle as the sensation threatens to turn to over-sensitive. Her moan vibrates around the head as Xavier drives in and Derek keeps swinging his arm. Xavier grips her waist, not caring if Derek hits his hands. He fucks into her like a man on a mission, forcing rolling moans and groans out of Emmy as she tries to take it all.

Not that she is really struggling. She’s loose and limp, allowing us to take her however we want. And by the sounds of the wet clap of skin on skin, she is just as turned on as we are.

Xavier comes with a grunt, my cue to take Derek’s place. I quickly scoop up the first flogger—the red and black one—and take my place next to Derek. Emmy is all but comatose as Xavier thrusts into her a few more times and Derek slows his swings.

Derek discards his flogger and takes his place behind Emmy. He doesn’t waste any time and uses Emmy’s poor, abused pussy like his own personal sex toy. I start up with the flogger, starting firmer and slowly working my way down, the closer and closer Derek gets to his orgasm.

When he finally comes, Emmy is a hot, sweaty mess, her skin a stunning patchwork of pink and red. I lower my arm and step back. Still inside of her, Derek smooths his hand over her ass cheeks. It probably feels both amazing and painful for Emmy, if she is even registering anything anymore. But I know Derek is checking that her skin isn’t too abused for his final swing of a toy.

Apparently satisfied with what he is seeing, he pulls out and walks to the right-hand side of the Wall of Torment and takes down an embossed paddle from the wall.

During our original texts, Emmy had asked what a bad girl would get, and we’d sent her a picture of our brat paddle. She’d never asked about what a good girl would get.

And she has definitely been a good girl.

Chapter 25

Emery

I tap the screen of my phone, waking it up so that I can see the picture that Xavier took of me two hours ago. Right there, on my screen, is my very red ass with the words “Good Girl” raised up from the rest of the skin, as cum leaks out of my pussy.

The image does something to my insides, making me all squiggly and a little uncomfortable, to be honest.

Good girl.

I don’t really remember the paddle or the blow that gave me this mark, but I know I want it again. As many times as they will give it to me. Daddy assured me it was temporary when I saw it in the bathroom mirror. His words having the opposite effect on me. I think he mistook my shock for worry, and I couldn’t find the words to correct him.

Temporary is not something I want, anymore. But that is what I have signed up for, and putting myself out there and asking for more is not something that I do.

I’d come back to my body on the floor of the shower, lukewarm water flowing over my back as I straddled Daddy's lap. The fire under my skin had dulled some, going from a wild, untamed forest fire to a smoldering campfire. My entire back hummed under the fall of the water, and the wiry hairs on Daddy's legs hadn’t felt amazing against the backs of my abused thighs and ass.

But I’d refused to move. Not for anything in the world.

Even with the discomfort, I had felt safe in his arms. Like the world could go to absolute shit, and he would protect me. Care for me. My Daddy.

Even as I rethink the words now, nearly an hour later, it’s an effort not to snort at myself. This shit isn’t real. It has an expiration date. An expiration time. I’m not sure of the exact minute, but I’m fairly confident the countdown is past the twenty-four-hour mark now.

Daddy is now with Hudson in the kitchen, cooking something that smells amazing, while Darcy and I are lying on some giant-ass pillows on the floor between the TV and the couch. He is wearing jeans and no shirt, while I am buck-ass naked, my back, ass, and thighs with some sort of cooling gel on them. Being so exposed while the rest of them have clothes on is giving me an odd sort of thrill I don’t care to examine too closely.

Well, I have to assume they are all dressed. I have no idea where Xavier is; he was gone when Daddy and I emerged from the bedroom and has yet to return.

I’m not sure if I’m allowed to ask where he is.

I’m not sure if I’m allowed to ask questions, period.

Like, is this one of those don’t ask because we aren’t going to tell type of situations? Has Xavier disappeared to his real life? Do they have wives and kids waiting for them when they return from their dirty weekend away? Am I merely a distraction from their mundane lives?

Fuck. I wish I could reverse vibrator interrogate them.

I clench my teeth. It doesn’t fucking matter. It’s over tomorrow. This is all a means to an end. They get their kinky rocks off, I—apparently—enjoy it, then I get my cash and leave.

Why the fuck do I have to keep reminding myself of that?

They are not going to keep me. I need to stop thinking they will.

“Hey, princess, where’d you go?” Darcy asks quietly as he shades a section of his drawing.

After the movie playing on the TV didn’t hold my attention for very long, Darcy helped me to reposition myself so that I could draw with the new art supplies he’d purchased for me.

I still feel guilty about that, even though they technically are a reward. I was fine with the cheaper stuff. Whenever there have been art supplies available for me to use, it’s usually the shit stuff from a dollar store. So, even the cheaper graphite and paper from an actual art supply store are worlds above what I normally use.

It’s why I quickly learned how to use lead pencils. Everyone always has basic lead pencils. Plus, they are easy to take home from school. I may have been short on everything else in my life, but never paper or lead pencils. Even if the quality was crap.

When the scratching of pencil on paper stops, I glance up, and my gaze collides with Darcy’s worried one. “Are you dropping, princess?”

“Dropping?” I ask, and I have to fight to keep my voice even.

“Sub-drop. Spiraling down, feeling sad, feeling angry, any negative thoughts or feelings,” he replies, keeping his voice quiet and just between us. “It can happen after a scene. It happened last night, do you remember? After everything and you were dressed, we were trying to talk to you about extending the contract and you dropped.”

I bite my lip, because, yeah, I remember spiraling last night. But last night was different, wasn’t it? It was my first time doing the things we did, the way we did them. I should be better at it today, right?

I shrug a shoulder and return to my drawing. “I don’t think so. Just thinking about things.”

“Care to share?” His pencil restarts its scratching against the paper.

I dart a look at him, but with his face tilted down at his sketchbook, all I see is the crown of his head and the top of his messy man-bun. While I desperately want to ask about Xavier, I stuff that question all the way down in the back of my throat. So far back that not even their cocks can reach it.

“I would have been fine with the cheaper pencils, you know. I’m used to drawing with the number two pencils from school.” I glance at the metal tray, with its fancy lid holding my brand-new set of graphite pencils. The only time I have ever gotten close to a set like this was during my lunch period when I would go hang out in my art class with Mrs. Mitchum in high school.

We’d sit and draw together while we ate. She taught me how to use drawing pencils and charcoal sticks and how to use natural charcoal to create white spaces and highlights.

I haven’t seen Mrs. Mitchum in weeks. Not since graduation.

She is the only person from my old life that I miss. And as much as I want to go and see her, I can’t risk going back there. She’d told me so the last time we said goodbye. She’d helped me to come up with my exit strategy.

Leave, and don’t come back. Chase your dream, Emery. Chase it hard and chase it fearlessly. You are meant for better things than this life. Don’t let Tray drag you down with him.

Fuck, I miss her.

My throat burns with the tears that I’m holding back.

Damn, maybe I am dropping.

I sniff and give in to the urge that suddenly surges over me and I realize has been gently pushing at my mind for a while now. “Daddy?”

Darcy’s head pops up, and I know he can hear my sadness because the look on his face is a mix of worry and concern. “What do you need, princess?”

“Can I have a cuddle, please?”

He doesn’t even question me, simply stands and hoists me into his arms. I cling to him like a koala, wrapping my arms and legs around his body. His hands on my ass cheeks reignite the dull ache in my skin, but I don’t care. I squeeze him tighter.

“Going to sit on the couch. Let me know if it hurts too much, and I’ll find a better way.” He takes a step back and lowers until I’m straddling him the same way I was straddling Daddy in the shower.

Darcy shifts until he is comfortable, and I bury myself in his embrace. As expected, everywhere that my skin touches itself or touches Darcy feels achy and hot. But it isn’t enough to make me want to move.

“Are you cold?”

I shake my head. “No, Daddy.”

“What’s going on, baby? Everything okay?” Daddy's voice is right by my ear, low and quiet. I didn’t even hear him approach. Fingers slide over my head and around the back of my ear.

“Feeling droppy,” I reply, pressing my burning eyelids into Darcy’s neck.

“Is Daddy Darcy’s cuddle enough, or do you need something else?”

An image of what I need flares in my mind, and the rawness of the image makes my heart lurch and my cheeks burn. I squirm on Darcy’s lap and refuse to answer.

“Baby, we can’t help if you don’t tell us. Darcy won’t mind if you need something different.”

“It’s…embarrassing,” I mumble. Then tack on… “And kind of dirty. I can’t.”

Darcy’s chuckle makes my body tremble with the movement. “She’s embarrassed. If I’m correct, it’s not something PG.”

If my cheeks weren’t already set to a burning temperature, they would be now.

Fingers weave into the hair at the back of my neck and grip, then gently pull until my head is angled back enough that I can see Daddy , his eyes only inches from mine as he crouches down behind the couch. “Tell me, baby. I’ll give you just about anything you want right now. You were the perfect girl for me today.”

Something nervous and thrilling tickles at my stomach, and I look at him earnestly. “It’s a secret.”

He smiles. “I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

I scrutinize him for a minute. He draws a cross over his chest with his free hand, and I make my decision.

Releasing Darcy, I hold my hands up to Daddy , and he takes my wordless request and complies, pulling me up and over the back of the couch until I am wrapped around him like before.

“What’s the secret?” he whispers as he slowly carries me back around to the couch and takes a seat far enough away from Darcy that it feels like we have privacy.

“I want a cuddle, but I also want…” I trail off, unsure if I can get the last few words out.

Daddy gives my butt a squeeze, his fingers coming super close to touching each other over my pussy, making me even more squirmy. I push down onto his hands, hoping he’ll understand this wordless request the way he did the last one.

“You also want?”

Damn, no such luck.

A finger drags along my entrance, and I suck in a breath.

“Do you need your pussy filled, baby? Is that what’s wrong? Feeling a little empty?”

Holy fuck, why is that so hot?

A low thrum starts in my core, and my tits feel hot and heavy. I nod, my cheek rubbing against his shoulder. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Do you want my fingers or my cock, baby?” I squirm over his lap and he chuckles. “Cock, it is.”

I sigh with relief. Yes. And I didn’t have to ask.

“Rise up a little for me and I’ll undo my pants. Then you can wrap your little fingers around me, get me hard, and put my cock inside of you. No coming, though. You’re still on restriction.” His voice is low and rumbly, but there is the smallest amount of steel in it.

I pout, even though he can’t see it. He is willing to give me what I need, but not an inch more.

Daddy's hands leave my ass and slip between us, making quick work of the button and zipper. He tugs until his pants are down far enough that his already semi-hard cock is exposed.

His hands return to my ass, and I slip my hands between us, stroking and tugging until he is hard.

The entire time, he murmurs words of encouragement. “That’s it, baby, get me hard so you can have what you need. Those pretty little fingers feel so good wrapped around me.”

When I feel like he is as hard as I can get him, I lift onto my knees, readjust until the head of his dick is at the opening to my pussy, and sink down, merging us together.

I snuggle all the way in, until our thighs press together and his zipper is biting into the back of one, his heartbeat is loud beneath my ear, and I am stuffed as full of him as I can be.

The sad little voice in the back of my head finally quietens as Daddy cups my ass and gently rocks me, soothing me until the apartment fades away.

Chapter 26

Hudson

Emmy seeking comfort from Derek before dinner broke open the lock that’s been restraining my hope that this might turn into something more. It’s always been dangerous to hope. What we are asking for is no small thing.

The urge to inflict pleasure and torment helpless subs, to use them for my own needs, isn’t something that is easily accepted by most. Too many times to count, a sub has used their safe word to end a scene when it was just getting good for me.

Listening to them beg for it to stop, screaming and crying when the pleasure turns to pain and then pleasure again. All while I treat them like my object, milking them for every orgasm, as I degrade and humiliate them with my words. Objectify them for everyone in the room to see and hear.

That is what I crave.

It’s also when most subs stop.

But not Emmy.

She loves every second of it, spreading those sweet thighs wider and giving me even more access, all while tears and words of need flow from her lips.

Fucking delicious.

I glance over to where she is lying on a giant red pillow in front of the TV, scrolling on her new phone as I lean back against the kitchen island. Before dinner, I selected the schoolgirl-style outfit she’d teased us with in the store today and laid it out on the bed. We sent her to get dressed before she was allowed to eat.

My teeth almost cracked when she returned, having tied the shirt below her breasts and put her hair up in two high pigtails, little white ribbons wrapped around each. The skirt barely covered her ass, which I knew was bare beneath, if she only put on the outfit I’d left for her.

My friends were all just as affected as me.

Little did Emmy know, but the scene started the moment we sat down to dinner. Placing her plate in front of her, I then reached down and checked that she was pantyless.

Her gasp as two of my fingers slipped straight into her pussy was all the confirmation I needed, but that didn’t stop me from playing with her for a few minutes. When Emmy started to moan and rock her hips against my hand, I removed my fingers.

Dinner was a regular affair from there, with Emmy being excused to play with her phone. Darcy produced the red pillow for her, which Emmy seemed to delight in. Watching my friend fall for this girl is making it easier for me to see this stretching out past the weekend.

But we aren’t there yet.

Derek and Darcy are already sitting on the couch, baseball once again on the screen. Fuck, I can’t wait for hockey season to start up.

Movement at the far end of the apartment catches my attention. Xavier slips from the bedroom, hair wet from what I assume was a shower, and back in his low-slung jeans, like the rest of us. He disappeared earlier today to god knows where and returned in workout clothes, sweaty, and with a medium sized gift bag that he hid from Emmy.

Xavier notices my attention, and I give him a chin nod. He tips his head in acknowledgement and heads over to the couch. I collect the items I set aside earlier from the drawers that contain a vast majority of my toys, then make my way to where everyone is waiting.

Emmy is so involved in her phone that she doesn’t notice my approach. I drop my toy and the lube on the couch and take the wedge-shaped pillow with me. Walking around to crouch in front of her, I let the daddy in me fall away.

“Kitten.”

She glances up at me with a smile on her face. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Where are your drawing supplies?”

Her smile drops as she picks up on the shift in me, and her eyes dart to the stack of things on the shelving next to the TV.

“Go get them for me.”

Fear flickers through her eyes, and I remember her questions about them being taken away. Instead of assuaging her fear, I let it simmer inside of her. I want her unsure. I want her nervous and worried, fearful of what’s to come. It takes several seconds of me staring at her with zero emotion on my face for her lip to tremble.

“Now.”

She bites her lip, puts her phone down, then gets up to collect her things. I stand for her, still holding the pillow as I wait. Upon return, she presents them to me.

I don’t move to take them, allowing her to feel awkward. As she starts to shift on her feet, I step back and readjust her red pillow until I have it angled just right. Then I place the wedge pillow right on the edge aimed at the couch, making the whole shape look like an S.

I gesture to the makeshift sex bed. “Lie down on your stomach. Feet here, head there.”

Still holding her drawing supplies in front of her, Emmy steps between me and the pillow and stops when her back is to everyone on the couch. She glances between me and the things in her hands, but when I make no motion to take them from her, she sucks in a breath and slowly lowers herself until her knees hit the rug.

As she leans forward, the wedge pillow supports her thighs and forces her to tilt from the pelvis, leaving her ass exposed in the air. The process is messy and probably a little embarrassing as she has to wiggle around to get into place flat on her stomach. With her ass higher than her shoulders and that short-as-fuck skirt on, she is now completely exposed to my friends.

Exactly how I want her.

I reach down and scoop up her phone, pocketing it, my jeans already tight. Her eyes track the movement, and the fearful glimmer has returned to her eyes as she glances up at me. I raise an eyebrow back, willing her to make a comment.

But like the good girl that she is, she bites her lip, keeps her mouth shut, and turns to her art supplies, opening up the pencil tin and turning to a new page in her sketchbook.

Fucking perfect. But I wouldn’t mind a little brat too.

I drop into the space next to Xavier, who is staring so hard at Emmy’s ass that it’s a wonder she doesn’t feel it like a physical touch. Grabbing the remote, I find the movie I previously selected—a bank robbery gone wrong in New York, which is sure to have an epic soundtrack and gunfire.

Before the opening credits roll on the screen, I call out to Emmy. “Kitten.”

She glances over her shoulder at me, worry pinching her features.

“I want you to draw each of my friends a picture to take home with them by the time the movie is over.”

Her eyebrows pull together in confusion. “To take home?”

“Yes.”

Her gaze flickers to my friends for a moment, curiosity sparking in her eyes. Those hazel orbs clearly have questions and even more worry in them, but she doesn’t voice any of it. “Yes, Daddy.”

Emmy turns back to her sketchpad and immediately starts her task. I raise the remote and press play, effectively forgetting that she is a living, breathing girl.

Chapter 27

Hudson

“So, what do you think of my new toy?”

“It looks tight, have you used it yet? Might need some stretching,” Darcy replies.

I nod. “Yeah, my first try. It was a bit too tight, to be honest, but once it’s warmed up, it's the perfect fit.”

“Just the pussy? Haven’t tried the ass?”

The toy shifts on the pillow.

“No, I’m keeping the ass off-limits. Don’t want to wreck it. If you want to have a play, you can come over the hole, but don’t insert anything into it.” I eye the toy as I respond to Darcy, wondering when it will settle down. As I have the thought, it relaxes, and the thighs spread wider the tiniest amount.

“Can you warm it up for us? I wouldn’t want to tear it,” Derek requests as he undoes his jeans and gives his cock some room to breathe. Fucker must be in serious pain by now. Neither he nor Emmy came while she was sitting on top of him, even though I saw her rocking, presumably to keep him hard and inside of her.

In response, I pick up the lube and the long, thin, pink vibrator and scoot forward on the couch until I can reach my toy. I flip the skirt all the way over, so it’s not in the way, hold the lube directly over the pussy hole, and squirt a generous amount right on the entrance.

I haven’t bothered warming it up and the toy reacts by making a squealing noise, the sensors in the area apparently not liking the cold. I drop the lube next to the pillow, in case someone else needs it, then rub the vibrator through the lube lengthways until it’s completely coated.

Then I slip the entire thing into the toy in one smooth motion. The toy gasps, and its back arches downward as it becomes accustomed to the thickness impaling it. Just like a real woman. Before it can settle again, I press the button on the side and start up a low, consistent vibration.

“Oh, shit,” the toy says quietly but doesn’t move.

Swiftly, I spank the ass cheek. “Fuck toys don’t make noise. They can alert a user that they are about to come by begging to be fucked harder or thanking them for their cock. Or they can notify of an upcoming system malfunction by saying red.”

The head on my toy drops down and goes silent, allowing me to prep the pussy for my friends.

I jostle the vibrator around, pull it out and put it back in. Slip my finger in around the edges and then flick over the clit, inspecting my toy and making sure everything is in working order. “I’ll leave this in for a few minutes, and once the toy starts to create its own lubricant, it’s warmed up.”

I lean back on the couch and turn the volume up on the movie, until we can’t hear the vibrator anymore. None of us becomes fully immersed in the movie, not with the toy fidgeting and the pelvis starting to twitch as it warms up.

Once the opening scene of the movie has finished and there is a lull in action, I lean forward again and check the toy. The vibrator slips out easily, and I plunge it back in, testing for resistance, but there is none. It glides in and out smoothly.

“The toy is ready,” I say to no one in particular as I leave the vibrator in and get comfy on the couch again, ready to settle into both the movie and the scene.

“Me,” says Xavier quietly, and I’m not at all surprised he wants to go first. Having been away for the afternoon would have been hard for him.

He doesn’t waste a single second, undoing his pants as he stands, cock already hard as he kneels behind my toy.

“Remember, no fucking the ass. I don’t want to ruin it. Would hate to have to buy a new one so soon after getting this one.” I glance toward Darcy, warning him off directly. “Especially you.”

There is a hoarse male groan from Xavier’s direction as Darcy’s eyebrows shoot up. “I heard you the first time.”

“Just making sure.”

Xavier has started up a steady pace, with both hands clutching the globes of the ass cheeks, fingers digging in to gain leverage. The vibrator is glistening wet where it rests on the open space of the wedge pillow next to the toy, indicating the toy was well and truly warmed up before he started using it. When the action on the screen builds again, he slows down, his thrusts turning lazy as he redirects his attention to the movie.

Randomly, he thrusts viciously into the toy, making it jolt, but mostly, he is watching the movie. I go back to concentrating on the screen, heat and need bubbling under my skin. There is no need to supervise the use of my toy. My friends won’t break it.

The sound of gunfire quietens as the robbers contain the bank, quickly replaced by the sounds of the hostages sobbing quietly. Xavier picks up speed again. His skin claps against the fuck toy, and I enjoy the harsh sound.

“F-fuck me harder.”

I glance at the toy. “That was quick, must be your piercing. Don’t let it come too soon, otherwise it’ll need to go into cool-down mode and get tight again.”

Xavier grunts in acknowledgement and slows down. He pulls almost all the way out, just leaving the top inch inside the toy, and ruts back and forth, allowing his piercing to rub at the entrance.

My pants have become uncomfortably fucking tight, and with a sideways look at Darcy and Derek, I can see that Darcy has joined Derek in the jeans-undone-and-cock-out department. Raising my hips, I make myself some room, and as soon as the buttons are undone, I can breathe a little easier. The cool air of the apartment does nothing to reduce my need. If anything, having my cock out makes me want to devour my toy even more.

It doesn’t take long for Xavier to start up. Just as the toy begs to be fucked harder for a second time, he plunges in deep, ass cheeks clenching and back going taut. He lazily thrusts a few more times before pulling out.

Using the ass cheek of the toy, he wipes the underside of his cock clean.

“How was it?” I ask and give my own cock a stroke, trying to ease some of the pressure building in my balls. “As good as a real pussy, right?”

“Better. Might need to get myself one.” Xavier plays with the pussy hole, slipping his fingers in and around, stretching it open, before playing with the clit. He pinches and tugs at it. “What did the manufacturer say about piercings? Will it compromise the quality?”

He pinches the clit on the toy and tugs at it. The sensors must like that, because the toy gives a little jiggle and starts to make moaning noises.

“Yeah, it encouraged piercings, actually. The material can also handle wax, ropes, blade cuts—but you will need to buy the kit to repair those—and it even has a flogger response that causes the skin to pinken like a real sub,” I respond in answer to his question.

Xavier has continued to play with the clit, but makes a noise of acknowledgement and picks up the vibrator with his free hand. “Do I need to put this back in?”

“Please, give me your cock. Please.”

I eye the toy. “No, I don’t think so. Sounds like it wants to come. Let it cool down for a minute, then someone else can play with it.”

Xavier nods, drops the vibrator, and stands up to fix his pants before taking a seat next to me on the couch again. His body relaxes into the cushions like he fucked all of his tension out. His eyes are pinned to the TV, and he mutters, “That won’t fucking work.”

I glance at the movie and watch as one of the robbers uses a blowtorch to try and get into the bank’s vault. Opening my mouth, I start to form words to question him, but then decide, I don’t care how he knows that won’t work.

Sometimes it’s best not to ask.

I focus on the toy, trying to gauge if it's ready for one of my friends, but notice that the pussy opening is clenching periodically. Not cool enough yet. Or has it overheated?

I get up and go around to the head, which is hanging off the edge of the pillow. Careful not to step on the papers and pencils, I take a handful of the hair near the base of the neck and lift it until I can see the toy’s face. Cheeks stained red, mouth parted, and pupils almost as wide as the irises. Not overheated, but close.

Deciding to use the mouth a little, I kneel and drop the head down until my cock slips past the lips. Instant wet heat engulfs my entire shaft, and I fight the urge to fuck straight into it, instead continuing to slowly lower the head until there is resistance and the toy jerks in my grip.

Pulling back, I casually fuck the mouth, luxuriating in the feel of the tongue on the underside. The toy makes some amazing gagging and choking noises that threaten to drag my orgasm out of me, so I pull all the way out and drop the head back down.

I stand up and look down at the toy, brown hair a disarray, skirt flipped up along its lower back, drying cum on her ass cheek, and wet pussy displayed to the room.

Best fucking purchase I have ever made.

Chapter 28

Viper's Fuck Toy

My core is hot and heavy, and my clit aches. But I don’t move. I can’t. I’m nothing but Viper’s toy, lying here, ready for his friends to use me.

Nothing but a hole for them to fuck.

A sex doll.

Viper’s fuck toy.

Chapter 29

Derek

Emery’s open and wet pussy is aimed directly at me. It glistens under the changing light from the TV, and there are fresh red marks over my dulled ones, from where Xavier gripped the still tender skin of her ass.

She has relaxed back into her pillows with her ass in the air, and I am fighting the desperate hunger curled tightly within me. My cock has been hard for over an hour, and I need to bury it in the wet heat of her pussy before my balls explode. I need to hear her beg to be allowed to come. I need her sobbing with her own desire. Desperate.

I need her pleasure to turn to pain and back again.

Emery was perfect during my scene earlier today. I would have drawn it out even longer if it wasn’t the first time she felt the strands of a flogger. By the end, when she had been floating, cum streaming down the backs of her thighs and skin reddened with hundreds of thin raised lines, I was ready to kneel for her.

And now? I look over to Hudson and study him as he stares at his little fuck toy on the floor. He’s feeling it too. The car ride today, as much as that was to give Emery her pleasure before our time started, was also for him to test her.

Would she let him push her beyond her limits to reach that place where pleasure burns white hot? Fuck, yes, she had.

And now? This free-use-dollification scene is something I know he has tried in the past—not this exact scenario, but similar. The women have always balked for varying reasons, but mostly, they don’t enjoy the humiliation or objectification.

But Emery? With the beginnings of her own cum smeared around her entrance, I would say that she is loving this.

This tiny wisp of a girl is blowing through all our walls like they are made of paper, and I don’t even fucking care.

The couch shifts next to me, and Darcy leans forward, bracing his arms on his knees. “Do you think it’s cooled down enough yet?”

Hudson leans forward himself and plunges two fingers into Emery, and to her credit, she barely flinches. She does spread her thighs wider, however. He plunges his fingers in and out several times before replying. “Yeah, I think you’re good to go.”

Hudson wipes the front and backs of his fingers against cheek that doesn’t have dried cum, on it, leaving a new wet patch of skin, and then gets comfortable on the couch again as Darcy stands. He kneels behind Emery, but from this position, I can only see his back. Shifting, I move to his spot on the couch to get a better view, not giving a fuck about the movie.

Darcy plays with Emery’s entrance, thrusting his fingers in and out. With one thrust, he leaves them buried to the knuckles, the tendons on the backs of his hands flexing with what I assume is a crooking motion.

“I wonder how many loads of cum it can take before it overflows,” he ponders, continuing to stimulate her G-spot. “Would love to fill it up until it’s overflowing, then suspend it from the ceiling and let it all leak out.”

My balls tighten so suddenly at the vivid imagery that it’s painful, almost to the extreme.

“Something to try another time,” he mutters as he withdraws his fingers.

My attention snaps to Emery’s shoulders and head, waiting to see if she reacts in any way to Darcy’s comment. But nothing. She doesn’t even indicate that she heard. And again, she doesn’t react as Darcy slides his cock into her.

Placing his hands above the swell of her ass, he supports himself as he works at pistoning into her. I can see the wetness that coats his cock as he pulls out and wonder if that’s from Emery or Xavier. The muscles beneath Darcy’s tattooed back and forearm ripple with every thrust.

Without slowing his pace, Darcy leans forward and gathers the two ponytails of long brown hair into one hand and pulls back until Emery’s head raises from the pillow. My hand is wrapped around the base of my cock and squeezing hard to stop the sudden surge of pleasure as I see her glazed-over eyes and pouty mouth hanging open, lips glistening.

She doesn’t even try to support herself. Her neck arches as Darcy pulls, and she lets him use her, exactly like a sex doll would.

“Fuck,” he mutters as his movements begin to stutter, her complete and utter lack of self-autonomy getting to him as much as it gets to me.

Firmly, but slowly, I stroke my cock, watching the live-action porn in front of me while Darcy pulls out of Emery and tips his head back as he starts to jerk his cock ruthlessly. In only a few pumps, he lets out a groan that makes me glad that we spent so much money on soundproofing, and cum erupts out of his cock. With the head aimed right over her asshole, he thoroughly covers the puckered hole.

He then slips his still-hard cock back inside of her pussy and thrusts a few more times, lazily, as he slowly lowers her head back down, her hair running through his fingers.

As he starts to withdraw, Emery twitches. “Please, fuck me with your cock. I need your cock inside of me.”

Darcy ignores her request for more cock and instead cups her ass and rests a thumb over the hole that Hudson declared as off-limits. He plays with the cooling cum, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the hole. “I think that, if I ever get myself one of these, the first thing I’ll do is open up that hole. Maybe even train it with plugs. Start off with small silicone plugs and work up to the wide flares. If it can take a cock in the ass, then we’d all be able to play at the same time.”

“That’s between you and your toy,” Hudson replies, but even I can see that he is affected by the imagery that Darcy is putting in our minds.

I wonder if it’s affecting Emery.

We know it is a hard limit for her, and we will never push her on it. But for this scene, she is our fuck toy, and the humiliation of having her asshole discussed like she isn’t even in the room is a part of the scene.

Darcy continues to rub his thumb back and forth for a few minutes before getting up and adjusting his pants. “Anyone need a drink? I’m getting a water.”

Hudson and Xavier both accept, but I can’t take my eyes off Emery’s pussy.

It’s even redder and wetter, and the sight of the cum dribbling down over the skin between her ass, down to her open and waiting pussy, is pushing my self-control.

I glance at Hudson, and he gives me a nod.

Cock already out, I stand and go to kneel behind Emery. Before I insert myself, I gather her hair and adjust her head so that I can see her face. When I have her positioned to my liking, I ease my cock inside of her. Emery’s throat moves, and I stay completely still inside of her once my pelvis touches her ass and wait her out.

I don’t have to wait long.

“Fuck me harder. Please, fuck me harder. I need your cock. Please. Fuck me with your cock.”

She mixes up the phrases, but I get the point. She wants me to move. Fuck, I want me to move. But I don’t give in to her. I stay where I am, cock wrapped in her warm wet pussy as it clenches my cock, and turn my attention back to the TV.

The SWAT team has found a way into the bank through an air vent on the roof and is stealthily gaining entrance to the building. It takes all my willpower to pay attention to the characters on the screen and not pump my cum into Emery, just to see it leak out of her.

I let a minute pass by. Then another. Without moving at all. She begs again.

“Fuck me. Please. Fuck me with your cock. Fuck me hard.”

I continue to ignore her, but the heat in my gut is getting too hard to hold back.

I’m going to wait until there is gunfire again.

Since I’ve already seen this movie, I know another fight scene is only a minute away. I breathe through my nose and watch on as the SWAT team gives silent hand gestures to indicate who should go where.

It switches to the robbers, who are almost into the vault, unaware that the cavalry has arrived.

And three, two, one…

With the first crack of a gun firing, I pull back and fuck Emery. I go in hard and deep and don’t ease up. I fuck her pussy like she is an actual silicone fuck toy, not giving a fuck if it hurts or feels good. I take my pleasure in strong, unrelenting thrusts.

Her thighs shift beneath mine, but I pay the movement no mind. A long, low, continuous moan flows from her, oscillating up and down every time I make an impact. But like a good girl, she lies there and takes it. Until she starts begging again.

“Please, fuck me with your cock. I want your cock. Please.”

It’s not until she goes off script that I lose control.

“I want your cum. Fill me up. Please. I want your cock.”

Goddamn, fuck.

Pleasure explodes from my balls, and I pound into her as I come inside her pussy, unloading every single drop. It takes me several panting breaths before the blistering heat recedes and my focus returns to the room. Slowly, I withdraw and sit back on my haunches so that I can watch as her pussy gapes open for my viewing.

My balls are still tight, almost sore from having come so soon after the first time, and my cock remains hard. I reach up and play with the swollen pink lips of her pussy, tracing circles around the opening. I rack my nails over her clit until she starts rolling her hips, seeking more sensation.

Then I spank her pussy, once, twice, and a third time.

She makes a choked noise but doesn’t move otherwise.

I go back to circling, around and around, and as soon as she moves, I spank her three times again.

“Fuck me with your cock.”

My cock twitches again, but my balls say no.

That’s fine, I’m happy to keep playing and driving her crazy. The more she begs, the more rewards she will receive. She might hate me at the moment, in her hazy pleasure, but she’ll thank me when we update the rewards chart.

I continue torturing her, playing with her clit more and more until her words are desperate and laced with sobs.

Then I pick up the discarded vibrator and push it inside of her. Cum oozes around the vibrator, and I helpfully stretch her pussy around so that it doesn’t escape, then get up and go back to my spot on the couch, leaving her full and needy, but with no end in sight.

“Had your fun?” Hudson asks, his voice rough and laced with humor.

“I did, thank you,” I reply with a smirk. “You’re a great friend for sharing your toy with us.”

Darcy chuckles as Hudson rolls his eyes at me and gets up to take his turn with Emery’s pussy. I’m not even a little bit surprised when he doesn’t take the vibrator out and instead squirts some lube onto his cock, then pushes in alongside the silicone toy.

Emery does react to this, letting out a low moan. Hudson keeps a thumb over the toy, with his palm resting on her ass cheek while he double penetrates Emery’s tight little pussy.

He gives her a few moments to adjust, and when her thighs relax, he grips the vibrator tighter and fucks her with it. Emery is clearly confused by the sensation at first, but then her hips start to rise up to meet Hudson’s fist.

Hudson plunges the toy in deeply, then starts to fuck into Emery with his cock, alternating with the vibrator. Her moan turns into a groan, the sound guttural.

“I think it’s starting to overheat,” Darcy comments to no one in particular.

Hudson grunts. “Yeah, I think so too. I’ll speed things up.”

He turns on the vibrator.

Emery’s allowed phrases start flowing, unbroken and running together, as Hudson fucks her with purpose, his thumb holding the vibrator in place so that it drives them both wild.

He doesn’t last long, and I don’t blame him. That wet heat, filled with so much lubricant, and the vibrations against the full length of his shaft? Honestly, I’m surprised he lasts at all.

With two very sharp thrusts, he comes, back arching and a groan just loud enough to be heard over the final gunfire scene.

He pulls out immediately and starts to fuck Emery with the vibrator.

“Fuck toy, you have permission to come.”

It doesn’t take long. One tweak of her clit, and Emery’s hips push back off the pillow and harder onto the vibrator as Hudson slams it in over and over. She screams, face pushed into the red pillow, muffling the noise.

As soon as the pleasure leaves her body, she sags against the pillows, going completely limp. Hudson continues to fuck her gently with the vibrator, and her body gives a twitch every few seconds, but other than that, she doesn’t react.

Quietly, we all get up and kneel around our girl. Hudson carefully removes the vibrator, and we roll her onto her back. She is completely checked out, and after I look into her eyes, I grin. Her pupils are wide, and I can only see the dark hazel ring that forms the outside of her irises.

“I’ve never played with a sub who can find subspace the way she does,” I murmur, swiping my knuckles over her cheek. “It’s like it’s her natural state.”

The others murmur in agreement. Xavier slowly scoops Emery up into his arms as Hudson stands, tucks himself away, and then goes back to the couch and sits, accepting the blanket that Darcy hands him. Xavier deposits Emery onto the blanket draped over Hudson’s lap, and Hudson closes his arms around her.

Hudson indicates the spot next to him. “Help me with her?”

Xavier doesn’t even hesitate, taking the space next to Hudson and pulling her legs onto his lap.

Hope is a scary thing, but I’m starting to believe that this might actually turn into something longer than just the weekend.

Chapter 30

Emery

Hot. So fucking hot.

That’s the first thought I have as I resurface from the darkness of sleep.

Why the fuck am I so hot?

And trapped, I realize as I try to lift my arm and remove the heavy-ass blanket from me.

But, no, that’s not a blanket. Well, it is, but there is something on top of the blanket. And another two somethings wrapped around me under the blanket.

What the fuck?

I open my eyes, and it takes me several long blinks to focus on the weird wooden rectangle above my head and several more seconds to realize I’m in the apartment’s bedroom, lying smack in the middle of the big-ass bed. Trying not to move too much, I turn my head to the right and find Darcy, fast asleep next to me, on his stomach, face aimed my way.

My gaze roves over his features and I take in the way his beard is a little thicker, how his brows have relaxed, and the slight part in his lips. Even in sleep, he looks like a fallen angel.

A quick glance down confirms it’s his arm that is wrapped around me under the blanket. I’m not sure about the leg, though.

Shifting, I look to my left and find Xavier, except where Darcy is asleep, Xavier’s hazel eyes stare back at me. My heart gives a little jolt, like I’ve been caught doing something naughty. Which is crazy, because I haven’t done anything besides wake up.

He says nothing, just watches me like he is trying to commit my face to memory. We stay like that, neither of us breaking eye contact until my heart beats unevenly in my chest and I can’t stand how hot I feel for another moment.

“Can I please get up? I’m hot and I really need the bathroom,” I whisper, not sure who else is still sleeping in bed with us.

Xavier’s expression doesn’t change. Well, his features don’t change, but the look in his eyes does. The green-hazel eyes darken, and I know I’ve said something that triggers that other side of him. What, I have no clue. But the way he is staring at me pulls at my soul.

Ruin. Oblivion. Carnage.

Hunter.

The look in his eyes reminds me that this man wants to hurt me, to make me bleed for his pleasure. He wants to make my blood run free and revel in it.

Will he get a chance to this weekend? I mean, Derek had his floggers, and then Hudson had his…

My heart races because pieces are starting to fall into place.

I got my rewards.

I got my orgasms.

Derek had his floggers.

Hudson had his free use.

That leaves Darcy and Xavier.

Who’s next? What’s next?

How many more times will they use me today?

Will there be more scenes?

But what happens when it’s over? Is it done? Are we done? Will they want more? Can I convince them that they need another weekend with me?

I want another weekend. I fucking need another weekend.

Sex has never been like this. The orgasms, the pain, and the pleasure, and then the cuddles and care afterward.

I’m pretty sure everything in my life will be forever marked as before the weekend and after the weekend. Honestly, meeting these four men has been one of the best moments of my life. Maybe even the actual best.

No, wait. The actual best was when I received my acceptance letter to Newton University, along with the scholarship offers. That was the best moment of my life. The group home manager had been waiting for me by the door, a grin on her face and a thick envelope in her hand, when I arrived home from school.

I close my eyes as the emotions from the memory turn warm and wash over me.

And then I force my eyes back open. I don’t open that box very often because it’s just too much.

Empty hazel eyes stare back at me, still as a lake with the first frost.

“Please, Daddy.” My words remain quiet, and just when I think he isn’t going to shift, he raises his arm. I gently move Darcy’s arm from my stomach, down to the mattress, and then wiggle out from under his leg.

As more skin is exposed to the cool air, I heave a sigh of relief. I manage to creep out from under the blanket without disturbing Darcy and end up sitting on my pillow. Xavier watches me the entire time, the amused glint in his eye betraying his enjoyment at my awkwardness.

I stick my tongue out at him. He grins outright. Then he gestures down the bed, a silent command, and I am forced to crawl to the foot, since he doesn’t move an inch to give me any additional room. As I make it to the end and slip off to stand, I turn to face the bed to study our sleeping arrangements.

Derek is asleep on the outside of Xavier, and Hudson is on the outside of Darcy, in the space where I slept the previous night. All of us slept together in the giant bed. I can barely remember them helping me shower and dress, let alone being put to bed like a child. I do remember the entire bottle of water they had me drink though, and so does my bladder. All I know is that I felt safe and content as the darkness of sleep slipped into the warm and fuzzy place and taken me on its tide.

Quietly, I sneak around the bed, through the walk-in, and enter the en suite, gently closing the door behind me. I do my business, then splash water on my face. Somehow, they managed to get me into boy shorts and one of the thigh-length satin nightgowns that magically appeared in my lingerie haul on Friday.

Turning my back to the mirror, I drop the straps on the baby pink dress and check out my back. Only a few faint purple blemishes remain across my shoulders. I fix the straps, then gather as much of the skirt as I can and check out my lower back. There are a few marks there, as well as one solid line that runs diagonally from my left hip to my right ribs.

How long will they last?

Not long enough.

With that thought, I drop the skirt and leave the bathroom. I’m not going to remind myself that this arrangement is for one weekend. A promise to myself that I have continually broken since arriving at the apartment. I’m definitely not going to think that their care of me has anything to do with caring about me, rather than what is stipulated in our contract.

Because, the fact of the matter is, they don’t actually care about me, only the access I grant them to my body. They just want to get their kinky sex rocks off for a few days. Today is the last day of that. I have no idea what the time is, but I am sure we are in the single digits for our remaining time together.

Peering around the corner that leads back into the bedroom, I spy only three bodies in the bed and that the bedroom door is left the tiniest bit ajar. On tiptoe, I dash past and out the door, not wanting to disturb any of the men. I have no idea if they are morning people, but I don’t want to risk it.

Waking people up when they are sleeping, even if it’s for an emergency, is a dangerous thing. Tray hates to be woken up, even if he is oversleeping. One bruised cheekbone was enough to teach me that lesson.

Xavier’s tattooed and naked back taunts me from the kitchen, and I walk toward him, the soles of my feet cool against the wooden floor. I keep my attention on his back and definitely do not glance to my right at all the things they have left on display there. I do not want any hints as to what might be coming my way later today.

As far as I am concerned, that area of the apartment doesn’t exist unless they want me to see it. Curiosity is not going to kill this kitty.

I take a seat at the kitchen island, the metal seat of the stool cool on the backs of my thighs. Before I can make myself known, inked forearms appear in front of me as well as a mug filled with steaming brown water and a tea bag. A pot of sugar, a spoon, and milk quickly follow. I make eye contact with Xavier, and he raises his own mug to his lips.

Well, okay, then.

I’ve never been one for tea, but I figure, with enough sugar, I can make it tolerable. After heaping several spoons of sugar and a healthy dash of milk, I bring the now-lukewarm drink to my lips.

Eh, not bad. Still prefer hot chocolate. Or an iced mocha with whipped cream and caramel sauce. I’ve had exactly three of those, and I’m pretty sure they are what heaven is made of.

He turns his back on me and busies himself with something at the other end of the kitchen. I take the opportunity to study the artwork that inks the skin of his back.

The main focal point is the woman’s face across his right shoulder blade. Her mascara is smudged, with black and red tears running down her cheeks. Her tiara is askew, and her long dark hair is done in a thick braid that runs across her chest, covering one breast, while the other remains exposed. Inside the hair and all around her face are roses, and at first, I think it looks quite romantic.

But then I notice the thorns that press into her flesh, the skin red around each point. There are words written in what I assume is Latin, leaving me completely in the dark as to what they mean.

Nulla voluptas sine dolore.

There are other things around her and the roses, but I’m too captured by the scripted letters to pay them any mind.

I run my eyes over them, again and again, trying to commit them to memory so that I can look them up later. Once I can actually see the words in my mind when I close my eyes, I’m certain that I’ll remember them.

Taking a sip of my tea, I slowly turn to look at the less threatening portion of the apartment. My gaze lands on the dark leather couch and TV, then drops to the floor where my red pillow and art supplies remain.

The additional sex pillow, lube, and vibrator have all disappeared, but it's now that I remember I had an actual task to do last night. Abandoning my mug for the time being, I quickly gather my tin of graphite pencils and sketch pad, and carry them back to the kitchen.

I need to draw all of Viper’s friends’ pictures. I may be a little late, but they are all still here. I can be a good girl for him and get this done. Maybe I’ll even have time to draw him a picture too.

Xavier disappears for a moment, then takes a seat next to me, his warm arm occasionally brushing mine and his knee very firmly pressed against my knee. I glance at him but he is absorbed in his tablet, finger scrolling up the screen as he reads something. Turning back to my sketchbook, I flick through the pages and scan the outlines of the images I started last night and smile.

These are going to turn out perfect, I just know it. I pop open the graphite case, run my fingers over all the pencils, then make my selection and start converting the outlines to actual drawings.

Time melds together as I start sketching, shading, and rubbing on the paper. Occasionally, I feel warm lips press to my exposed shoulder, but I pay them no mind. I need to get these done for Viper and his friends before they leave for the day. I want to give them something to remember me by, to remember that I was a good girl for them.

That this was the perfect weekend and that I am perfect for them.

Chapter 31

Darcy

Emmy’s focus on her art is completely singular. She hasn’t acknowledged a single one of us. Not even when we each gave her skin a good morning kiss, nor when I brushed and braided her hair to keep it out of her way.

She isn’t being secretive about what she is working on, but none of us have tried to look. If she is anything like me, when she is ready, she’ll show us. The others all know and respect that about me, and I can see they are giving her the same treatment.

I pick up my phone from the dining table, tap the screen, and check the time. Nine-thirty. My chest tightens knowing we have less than half a day with our girl. I have less than half a day to convince the others that she is ours to keep. Convince her that she belongs with us.

I’m not sure what I am going to do if they disagree with me. I’m not sure that I can walk away. There are only two ways that I’ll part with this girl.

One. She wants to leave.

Two. My scene with her doesn’t go well.

And I’m not talking sub drop or being anxious. If she does not enjoy my ropes and knots, my suspensions, and the predicaments that I long to put her in, if she doesn’t find pleasure in any of that, then I’ll walk away.

Playing with her as a fuck toy last night was fun, but I don’t want an inanimate hole to stick my cock in all the time. What I want is…

The click of graphite against marble disrupts my thoughts, and I refocus on Emmy as the quiet murmuring around the table stops. She stares down at the sheets of paper in front of her, then reaches up and uses a graphite-stained hand to tuck hair behind her ear, leaving a smear of gray on her cheekbone.

I grin.

The number of times I’ve left my art studio with paint or clay or graphite on my face is more than I can count. For me, they are badges of honor, showing the world I had an excellent session with my art.

Emmy straightens her shoulders and blinks owlishly for a few moments before she turns to face us, her cheeks staining an adorable red. “Oh, um, I’m s—”

“Are we allowed to see what you’ve been working on?” I cut her off with my question. I never, ever, want her to apologize for being so immersed in her art, that she forgot the real world exists. That hazy space between reality and fantasy is where artists are supposed to live.

Emmy’s hand goes up to her mouth, and she bites at the side of her index finger as she glances back down at the pages. Her body is filled with tension. She shuffles the pages around for a moment, eyes darting back and forth between us and the paper before she takes a deep breath, picks them up, then scoots off her seat.

Each step is slow and unsure, like a deer sensing a trap but having no idea where the predator is. Art held in her delicate grasp, Emmy stays out of distance range. Gone is the sassy girl, and in her place is a shy artist. And I know she is an artist. Our sketching yesterday told me as much.

While amateur, her sketching skills are amazing.

I’d love to get her into one of my classes, but that isn’t going to happen. At least, not this year—enrolments are closed. Maybe I can work with her to get her enrolled for next year.

I cut off the thought. Nope. Not thinking about her still being in my life a year from now. I just need to get us all through the weekend. Then maybe, maybe, we can have this. But right now, my princess needs my assistance.

Shifting in my seat, I turn to face her more and hold out my hand. “Come here, princess.”

Emmy’s gaze snags on mine, staring for a moment before slowly drifting down to my extended hand. The uncertainty pouring from her causes a pang in my chest, but I don’t lower my hand. As much as I want to see the artwork, it isn’t purely out of curiosity.

We didn’t give her much of an opportunity to get her drawings done last night, and for her own sake, she needs to share them with us. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a punishment scene with Hudson, but Emmy doesn’t deserve that right now.

She has been nothing but a good girl for us so far. I just want to make sure it stays that way.

A switch flicks inside of her that causes her back to straighten and for a little of that confidence to return. Eyes filled with determination, she slips her hand into my own, and I close my fingers around hers, marveling at the size difference. I’m not a giant man, but she feels so small and breakable in my grasp.

I tug her to me and guide her to sit on my thigh, her perch there slightly precarious.

No need to make things too comfortable for her.

“Show me what you’ve drawn,” I instruct, wrapping my arm around her lower back so that I can lay my palm on the bare skin of her thigh.

Emmy wiggles for a moment before lowering the papers from where they are pressed against her chest. With the first glimpse of the image on top, my heart squeezes. The raw talent on the page is astounding.

I raise my free hand and hold it close to the papers. “May I?”

She looks down at her hands in her lap and silently nods, making my heart ache for her. Sharing something you created is never easy; it’s like carving a slice out of your heart and handing it over to another person, hoping they won’t rip it to shreds.

I fan out the four sheets of paper—one for each of us. The sketches are still life, with elegant line work and shading. I’m not even sure if she knows what techniques she is using, but these drawings are…

“Who taught you how to draw?” I ask as I graze my fingertips over the curve of a female’s ass, stopping where the strands of a flogger bite into her skin. A male hand holds the handle of the flogger and ends just above the forearm.

The scene is reminiscent of yesterday, but the female isn’t restrained. Her face is away from the viewer, with long dark hair flowing down to the floor over the spanking bench. Her legs are stretched up on tiptoe, ass tipped up like she is leaning into each strike while her arms hang freely.

“My art teacher in high school,” Emmy replies.

“Have you taken other lessons?”

I discover more details the more I look—stripes from previous lashes, a teddy bear discarded on the floor, the grain of the wood in the legs of the spanking bench. And a scribble of a signature in the bottom right-hand corner.

E. Nicholas.

Another clue for Xavier to exploit.

Carefully, I pick up the sheet and pass it to Derek. There is no need to ask Emmy if it is his—there isn’t anyone else it could belong to.

Emmy shrugs. “I’ve watched a few YouTube tutorials.”

My eyes connect with Derek’s as he takes the paper, and I widen my eyes at him, trying to convey my thoughts. But, fuck, I don’t even really know.

A few fucking YouTube tutorials?

Emmy is talented. Raw, unpolished, but talented.

I’m going to move heaven and earth to get her into some classes. They may not be with me, but they will be with someone I trust. Even if this thing between the five of us doesn’t work out, she deserves the chance to learn, explore, share her art with the world.

I pick up the drawing clearly meant for Hudson. Two headless bodies, one male and one female, fully clothed. Where the man has trousers on, she is wearing a short dark skirt. Her arms are pinned between them, his chest pressed to her back, and his hand is shoved beneath the waistband of her skirt, ruining the smooth contour. The buttons of her blouse strain, and the delicate edge of lace peeks through.

Again, there are details—the folds in the fabric, the eyelets on his leather shoes, his free hand wrapped around the column of her neck, tilting her neck back.

I offer Hudson the drawing, and he takes it, his eyes going wide as he takes in her gift to him.

A blade between two breasts, with a fine line of blood rolling down the sharpened edge, is next. There is a tiny freckle on the right breast, a quarter inch from the areola, and it's then that I know for sure the woman in these pictures is Emmy.

The blade is older in nature, with a decorative pommel. The male hand that grips it obscures the pattern around the handle, but the sections on either side of the hands indicate a circle pattern.

Carefully, I slide the page across the table toward Xavier. His face is as stoic as always while he accepts, his eyes so focused on the image, I’m fairly certain he has forgotten that we are here.

The last image is for me, and I have no idea why, but I’m finding it difficult to look at it.

Emmy has drawn the kinks of my friends perfectly. And in each and every image, she is finding pleasure. My scene has yet to happen, so besides brief discussions and seeing my ropes, she can’t have any idea if what I want will interest her.

Not one to let things linger, I turn my attention to my drawing and suck in a breath.

It is nowhere near as explicit as the other drawings; it’s almost platonic in comparison.

Two arms from the elbow down with clasped hands, mine and Emmy’s. Our hands are parallel, gripping each other’s forearms, with hers on top of mine. An extraordinary amount of fine line work that has gone into detailing our skin and the threads of the intricately tied rope that secures our hands together.

The black and gray tattoos on my forearm, with their broken artist's palette and over-squeezed tubes of paint, are there as well. Knots depress the skin, giving the ink-darkened skin even more shadow and depth.

My chest feels tight as my heart swells, and I make a decision to swap out my reward gift to her. What I already have can wait for another time.

“Wh–ah, what do you think?” Emmy asks quietly, hands fidgeting in her lap as she peers at the drawing.

I stare at her profile for several heartbeats before I respond. “Princess, these are… They’re amazing,” I reply, irritated that I can’t find more eloquent words to adequately describe how impressed and moved I am by all four of her drawings.

“Mine is perfect,” Derek adds. “I’m going to have it framed and place it on my desk.”

I see the tiny smile Emmy tries to hide as her gaze darts back down to her hands.

There is a grunt of agreement from Xavier’s side of the table, and Hudson murmurs his agreement. I glance over at him and, with how soft his eyes have gone for her, I know he has taken the leap with me on this girl.

I tighten my arm around Emmy’s waist. “Thank you so much for sharing these with us. They are perfect. We’ll treasure them forever.”

There is a beat of silence that is broken by the rumble of Derek’s stomach. We all glance at him, and he smiles and shrugs. “Breakfast?”

As the others agree with him, I lean into Emmy and whisper in her ear. “After breakfast, it’s my turn, and I’m going to play with you until you scream.”

Chapter 32

Darcy

I scan the space that has informally become my play area. Tucked into the corner closest to the bedroom, here I can find my peace among my ropes. Along both walls of my space is a rainbow waterfall of hemp and silk, hanging from a thin bamboo bar attached to the ceiling and falling to the floor.

There is a larger, thicker bamboo bar that hangs from the center of the space, which I use for partial- and full-body suspension. The smooth finish of the bar allows for the easy shifting of the rope as I manipulate the bound sub. But, today, it won’t be a part of the scene.

Derek may think he owns the space in our little group for orgasm denial, but edging is my world. However, today is about introducing Emmy to shibari—the Japanese art of rope bondage. Then maybe, in the future, we can play with some more orgasm denial. Between Hudson and myself, Emmy will learn to either love-to-hate or hate-to-love our scenes.

Stepping back from the custom-designed wooden chair—the binding prop for today’s scene—I do a final check of the rest of the area to make sure everything is where I want it to be.

The chair is in the center of the space. With the way I have the back positioned on a slight incline, and with barely any seat available, Emmy will have to give herself over to the bindings to maintain the position I’m going to put her in. If she doesn’t, every muscle in her body will be screaming at her tomorrow.

Hudson is sitting on a rolling stool by my cabinet of play things, ready for the scene in just his jeans. On top of the cabinet are the safety sheers and the toy I plan to use on Emmy.

Heavy, low acoustic music fills the apartment as we wait for her to come out of the bedroom. I sent her to shower and use the bathroom after breakfast because, once our scene starts, the only way it will end is if she uses a safe word and I cut her free—or when I say the scene is over.

I’m praying it’s the latter.

Xavier and Derek left shortly after breakfast, leaving the three of us alone. Just like yesterday, we have pre-organized everything. Hudson is helping me with my scene, and Derek will be helping Xavier.

Hopefully, Xavier’s scene won’t be a stumbling block for us.

The air shifts, and I turn to face Emmy as she peers around the bedroom doorframe, trepidation pulling her features tight. My timid princess is back.

Smiling, I hold my hand out to her. “Come here, princess.”

Just like every other time I’ve called her princess, her cheeks pinken and my chest tightens. Fuck, I hope she enjoys this. Everything so far says she will. She enjoys being restrained, restricted, held down, so it isn’t a leap to think she will like being bound.

She slips out from behind the door and, as requested, is wearing the short silver robe we purchased for her and nothing else. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, the whole thing looking like it will overflow at any second, which works nicely for my plan.

By the end of this scene, I want her to be wrecked.

I close my hand around her smaller one as she laces our fingers together and pull her into my arms and press a kiss to her forehead. Emmy melts against me, and I hope she can’t hear the way my heart is beating heavily in my chest.

Scenes don’t normally make me nervous.

But every other scene hasn’t had my potential future weighing down on it.

This one needs to go perfectly.

I force myself to ease up and pull back from her. I can’t go into this scene worried about its outcome. It will be what it will be. We can figure it out after everything is over, and if it doesn’t go well, then we can try to find a compromise. If she wants to.

Fuck.

Enough of that.

Head in the scene.

As Emmy looks up at me, I stare back and slow my breathing. She needs to know she can trust me to look after her and give her exactly what she needs when I say she needs it. This nervous shit that is going on with me has to go.

Slowly, I let go. Of the worry. The hope.

Nothing matters other than right now, this very minute. And then the next. There is nothing outside of this ten-by-ten space but the three of us, the chair, and the ropes. Everything else is just noise.

Emmy blinks, then lowers her eyes from mine and, fuck, seeing her react to the change within me is something else.

I tip her chin up with a knuckle. “Have you ever experienced shibari?”

Chin still resting on my knuckle, she shakes her head, eyes downcast. “No, Daddy.”

“Besides the restraints we have used on you, have you ever been tied up?”

She hesitates for a moment, then shakes her head. “No, Daddy.”

I clench my jaw as a spike of lust shoots through me. The confirmation that my ropes will be the first that wrap around her skin shakes the mental bars that I just locked around my hope. While this not unexpected piece of knowledge buoys me, it also pains me to know that she won’t be the first sub to be bound by my ropes.

However, that is a problem to work through another time.

Releasing the hold I have on her chin, I turn her to face the chair and gesture at it. With gentle pressure on her lower back, I guide her the few steps toward the chair. “I’ll be restraining you to this chair using some of the ropes hanging on the wall behind you.”

“Can I pick the color?”

The question catches me off guard. I can’t think of a time that a sub has asked to select the rope.

I glance over at Hudson, and he smirks back at me.

Fucker.

“If I allowed you to pick, what colors would you choose?” My throat feels scratchy, making it rougher, as heat pools at the bottom of my spine.

She doesn’t even hesitate before raising her arm to the wall of ropes. “That dark blue. And the black.”

I follow her gaze to the silk wall and see that she is pointing at the royal blue and the black a few lines down. My eyebrow quirks upward. “Why?”

Her hand comes up to her mouth, and she bites down on the tender flesh on the side of her thumb. It’s something I’ve noticed she does when she is unsure of her answer. Or how we will react to her answer.

I remain quiet. It’s a simple question, and she will share the answer, but the longer she fails to answer, the more uncomfortable she will feel when she does. Clearly, her answer embarrasses her. She probably didn’t think I was going to call her on it.

She will need to learn that we will question everything. We will want to know everything that is going on inside of her mind so that we know her better than she knows herself. We’ll swap information like trading cards. Nothing will be off limits. It’ll help us understand her state of mind and to ensure that she is never anything but comfortable and safe in our presence—emotionally, at least.

“It’s the closest color combination to your eyes.”

The words are said barely loud enough to be heard over the music, but I do hear them. And, fuck, I can’t say no to that. Knowing she has picked a color that will leave her secured with something she associates with me is…

My cock hardens as an image of her, wrecked, hair falling free, bound to the chair with the blue of my eyes, pussy open and used, cum covering her flesh, flashes into my mind.

That. I want that.

“Take off your robe.” Voice even gruffer, I order her into the beginning of my scene.

She jumps at the harshness of my voice, but I don’t apologize. I want her on edge. I want her worried and a little nervous. Ready to please. It’s my way of making sure everything stays pleasant and pleasurable. The ropes won’t cause her any pain today—maybe some discomfort, but no pain. Today, she will simply be at my mercy.

Emmy turns and unties the sash around her waist, allowing the fabric to part down the center, exposing her to us. Hudson holds out his hand and, after she shrugs out of the gown, she gives it to him, neither of them saying a word.

Unless required, he won’t say anything to her.

Hudson is only here to observe, play, and fill her pussy. And, only if required, help me cut her free.

She stands before us, naked, eyes aimed at the floor.

I leave her there, waiting. Nervous. On display. Unsure of what comes next.

It doesn’t take long for her to start to fidget. First her fingers, then her feet. Eventually, she raises her arms to cover her body, but I can’t have that.

“Freeze.”

Her arms pause in place, crooked at the elbow, awkwardly hanging around her hips.

“Do not cover yourself up. I want to see what we have paid thirty-thousand dollars for.”

Her stomach tenses, and a red flush starts on her neck, but she slowly lowers her arms. Her breathing increases as my words turn her from a human being to an object that can be bought.

I leave her waiting, my cock growing harder the more I watch her fight her inner battle.

“Turn around and bend over. Put your palms on the armrests of the chair. Thrust your ass out and show us your holes.”

Emmy’s feet shuffle in place as she slowly turns like a doll in a jewelry box. Bending from the hips, she tips forward, exposing her ass and pussy to us. There are still a few marks remaining across the back of her thighs and over her cheeks from Derek’s scene yesterday.

And there are a few circular bruises over both globes, presumably from where someone squeezed a little too hard. Well, too hard for someone who might not enjoy the pain of being gripped like that. Luckily, Emmy has proved several times since our first meeting that she likes it on the tighter side.

Her pussy has lost the pink, puffy, overused look it was sporting last night. And while there isn’t any glistening wetness yet, there will be plenty covering her entrance and thighs by the time I am done with her. My balls are aching already as I think about sinking into that pussy again, but not yet. Not for a while. Not until Emmy is barely coherent from denied pleasure.

Quietly, I walk around until I come to her side and crouch down so that her face is slightly above mine. She makes eye contact, cheeks still a rosy pink. “I had this chair custom made.”

I slip my hand under one of the padded armrests she is gripping and place my palm down on the shortened seat. The back of the chair starts at what would normally be the middle of the seat, then reclines back on a slight angle, with a padded cushion down the center. “If you trust the ropes, it’s designed for your comfort, while giving me all the access I need.”

In demonstration, I palm one of her breasts, the weight filling my hand easily. I massage the flesh, then tweak the nipple, causing her to suck in a sharp breath. “This scene is going to take yesterday’s car ride home to the next level. How does that sound, princess? Are you going to let me drive you insane? Will you be a good girl for me?”

Emmy’s breathing quickens and her mouth parts. “Yes, Daddy. Please. I want that. I want to be good for you.”

I tweak her nipple again. “Good girl, princess. Turn around and sit down for me.”

We both move at the same time, her turning to take a seat and me to get the rope she requested. I’ll need more than the two lengths she selected, but that’s okay. I can include a lighter blue as well, to help with the shadowing effect I prefer.

Gently, I pull the midnight blue rope free, coiling it in my hand so that it doesn’t fall to the floor. The silk ropes are smooth compared to the hemp, and I slowly slip them between my fingers, feeling every ridge of the twisted threads.

From the first time I watched a non-sexual shibari demonstration, I’ve been hooked. The intricate designs, patterns, and sculpted shapes that can be made called to the artist in me, and I’d immediately found a mentor. A decade later, and I’m still in love with ropes. Now, I find myself in the mentoring position more often than not, guiding couples through beginner to advanced ties.

Tonight, I have my very own partner to concentrate on.

I set down the rope on top of the cabinet and check in with Hudson. His arms are folded over his chest, and he is slightly slumped in place. I smirk. It must be killing him to sit still like this. When he sees me enjoying his discomfort, he subtly gives me the finger so that Emmy can’t see.

Dropping my grin, I turn and go back to Emmy, stopping in front of where she is awkwardly perched, posture almost perfectly straight in order to balance on the tiny amount of seat available, and place my hand on her shoulder. Her big hazel eyes are fixed on mine as I coax her to recline back until the chair supports her. I arrange each of her arms on the padded rests so that her fingers curl over the ends, then spread her knees so that her calves touch the legs of the chair, once again leaving her spread open for our viewing.

When I am satisfied with her positioning, I stand and turn my back on her as I go back for the rope. “No moving, princess, okay? I want you to hold this position for me. No matter what.”

She starts to respond, but my last words make her freeze for a fraction of a second. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Remind me of your safe words.”

“Green is good, yellow is slow down, and red is stop,” she recalls, her voice showing no sign of hesitation.

“It is really important to me that you use them, princess. If you feel tingling or a pinch that is more than a seven out of ten on the pain scale, or if you feel faint or breathless, use your safe words. Ropes are not supposed to be painful. Discomforting, yes. But painful, no. Especially in this position and during this scene.” I pick up the safety shears and show her the angled blades with the protective rounded tip. “I’m going to be doing a relatively simple body tie. It will restrict your movements, and you may feel uncomfortable at first. Uncomfortable—to a point—is fine. Red will instantly have you cut free. These are called safety shears and will have you free within minutes.”

Her gaze drops from my face to the shears in my hand before raising her eyes back to mine. “Yes, Daddy. I’ll use my safe words. I promise.”

The squeak of the rolling chair comforts me. Hudson is affected as much as I am by her words. Knowing that she takes her own safety seriously is a massive weight off our shoulders. If we can trust her to tell us something isn’t working or hurts in a non-fun way, then the options we have to explore with her are endless.

“Do you have any questions?” I ask as I swap the shears for the rope.

Emmy’s eyes widen as I turn back and walk around behind her. “N-no, Daddy.”

Perfect. “Good girl.”

Chapter 33

Emery

My gaze crashes into Viper, now that Angel has disappeared from view. He holds my eyes for a single rapid heartbeat before his drift down to my exposed pussy. Because it is one-hundred-percent exposed. Heat flares in my core and my skin burns as he so casually examines me.

The chair is a fucking weird design. The actual seat is barely deep enough for my ass, and the sides of the chair flare away from the seat, making my legs spread wider than a normal chair would. With how Angel has positioned me, I’m using my tippy toes to maintain the position.

It is awkward as fuck, and the soles of my feet are already starting to cramp. Holding this position, with my knees against the legs of the chair, is keeping me spread open. Restrained by my own willpower.

Viper’s attention darts to something over my shoulder, where I assume Angel is, and my pulse increases. I desperately want to glance over my shoulder, to see what’s coming, but I have a feeling I’m not supposed to move. Viper reaches for something on the table next to him, and then the music increases in volume. His hand hovers over something long and white before picking it up and gathering the white cable that hangs from the end.

Viper stands and comes to crouch a few feet in front of me, his attention focused on my pussy until he looks down at what his hand is doing to the floor. I’m mesmerized by his tattoo, once again wanting to trace the constellations with my fingers. Or tongue. Whichever he would let me. Fuck, when did I turn into such a thirsty wench?

As Viper stands, he fiddles with the long white thing in his hand, and then there is an audible snap followed by a buzzing sound in the room. Oh, fuck. I follow the white cable down to the ground. The buzzing shuts off, and my attention zooms back up to Viper and find a smirk on his face. One that says that this is probably going to hurt before it feels good.

No, wait. Hadn’t Angel said something about the car yesterday? Is this going to be like that? Where it felt good, then kind of hurt, then felt really, really, really fucking good?

It isn’t until I flinch at the feel of a finger on my shoulder that I remember Angel is in the room too. Shit, I need to stay focused. I need to…

Angel traces a line down over my shoulder. Unable to stop myself, I tip my head down to watch as the finger slips between my breasts, then down along my under-boob. There is the barest scrape of skin on skin, but it’s enough to heat my skin.

He does the same thing on the other side, and I take what is supposed to be a steadying breath, but it comes out a lot shakier than I’d like. Hands slide forward over both my shoulders and down to my chest until my tits are cupped and caressed, Angel’s tattooed forearm is a stark contrast against my unmarked skin. My thighs quiver, and I gasp as he tweaks and pulls at my nipple, almost losing my fight to keep my knees apart and pressed against the chair’s legs, as lines of fire zip straight to my clit.

Watching is making this worse.

Angel’s hands disappear from my skin, leaving me with goose bumps from the sudden loss of his warmth. Slamming my eyes shut, I figure the best way to get through this is to just go with it. To sit here, do exactly as I’m told, and enjoy every single sensation. Be good and give him everything he wants. Leave it all out there for him to pick through at the end.

He’s already given me so much this weekend, I just want to be good for him. And maybe…

Nope. Not thinking those thoughts. There are only a few more hours left of the contract. When it’s over, I’m back to being on my own, and my future will all but be a lock. I’ll only need to get through college and start the beginning of the rest of my life.

“You selected a silk rope,” a deep voice says quietly in my ear, so close that Angel’s breath skims over my skin as he exhales. “The dark blue and black combination is going to look exquisite against your skin. I’m going to add light blue as well, to create highlights and extend the shadow.”

I try to conjure what that will look like in my mind, but all I can see is blue and black rope twinned around each other. Envisioning my own body wrapped in his ropes is almost impossible.

Maybe he will take a photo?

“Relax and breathe, princess. Can you do that for me?”

I nod and try. I do. But it’s only just now occurring to me that my fingers are cramping from how tightly I’m keeping the end of the armrests gripped. And I’m not sure I can relax. Not when I don’t know what’s coming. What if—

A heavy weight falls over my shoulder, across my chest and against the opposite thigh. Fingers brush along my thigh as the weight is gathered, and with my eyes squeezed shut, I can only assume it’s the rope. Slowly, it is pulled tight, diagonally across my body, until there is pressure against my collarbone, sternum, and opposite ribs.

The rope goes slack and moves oddly for a few seconds before tension pulls everything tight, but not as tight as I’m expecting. Without any additional slack entering the rope, the end is draped over my opposite shoulder, the length pooling in the V of my legs.

Warmth brushes against my nipple, and a hand worms its way around the rope in my lap, a finger slipping straight over my clit and sinking knuckle deep into my pussy.

I gasp as he removes his finger as quickly as he entered me, taking the rope with him.

Fuck. Wait. Am I…

I’m being tied to the actual chair.

Why the fuck that thought didn’t occur to me when I first saw the ropes and the chair, I have no clue. Because, obviously, that was the plan from the beginning.

The rope goes tight, loose, and then tighter again.

“When I’m done, you’ll have what is called a Butterfly Harness. It gets its name from the shape it makes around a submissive’s chest. It can be extended by binding the arms in a bent position and anchored at the back.”

I force my eyes open and peer down at my chest. I don’t see it. Right now, it’s just a simple X between my tits.

“Keep watching, princess. You’ll see it soon.”

How the fuck did he read my mind like that?

Two more additional loops of the rope on each side, and I have a really thick X, but the overlapping in the center of my cleavage has formed a cross-hatched design. Angel comes around to my side and kneels. I feel the rope as he brings it from the back and around my ribs. His knuckles brush my side-boob, and I swallow as he loops it under the three strands of the shoulder piece, directly above my boob, creating a triangle.

Angel wraps it back around to the back and then under my arm again.

I’m starting to see the shape.

He repeats the same on the other side.

When he’s done, he stands and stops in front of me. My gaze attaches to his face, but he doesn’t look at me. No, he looks at his ropes, slides his fingers under and around them, pulls a little, adjusts something here and another thing over there.

Then he strides away, and unless I crane my neck, I can’t see him anymore.

Buzzing fills the room again, and I snap back around to look at Viper. At some point, he’d retaken his seat on the rolling stool. When my gaze clashes with his, he stands and stalks the few steps toward me, the padding of his bare feet hidden by the music.

He hunkers down right between my thighs and raises the vibrator so that I can see it between my thighs. It has a ball-like white head, and I just know, I fucking know, I’m going to love to hate it. With his shoulders almost touching the inside of my knees, I can’t close my legs, even if I want to. I’m no longer held open by my own will power, but forced open by Viper.

His lips quirk to the side, and his ice-blue eyes glint with mischief as he touches the vibrating ball to my inner thigh, right at the very top, but low enough that it doesn’t actually touch my pussy.

I jerk in place and suck in a breath—the vibration is heavy and travels up my thigh into my pelvis. Even with it so far from my pussy, the electricity that races through my muscles is enough to shock me senseless.

Is he going to touch that thing to my vagina? Holy fuck, I’ll explode on the spot. There is no way my clit is going to come out as the winner if that thing touches it. It’ll get burned right off.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, my leg muscles twitching and spasming under the onslaught.

“Remember, no moving,” Viper says, voice as hard as glass. He grins at me, the edges a little wicked and a lot wild, just before he touches it to my other thigh.

I let out a squeak, twist and squirm in my seat, trying to get away but also trying to maintain my position. The nerves under the vibrator are going haywire, unsure if this actually feels good or not.

With the chair strapped to my back, like my fancy new fucking backpack, I’m stuck. There is zero possibility of getting away. My leg muscles fight each other—half want to close and the other half want to be good and stay spread. I’m at their mercy. They can do whatever they want with me. Not that I’ve ever stopped them.

I don’t think I ever will.

I want this too much.

I want them.

I want what they do to me.

I want this version of sex, where it feels amazing, even if there is pain involved. I don’t want to have the ability to think. I just want to feel.

I want it to be about me. All about me.

I want them to want me as much as I want them.

I’m panting, chest heaving as I stare down at Viper while he slowly slides the vibrator up higher and higher. The beautifully weaved knot between my tits is pulling tight and is squeezing my chest with every breath. The sensation is oddly soothing, like an anchor point.

Just before the vibrator touches my pussy, Viper changes direction and traces my panty line toward my hip. My stomach muscles contract, and even though the vibration is moving farther away, with it sitting right over my hip bone, I can feel it fucking everywhere.

My heart is racing and sweat is starting to build beneath the knot on my chest. A humming sensation fills my legs and I have to wrap my fingers around the ends of the arm rests to stop myself from reaching for Viper’s little torture device.

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Angel has returned with the black length of rope. He starts with a double loop around my upper thigh, the first spot Viper touched the vibrator to.

The dual sensations of the rope sliding along my thigh and tightening, paired with the vibrations on the other side of my body, have my brain misfiring. I don’t know where to look. Both sensations want my attention, but it’s almost too much.

On top of all of that, I am desperately anxious to feel that new toy over my clit. Yet I really, really, don’t want to, especially with Angel’s explanation that yesterday’s car ride was basically a baby step for today.

Fingers curl around my chin and turn me to face Angel, but I can barely see him through the haze that is taking over.

“Breathe for me, princess. Just breathe. Feel everything that is happening, let the ropes hold you together.”

Let the ropes hold me together.

I take as deep a breath as I can manage and try to relax. Try to just feel. To let the worries in my head drift away.

I do it again and let my eyes fall closed as I exhale.

Just feel. Let them pleasure me and use my body for their pleasure.

Just be.

Let the ropes hold me together.

Chapter 34

Hudson

Emmy visibly relaxes after Darcy’s quiet words. She was already starting to give herself over to the scene, but clearly, there was too much going on for her to completely let go.

But now that she has, I think she deserves a reward.

As Darcy swaps over to her other thigh to create the first anchor points for that leg, I drag the vibrator up toEmmy ’s breasts. Her nipples are flushed and starting to peak all on their own, which makes me wonder if she is already wet.

Sliding the vibrator up and over the ropes beneath her breast, I stop directly over her nipple. Emmy’s mouth opens, and her entire body arches into the feeling. I press firmly at first, then slowly lift until it is barely touching her, then press down again.

My cock strains against my jeans and my balls ache. Blood has slowly been heading south since the scene started, but now that I get to distract and play with Emmy as Darcy gets her set up for us, I’m almost in pain. Being the one in pain is not my kink.

Thankfully, we are almost there. I need to sink into the wet heat of her cunt—the sensation is borderline desperate. To feel her as she all but strangles my cock with her orgasms until the pleasure turns to pain and she is begging for it to stop.

My favorite thing about this wand is that it only has two settings. On and off. It’s all about the skill of the person controlling the toy. Tease. Pleasure. Pain. Desperation. I’m the one in control of that—for now, at least.

A tap on my arm drags my gaze away from Emmy’s breasts and the filthy image of coating them in my cum. Darcy smirks at me, knowing I am sinking into this scene, when I’m supposed to be helping.

What the fuck did he expect, though? This is exactly what he wanted. For me—for all of us—to be so enamored of this girl that we can’t fathom ever giving her up. Well, he’s gotten his wish, I’m here now, and I’m not letting her go. Not for anything. So, he can shut the fuck up if I get a little too into my fantasies.

The only person who can tell me it’s too much is Emmy.

She is the only one with that sort of power over me now.

Darcy slides his hand beneath Emmy’s thigh near her knee and gently raises it until her knee is almost in line with the inside of her elbow. I change breasts, then help to support her leg as Darcy extends the rope to create another anchor point below her knee.

I continue my lazy torture with the vibrator, keeping her distracted with my torment. Raising the toy, I bring it to her lips. “Open, kitten.”

Eyes still closed, she opens without stopping to think about my request. It is a pure response and heat floods my chest. This girl fits perfectly with us. But something that is not going to fit is the toy. The round head is simply far too wide for her mouth.

“Stick your tongue out.”

Emmy complies immediately, and the humming vibrations develop a wet, sloppy sound, accompanied by a moan from her.

I turn the head over and over, getting it wet, before bringing the toy back to play with her nipples. My focus wants to zero in on the toy, on the gasps and moans that are flowing freely from her mouth, her squirms, the vibration of the toy in my palm, but I can’t. Not yet. Soon.

Darcy has made quick work of the rope around her lower thigh, already having secured it to the back of the chair and raising her other thigh, which I generously support for him. Once both knees are pinned up and back, it will only be a matter of securing her arms to the armrests, and her ankles to her wrists so that she can’t close her legs.

Then she will be truly ready for us to play with and use her however we please.

Now that I am free to play, I think it’s the perfect time to see if she is as wet as I suspect she is. I raise the vibrator until it is barely touching her nipple, and she is moaning and thrusting her chest up toward the toy, before reaching between her legs and running my fingertips back and forth over her opening.

She immediately starts rocking her hips, trying to get my fingers to sink inside of her. Today’s scene isn’t about denial, so I oblige her and thrust two fingers in. Emmy gasps, and her eyes fly open to stare at me. My blood is roaring with lust for this girl, like a rapid current destroying everything in its path.

Crooking my fingers inside of her, I repeat the motion over and over, searching for that spot inside of her that will make her go crazy.

Emmy starts whimpering, leg muscles contracting as I use my thumb to play with her clit. I lower myself to my knees and bring the vibrator with me, switching it off as I make eye contact with Emmy.

She doesn’t seem to have noticed, but Darcy has restrained one of her arms already and is connecting her ankle to her bound wrist. No, her focus is completely on me and the way my lips are getting closer and closer to her pussy.

I haven’t forgotten what she said on Friday night about no one having gone down on her. When this weekend is over, I’m going to plan a scene that will allow me to eat her out for hours. Something with her pussy suspended at mouth height, so I can lap and lick and eat for as long as I like. I might even share her like that with the others.

Darcy walks behind Emmy and starts on her other arm just as my lips touch over my thumb. With fingers still crooking inside of her and my thumb toying with her, I allow my tongue to join in on the action.

“Ahh.” Her moan is delicious, and I want many more of them. I watch her as my tongue continues to flick and roll over her clit, my fingers rubbing at that spot inside of her. The flush on her skin has darkened and her mouth has formed an O as she stares down at me. My skin feels like it’s on fire, but I ignore it. This isn’t about me. This is about her.

It will always be about her.

When Darcy is finished with the tie at her hand, securely spreading her open for our pleasure, he goes to stand by her head. This time, when he takes her chin, he already has his cock out. My own throbs in protest against still being confined and not sinking into a wet, hot, tight little hole.

Emmy’s pussy is spasming around my fingers, the internal muscles getting tight. Her thighs twitch, and she tries to rotate her pelvis down in an attempt to dislodge me, but all I do is increase the movements of my mouth, even lightly sucking until she gasps.

She shakes her head, eyes pleading up at Darcy, her voice ragged with desperation. “No, Daddy, please. Make him stop. I’m going to come. I want to be a good girl for you. Please, make it stop.”

Darcy stares down at her, a dark grin spreading across his face. “Oh, no, princess. Did I forget to mention you aren’t on restriction right now? Come as many times as you like. You’ll want to come more than once during this scene.”

Emmy opens her mouth to speak again, but Darcy lines up his cock and pushes it past those pretty pink lips, stopping whatever words were about to leave her mouth. Her eyes widen, and I double down on my efforts, even going so far as to drag my teeth over her clit.

That seems to do the trick. Emmy arches up, riding both my hand and face, as her orgasm crashes over her. Her moan is broken by Darcy’s thrusts, the noise coming out uneven and wet. Absolutely fucking filthy. If I didn’t want my turn between both sets of her lips, I’d pull my cock out and jerk off right here, letting cum spill onto the floor.

When the riding of my face turns jerky, I straighten and can feel her wetness on my face. My fingers are slick as I slip them free of her pussy, and I bring them up to my mouth to lick clean. Fucking delicious, just a little musky.

My kitten’s eyes are closed as Darcy fucks into her mouth, a hand wound into her hair as he uses that hole for his own pleasure. Like the good girl that she has been for us all weekend, she has relaxed into the way he wants to use her, loosening her jaw as best she can and not fighting it when he triggers her gag reflex.

The tendons in her throat tense and relax, as do her stomach muscles, but she sits there, taking it, her cheeks hollowing with every thrust and saliva starting to build at the corner of her mouth, delicious, sloppy gagging sounds coming from her throat.

We have no real plans for the scene, except for following her cues and making her come as many times as she can handle. And maybe even a few more times after that, just to see her cry.

And introducing her to the joys of shibari, which will only happen if she can manage to trust the ropes, which I think might be starting to happen. If she can let go, she’ll fly. And then Darcy will know for sure that this girl fits with him just as well as she fits with Derek and me.

Either way, by the time we are done with her today, she’ll either be begging for it to stop or sucked so deeply into subspace that she forgets we exist and feels nothing but the pleasure in the pain.

Chapter 35

Emery

The pleasure burning through my veins is receding and leaves behind a haze. My heartbeat is loud, everywhere tingles, my head feels heavy, and I desperately want something in my pussy. It’s still spasming, and the emptiness is making my chest tight.

I want to feel full. To feel owned. To never be empty again.

Opening my eyes is not an option. If I do, I know I’ll cry, and I do not want this scene to be over. Because, for sure, that will end this scene. Even though my tears will be because I want them so much.

I’m starting to think agreeing to this weekend was a mistake.

I concentrate on breathing through my nose on Angel’s every outward thrust. His pace isn’t quite lazy, more like deliberately slow, and even if I wanted to pick up the pace, the hold he has on my hair has already created a burn along my scalp. Every few thrusts, he tightens his grip, and the added tension keeps building the haze.

My throat constricts around a gasp as something warm, thick, and firm bumps my clit, stirring the ashes of my last orgasm. I cough and gasp around Angel, who continues to thrust into my mouth, not giving two fucks that my throat is fighting him, which just makes my core heat even more.

I’ve never been used like this. Yeah, my pussy has been used more times than I can remember, but it was never about owning me. It was just a hole for them to dump a load in. But these four men? They drive me insane. They bring to life every one of my senses.

The thickness nudges my clit a few more times before sliding down and slipping into my pussy, filling me until my cervix complains. Warmth presses against the backs of my thighs and grinds into me.

Viper. I almost sob with the fullness, because, yes, this. This is what I need. I need them, both of them. I want all of it. Everything they have to give me.

Wanting to trap him there, to force him to keep me feeling full, I try to wrap my legs around his back, but tension around my ankles and thighs, and weirdly, my wrists, stops me.

I pull back hard enough that Angel lets go of my hair. Forcing several gasps of air into my lungs, I open my eyes and look at my legs, my gaze taking in the blue and black rope securing them to my arms, then the armrests of the chair.

“Wh-what—” I can’t even get my question out as a flicker of confusion burns at the edges of the haze. I stare at the ropes in their intricate and woven knots around my arms and legs. I can wiggle my hands and my feet, and while there is a bit of give around my actual limbs, I’m essentially at their mercy.

Both of my holes are exposed and open, spread wide. They can do whatever they like, and I won’t be able to stop them.

An easy access position.

All I will be able to do is cry and scream.

I’m theirs to use as they please.

My breathing increases in pace, and I try to wiggle, to move, to do anything, but I’m further impeded by the fact that Viper’s dick has my pussy locked in place, and all my wiggling does is fuck myself onto him.

“Princess, look at me.”

Turning my head, I look up at Angel. My gaze scans from his hard cock, still wet with my spit, up his V and over his abs, past the nipple ring, skirting the edge of his tattoos, his neck, and up to his dark blue eyes.

“What’s your color?”

“I-I… Green? Maybe yellow.” I stammer through my answer, because I’m not sure. Everything is still a little floaty, but I’m tied up, and that should be bad, right? I shouldn’t like it. I’m helpless.

The room becomes very, very still. Even the music hits a lull.

“Is that because of the ropes? Do you want to be cut free?” The questions sound neutral as he asks them, but I can see the way he stiffens the smallest amount and how tension lines appear around his mouth.

The rapid beating of my heart becomes painful, almost like it is swelling and falling at the same time. His worry that I won’t like being tied up like this is clear, but my mouth is answering in a whisper before my brain knows what I’m saying. “My pussy is open. And my ass. It’s…It’s easy access.”

Angel’s lips twitch. “Yes, princess. That’s how I want you. With your pussy open and your body bound with my ropes. And your mouth…” He cups my jaw with his hand and presses his thumb into my mouth. When I automatically suck on it, he groans. “Your mouth open as well. We’re going to use both of those holes while you let the ropes hold you nice and tightly for us, okay? Can you do that for me? Can you relax and let us play with those two holes?”

Angel doesn’t mention anything about my ass. Only my pussy and my mouth. The tension that tried to burn away the haze recedes. He doesn’t remove his thumb from my mouth, but I try to talk around it, anyway. “Yes, Daddy.”

“You are such a good girl for us, princess.” Angel presses his thumb down on my tongue and my mouth floods with saliva. “Remember, come as many times as you need to. Just enjoy all the pleasure. We won’t be done until I say we are done. Relax and let us play with you. Trust the ropes. Trust us.”

He removes his thumb, and I let my head fall back against the backrest and my eyes close. “Okay, Daddy.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel the slide of Viper’s dick as he pulls back and then slams back into my pussy. The ropes over my shoulders and thighs press into my skin with every thrust. He is so deep inside of me that I wish I could widen my legs and let him in even more.

But I can’t.

I’m held in place by this web of ropes, twisted and tied around my body in a beautiful pattern of diamonds and knots.

I don’t have to do anything.

Not to hold myself up.

Not to make myself available to them.

All I have to do is trust the ropes and trust them.

And did Angel say I could come as many times as I want to?

No…wait…

He said that I’ll want to come more than once and that I have permission.

A snapping sound snags my attention and is followed by a loud vibration.

Oh, shit. Is it that same toy?

Oh, god. Yesterday’s car ride. I get it now.

Relentless orgasms until I black out.

I’m in a very similar position, but this time, instead of their hands restraining me, it’s Angel’s ropes.

I jolt in place, expecting the next sensation I feel to be the vibrator against my clit as Viper fucks into me, but instead, hands come down over my collarbones and cup my breasts, squeezing and playing with them. Fingers pinch at my nipples, twisting and tweaking, and I turn into a panting mess as streaks of fire shoot down to my pussy.

Keeping my eyes squeezed shut is a mistake, though.

Angel abandons one of my nipples before pinching the other and pulling it away from my body. Torment floods my boob and makes my pussy clench tightly.

“Daddyyyyy,” I whine, then squeal as an intense pinching pain zings right through my nipple. My eyes fly open, and I look down at my chest, which he is now massaging, and see a tiny black clamp hanging from my reddened tip. A chain dangles from the clamp, and as Angel starts giving the other nipple the same treatment, I see the other clamp a second too late.

A white-hot pulse of fire blooms from both of my boobs, and tension locks up all my muscles as my brain tries to determine if this feels good or bad.

Viper grunts. “Fuck, she likes that. Her pussy just squeezed my cock. Tug on the chain.”

Angel must have already had the same thought, because the chain is immediately tugged away from my body. My nipples follow the chain, and where the pain had started to dull, it now screams its presence. “Oh, no, no, no.”

He pays me no mind and gently pulses the chain, stretching everything just that little bit extra with each crook of his finger.

The hum of the vibrator can barely be heard over the rushing of blood in my ears, but I fucking feel it the moment it touches my clit. “Oh, shit.”

Completely against my control, my pussy spasms, hard. All my focus goes to the vibrating wand pressing against my clit, while the vibrator tries to suck my soul out of my pussy. I’m too sensitive from the orgasm only a few minutes ago, but my brain shuts down and my mouth falls open as I silently scream.

The pain in my nipples becomes distant, and even though I can feel Viper moving, the slide of his dick is secondary to the fucking vibrations.

My core is on fire. I’m wet, so, so wet. My breasts ache. My thighs are burning. I need more. I need less. I can’t, this is too quick. My clit is fucking burning. It feels ten times its normal size. I want my knees wider. I want them closer together. I want another dick inside of me. I need something. Everything. More. I need more.

There is a wailing noise coming from somewhere, and it barely registers that it's coming from me as the fire inside me hurtles toward the edge.

Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and I start to thrust with Viper, grinding up onto the toy as much as my bindings will let me. His ice-blue eyes stare back at me, that feral look of hunger from the first night there again. Like he is going to make me hurt and enjoy it at the same time. He never once moves the toy, instead keeping it pressed into my clit with enough pressure that I won’t be able to dislodge it with any amount of movement.

He gives a harder thrust, and I know I’m coming before I even feel the burn throughout my body. The vibrator stays on my clit for my entire orgasm, the speed relentless. It stays until my fingers feel numb, the bottoms of my feet tingle, and my mouth feels dry.

And then it stays even longer.

It starts to hurt. My clit pulses and shoots pleasure down my thighs. I struggle against the ropes, twisting and turning, trying to get away from the torture.

“No, no, no, please stop. It hurts. Please,” I beg, tears pouring down my cheeks. “Please, Daddy. I don’t want any more.”

White-hot streaks burn to my core, and I can barely breathe. Viper is still thrusting in and out of me, causing sloppy sounds to fall from my pussy, aided by my own cum.

“Who says you get to decide how much you get?” Viper asks with gritted teeth. His free hand rubs up the back of my thigh toward my knee before he stops and grips my leg tightly. “We’ll stop when we say you’ve had enough, and not a moment before.”

“Pl—” My next attempt at begging is cut off as a hand grabs my hair, my head is turned, and I’m force-fed a dick into my mouth, again.

“Relax, princess,” Angel says with a rough voice. “Be a good girl and choke on that cock, that’s it, princess. Don’t worry about what’s happening to your pussy, just choke on my cock. Let us make you feel good.”

“Your pussy is so tight, kitten. It’s locked up and pulsing around my cock. And you are so wet. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever felt a pussy this wet before. So good for us. I can’t wait to see my cum all over your breasts.”

The vibrator is removed, and I sag into the ropes. My pussy hums with the phantom vibrations and my bones feel like jelly. The only things holding me up are Angel’s beautiful ropes and the two dicks inside of me. They are holding me securely to the chair, making sure I stay nice and open for him and Viper.

Angel pulls out of my mouth, and the vibrator returns, but this time, it’s on my clamped nipple. The pinching pain returns, but it’s joined with pleasure, and my body has no idea if it wants to pull away or push into it. At the same time, the dick in my pussy is removed, and I sob at the emptiness that returns.

“Nooo,” I slur, but then there is a dick rubbing at my lips. Greedily, I open my mouth and suck it in, the musky wetness coating the dick helping it to slide all the way in.

With my nose buried against the skin at the base of this new dick, I suck and work my tongue, even as my throat tightens. Saliva spills from the corner of my mouth as I gag.

“Fuck, yes, kitten. Suck my cock. Look at you. Getting messy for us.” Viper gathers my hair and holds it back as he starts to pull out.

Just as he thrusts back in, I feel a dick lining up at my pussy. Angel. Angel is going to fill me back up, and I’m going to be full and perfect.

The vibrator shifts to my other nipple, and I moan around Viper’s dick as Angel sinks into me. Once he is in, he doesn’t take it slow. He grips the backs of my thighs and fucks into me at pace that matches my rapid heart rate.

I’m so wet, I can hear it with every clap of his skin against mine.

I want to reach for him. Or for Viper. I want to feel them.

But I need to be good and just feel. Just let them make me feel good.

The vibrator travels to the underside of my breast and down to my stomach. Dread and excitement at the idea of it touching my clit again fill me at the same time.

I can’t have another orgasm.

At least, I don’t think I can. My clit feels weird and swollen, and the nerves are all fried. Besides, I’m still tingling from the last one. Every time Angel thrusts into me, it sends a shock into my core and makes zings of fire explode.

But the vibrator doesn’t go to my clit.

It's placed across both of my thighs and left there, with the head vibrating on one thigh and the cord dangling over the other.

It is so close to my clit, but not close enough, and the vibes are traveling through my pelvis, straight down to my pussy.

The chain is given a tug, and I gasp around Viper’s dick, my stomach muscles clenching.

“Ah, I see what you mean,” Angel says. “Her pussy is so reactive to her nipples. It’s like they’re connected. Maybe we should ask Xavier about piercing them. Then we could hang pretty things from them. What do you think, princess? Would you like some pretty pierced nipples?”

Images assault my mind of my nipples with barbells that have pink and purple gems. Tassels. Beaded chains. Pearls.

Knowing that they are pierced because my daddies wanted them pierced is enough to make me say yes. All the yeses. Every yes there is. I try to make a noise of agreement, and Viper swears as he feels it around his cock.

Viper pulls out and I suck in air. Angel picks up his pace, not moving the toy. I look down to where our bodies join, and with every pull out, I see his dick covered in my wetness. An obscene, wet clapping noise has joined the music as he thrusts in.

Viper palms the bottom of my boob as Angel holds on to both thighs. With deft fingers, Viper massages all around the clamp, never actually bumping it, before swapping to the other breast.

I watch, mouth slightly open, as he manipulates my flesh. Just as I’m getting used to the new embers that are stoking inside of me, Angel pulls out and Viper lets go. I am left empty and untouched.

The sob that escapes is a confusing mix of gratitude and devastation.

But I needn’t have worried, because Angel doesn’t leave me completely. He sits back on his haunches and picks up the white wand, examining it as it continues to vibrate while he holds it up in the air. “Do you think this could fit inside of her?”

Inside of where?

“Only one way to find out,” Viper offers and comes around to stand behind Angel. “Put it right against her hole and push. See if it sucks the toy in the same way she sucked our cocks in.”

My brain is so far behind the scene that Angel is pressing the round white head against my entrance before the words register properly. I inhale as my insides suck up toward my lungs. Wet, slurping noises comes from between my legs, and I scream, fighting harder against the ropes, even managing to shift the chair a little.

“No, no, no,” I cry as more pressure is applied and the vibrations go deeper. “No, please don’t. I can’t. It’s too big. It won’t fit. Please, no.”

“That’s not a safe word, princess. Breath out for me,” Angel orders, and even though it’s a struggle, I do as requested.

As the toy slips straight inside of me, dizziness washes over me. “Oh, fuccckkkk.”

The head of the wand is humming against a spot inside of me that makes my insides curl up. My entire core is burning, completely on fire. My pelvis starts rocking up into the toy, humping the air as best I can.

“You were right, she did just suck that right in.”

The wand is jostled, and I gasp and moan, sudden pressure placed on the front wall of my vagina, stimulating my G-spot even more, which, up until this weekend, I’d always thought was a myth.

“Good, we can leave her like that while we take a quick break.”

Leave me like this? What?

Their words barely tickle my brain, and this time, when my eyes close, it is completely involuntarily. I catch glimpses of them as they take a seat near the cabinet and crack open two bottles of water, both their dicks still out and hard.

My throat aches, my abs burn, and the entire time, my pussy quivers around the toy.

I have no idea how long they leave me like that, but every now and then, one of them plays with my clit or comes to fuck my mouth. I’m wet everywhere. My cum is leaking down the backs of my thighs, tears and saliva have dripped down my chin and onto my chest, and my entire body is covered in a sheen of sweat.

But I barely register any of that, because another orgasm is coming. I can feel it. A slow-moving burn, building in size and momentum.

A dick rubs at my lips as the vibrator is slowly, so fucking slowly, withdrawn from my pussy. I don’t get a chance to protest as the dick pushes in past my lips. Everything is so loose now that I don’t fight the hold on the back of my head, just let the dick slide into my throat.

I know it’s Viper by the way he stays completely still, my throat convulsing around the crown of his dick. He starts to pull out and thrust shallowly, only giving me a few moments to fill my lungs, before repeating it all over again.

My pussy gaps open as the toy is finally completely removed.

Viper moans as I suck hard on his cock, that slow-burn fire turning into an inferno, rapidly spiraling out of my control.

“I’m getting close, kitten. I’m going to come all over those clamped nipples. You going to make me come? Suck harder, yes, just like that. Fuck, kitten. Such a good girl for me. Here it comes, you ready?”

I suck as hard as I can, jaw aching, throat tight. Viper thrusts twice more before pulling out, wrapping his hand around his cock and jerking it over my tits, before coming all over my chest. His hot, wet load lands on my skin and nipples.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper, imagining the mess that Viper left all over me.

Suddenly, my clit is on fire as the vibrator is pressed to it again.

“No, please. Not again. I can’t. No, no, please, Daddy. Please, I can’t, I can’t, I ca—” I cry out as I thrust down and squeeze out around Angel’s dick.

It feels so good, but it doesn’t feel good, either. It burns. It tingles. It hurts. My cry turns into a mix of sobs and twitching wails as white fire burns through my veins.

I pull and thrash in the chair, trying to put even the smallest amount of distance between me and Angel, but he continues to hammer into me while holding the wand against my clit. My brain is completely fried. My breasts ache, my nipples tingle, and holy shit, I can feel myself leaking.

His movements jostle the vibrator, and we fall into a tortuous cycle where the vibes are perfectly on my clit and then bumped to the side, giving me half a breath of relief.

But somehow, not, at the same time.

I feel like I am burning alive.

“Come on, princess. One more. You can do it. You can give me one more. It’s right there, I can feel it. Your pussy is so…fucking…tight right now.” Angel grinds out, thrusting in on every word, physically enunciating his pleasure. “I want one more. I need to feel you come around my cock, then I am going to come in this tight little pussy. Fuck, I feel like it was made for me. One more orgasm, princess. You can do it.”

His words barely register. My nerves are screaming at me to make it stop. Make it all stop. Everything tingles. Everything feels like it’s on fire. Every muscle screams with stress. There is a buzzing in my ears, and my blood is roaring through my veins.

“Push down, princess. Squeeze. Make yourself come on my cock.”

I try to squeeze, I think I do. But then Angel readjusts the vibrator, and now it's no longer being moved by his thrusts, which are shallower, no longer jostling things out of the way.

The unrelenting vibration is too much. I feel like I am going to pass out. My face feels numb, and my mouth falls open. I think I might be screaming. I don’t know if I’m even breathing. Pins and needles prick into every bit of my skin. My vision has tunneled, and all I can see is the white vibrator on my clit Angel’s cock thrusting in and out of me.

I shake my head. It burns. I’m not going to come. My clit is going to burn right off. The pleasure hurts. I can’t.

Something brushes against the side of my breasts, then pain explodes in my nipples just as I’m rocketed at full speed up and over the edge, and my consciousness explodes like a firework. A male groan punctuates the haze just as everything goes my last piece of consciousness goes dark.

Chapter 36

Derek

I’m shocked to hear music flowing through the apartment as I push into the apartment and quickly swing around to capture the door before it slams shut behind me. Darcy’s scene should have been over by now, but by the sounds of things, it may be ongoing.

I down the short corridor to the apartment and then turn back to the open door. What action should I take here? There was no real discussion about Xavier and I leaving the apartment while Darcy—and Hudson—had their fun with Emery. It was just an assumption we all made when we discussed our scenes.

Gently, I guide the door closed, reducing as much of the noise as possible, then shift the food to my other hand so that I can check the time. As I expected, the scene was supposed to be over by now. Reaching into my pocket, I check my phone in case I missed a message, but there is nothing. Absolutely no indication that the scene has run over and they need more time.

When in doubt, stick to the original plan.

As quietly as I can manage, I make my way into the apartment. Almost immediately, I spy Hudson and Darcy in the farthest corner of the apartment in the area that Darcy claimed for his ropes.

Both are still shirtless, but they are holding water bottles as they stare at something—or someone—in front of them.

As quietly as I can, I put the paper to-go bag down on the kitchen counter, but it must not have been quiet enough, because Darcy turns and we make eye contact. He salutes me with his half-empty bottle of water, then indicates that I should join them.

I am not prepared for what I see.

Emery is fast asleep in the custom chair Darcy had designed, with her head tipped back against the headrest and turned to the side. She is covered in varying shades of blue and black rope, all intricately woven together, and there is drying cum covering her breasts, which feature nipples that are bright red with peaked tips.

So, he decided to use the clamps, then. It’ll be interesting to find out what her reaction was to them later tonight when we all debrief together.

I trace my gaze down her body to her thighs, which are tied so they are spread wide, and down to her pussy—fuck, is that cum dripping out of it?—which is also red and puffy, just like it was last night.

I take deep breaths because I cannot get hard right now, even though blood is very definitely rushing south. Xavier’s scene is after lunch, and I need to play a part in that. I absolutely cannot spend the next few hours hard. It will ruin Xavier’s scene.

But, fuck, this is not making it easy.

“How long has she been out?” I ask as enough cum builds at her entrance that another drip starts to form.

“Only a few minutes. I’ve taken all the photos I want, and we’ll get her untied in a minute.” He passes me his phone, and I scroll through the images.

Even in this, Darcy shows his artistic tendencies.

There are up-close photos of the knot between her breasts, covered in cum. And the knots that bind her wrists to her ankles. There’s a photo taken from near her pussy that aims up her body, all while tastefully keeping her pussy out of the actual shot. Though there are less tasteful images of her pussy, my favorite is the one with a finger inside of her, cum oozing around the digit. And another photo of her face, relaxed in her post-orgasmic state, hair a mess and cheeks rosy.

There is even a video of the first dribbles of cum slipping out.

But the final shot…fuck.

It takes a second for me to realize what I am looking at, but when I do, I lose the fight against my cock getting hard.

The camera is underneath Emery, most likely on the floor, and perfectly positioned to capture a drop of cum as it trickles out of her and starts to fall.

My pulse thuds in my ears.

“How did she go with the scene? Do you have a rope bunny on your hands?” I know what Darcy has been thinking. I’m sure we’ve all been thinking about it.

Does she fit all of us?

Is she the one we can offer a long-term contract to?

“Can’t say for sure yet. There was a moment when she struggled against the ropes, but we were able to talk her through it and she relaxed again. Never once safe worded, even though we asked. Any other fight she had in her was aimed at the predicament she was in, rather than the ropes themselves. I think, with time and practice, she will come to love them.” The hope in his voice is enough to trigger my own. “She just needs to fight before she relaxes. She was beautiful once she gave herself over.”

During my scene with her yesterday, then last night, with Hudson’s fantasy, she was perfect for someone so inexperienced with our kinks. And it sounds like she will be able to meet Darcy on his.

Giving Darcy back his phone, I clap him on the back and head toward the kitchen. If I stay in Emery’s vicinity for a moment longer, I’ll end up using what is surely my last orgasm for a while on a hand job that adds to the cum on her chest.

I need to get ahold of myself. It’s like I am a goddamn teenager again.

Murmuring from the two of them follows me as I go to put our subs in the fridge.

This girl.

She is going to be ours. I can feel it.

The only warning I get that someone else is in the kitchen with me is a slight shifting of air. Turning, I find Xavier leaning against the far side of the kitchen island, a black giftbag on the counter in front of him.

His gift.

I have no idea what it is, but he has been messaging with someone since Friday night about it.

“Do you want to go to her?” I ask quietly as I go to stand next to him.

He is silent for long enough that I wonder if I should repeat the question. “No, she needs them right now. I’ll have her soon.”

The music has changed to an a cappella singing group, and the volume is lower as Darcy starts the process of removing the ties. Hudson moves to Emery’s other side and works on the knots there. As they go, they rub and massage her limbs, especially where the knots were.

From here, I can’t see any of the details, but I have watched Darcy enough that I know his routine. This is a part of his aftercare and the way for him to help his sub reconnect to the real world. By the time he has her free and cuddled in his arms, she should have roused, if still a little floaty, as she calls it.

The thought warms my heart and puts a smile on my face.

Xavier and I watch from our place. It doesn’t take the two of them very long to get Emery free, and in the end, Hudson supports her body as Darcy undoes the chest piece.

Still shirtless, Darcy scoops Emery out of the chair, their naked forms pressed together, and carries her toward the couch. Once seated, he nestles her against his chest, and the way they both let out a huge breath is endearing. Like they needed this moment together.

Xavier and I move into action. I collect several bottles of water from the fridge and take them to the coffee table, unscrewing the lid on one for Emery when she comes back to us.

Hudson is dealing with the ropes and toys so that they aren’t as big of a mess for Darcy to deal with later, and Xavier meets me at the couch with a blanket that he gently covers Emery with. Her eyes are open but are unfocused, pupils still wide and taking over the majority of the beautiful hazel that is normally there.

She’s not quite back with us, but I can help with that.

I take a seat next to them and place her feet in my lap. There are a few red marks around her ankles, a spot on her calves, and loops around her thighs. I start my massage with her feet.

Beginning from her toes and working my way up, I keep the pressure even, but light, just enough that it feels good without distracting from wherever her mind has gone. The others start a conversation, but I pay it no mind, instead concentrating on my baby and making sure we have no sub drop incidents again.

The way she slips into subspace is still mind-blowing to me. It’s as if she belongs there, instead of here with us. Like she was made for the gray of our world.

Her foot twitches in my grasp as I press my thumb into the arch of her foot, and I dart my gaze up to her face. Our eyes connect and she looks so small, huddled up against Darcy’s chest with the blanket pulled up to her face. Her blinks are owlish, and besides a slight twitch, she makes no other movement.

I press into the arch of her foot again and am rewarded with another twitch, as well as a little furrow between her eyebrows. It’s adorable. This time, with one hand gripping her ankle firmly, I run my fingertips along the sole of her foot, nails dragging slightly. Her entire leg jerks, and she makes a squeaking noise.

Emery glares at me, so I poke out my tongue at her. Surprise flares in her eyes, and her cheeks turn rosy before she grins and buries her face into Darcy’s chest. I chuckle, heart heavy and full, and swap feet.

The conversation being held by the other three pauses, and they all focus on Emery. It’s probably a good thing she’s hidden her face away because I’m certain all this attention would have made the baby girl in her very nervous.

I desperately want to meet the brat in her. She’s peeked out a handful of times, but only briefly. I have a feeling that she’ll be just as wonderful as the baby girl, but in her own naughty way. I can’t fucking wait.

“Princess? Everything okay?” Darcy asks as he rubs her back through the blanket. His other arm shifts beneath the blanket and Emery’s feet twitch in my lap before relaxing a little farther apart.

Internally, I roll my eyes at Darcy’s behavior. But, realistically, I know that after my scene, my possessiveness was off the charts, so I can’t blame the guy.

There is a murmur from her, but I can’t make out the words.

But Darcy is onto her. “What was that?”

Emery turns her head back to facing me, but her eyes are closed, cheeks still flushed red. “Everything is still floaty. And tingly.” She adds the last bit as an afterthought.

Hudson has taken a seat on the coffee table and holds the open bottle of water out to Darcy. He stares at it for a moment, and then with a sigh, he pulls his arm out from beneath the blanket, two fingers clearly glistening with wetness. Accepting the bottle of water, he encourages Emery to sit up a little straighter so that he can help her drink without making a mess.

A delicate hand appears, and she takes the bottle, attempting to sip from it, but Darcy doesn’t remove the bottle until he is happy with the amount of water she’s had. She pouts at him after, and it’s adorable as fuck. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she pretends to ignore him as she snuggles back into him.

Another tiny peek at the brat.

I have to look away and end up finding Hudson struggling to hide his smile as well. Emery should know the drill by now. It’s not like we haven’t made her drink an entire bottle of water after every scene. Which is usually followed by snacks or a meal. And usually a nap.

When the bottle is back on the coffee table and everyone is resettled, I restart my massage and begin the check-in with her. “How did you find your scene with Darcy?”

Her eyes have drifted closed again, and a smile forms on lips. “It was amazing.”

It’s only because I’m watching Emery so closely that I notice the enormous breath Darcy releases. I glance up at him and can see the relief and happiness written all over his face as he stares down at the girl in his arms.

“And the ropes, princess? How were they? Do you think you would like to try them again?”

She frowns for just a moment, then shakes her head. “No.”

Darcy stiffens, his confused gaze shooting to mine. But Emery continues talking, oblivious to the sudden pain she has caused him. Well, all of us, really. Because if the ropes are a no for her, then she is a no for all of us.

“I don’t think I want anyone else to tie me up like that. It was…it was so amazing once I just let go. The ropes, they held me, they helped me to be good for Daddy Darcy and Daddy Hudson. I felt so safe and secure. I don’t think I could trust anyone else like that.” Her words tumble out of her, like a stream of consciousness, but one thing catches my attention.

“Anyone else? Why would anyone else be tying you up, baby?” My heart beats rapidly in my chest.

“You know, when this weekend is over? I don’t think I could do that with anyone else. Just Daddy Darcy. I trust him. But we only have this weekend. So, no one else.”

It’s hard to get my next question out past the tightness in my throat, but I manage it, knowing we all need the answer. “And if Daddy Darcy wants to tie you up again, would that be okay with you?”

Eyes still closed, her smile turns dreamy again. “Yeah.”

“What about if I want to use you as my fuck toy again?” Hudson asks, voice husky. “Share you with my friends? Play with you in public?”

She cracks one eye open and peers at Hudson. “Even when the weekend is over?”

He doesn’t answer her, just stares, waiting for her reply.

Emery snuggles deeply into her blanket and closes her eye again. “Yeah.”

“Baby…” I start, but I can’t ask.

Emery’s eyelids flutter open, and she stares directly at me, more alert now. “Daddy…” Then she nods, slowly at first, confusion clouding her beautiful eyes because she is clearly starting to understand that we’re asking about beyond the weekend. “But—"

“How about you go take a shower,” I say, cutting her off, my heart thudding in my chest with nerves.

We aren’t ready to have this conversation. Xavier still needs his scene with her, and it will be the most challenging one by far, even though it is relatively tame for him. For Emery, this will push her fear to the limit, something he thrives off of.

If she loves it as much as she has loved our other scenes, only then can we have this conversation.

Hudson stands and holds out his arms to Emery. “Come on, kitten. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we can cuddle for as long as you like.”

Darcy shifts forward as Hudson lifts her into his arms, blanket and all. Then the three of them walk toward the bedroom, disappearing from view when the door clicks shut. I turn to face the far corner of the sectional, where Xavier sits quietly. I’m not even sure Emery saw him sitting there, since her back was to him.

For the briefest moment, so quick I’m wondering if I imagined it, I swear I see longing.

Fuck, I hope she enjoys her scene with him. Otherwise, this very delicate bubble of hope that has started to form among the four of us is going to shatter, and I’m not sure we will be able to come back from that.

Chapter 37

Emery

Oakley: How’s your *kitty emoji* doing? Waving the white flag yet? Do you need me to order you one of those donut pillow things?

My cheeks ache from the grin that spreads across my face. I’m coming to really enjoy Oakley’s snark. It’s mixed in with a very large dose of innocence, but the fact that her judgment—at least, via text message—is basically non-existent, makes me want to keep her forever.

She didn’t give a fuck when she told me about her sugar dating activities, even though we are stuck living with each other for a year.

She didn’t try to stop me from going to my first gangbang, going so far as to bankroll it.

Then she supplied me with everything I would need for my extended weekend with the daddies.

And finally, she has been texting me every few hours to make sure I haven’t been turned into chop suey and dumped in the river.

I pull my legs up higher on the couch and tuck one under my butt. While I am tender, I’m not in actual pain. Everything just feels really well used. Like, really, really well.

Me: *kitty emoji* is doing just fine. She thanks you for your concern and wants you to know she has been very well looked after.

Me: And that would be a no on the donut pillow, lol. But thank you for the thought.

Staring at the messages, I fiddle with the pompom hanging from the sparkly case of my phone and wonder when I became the type of person who refers to her pussy in third person.

Bubbles appear immediately.

Oakley: I should hope so, with how much they are paying. That *kitty emoji* should be one pampered kitty.

Oakley: Are you sure? I found this super cute one!

Oakley: *Picture of pink-iced donut, with sprinkles and eyes with long eyelashes and a purple bow*

I shake my head at the phone, my grin impossibly wide.

Bosom buddies, for sure.

I mean, she is probably going to annoy the fuck out of me long term, but at any point, she’ll just need to bring up the fact that she Anakin Skywalkered my weekend fuckfest and kept all relevant details ready and available for the cops if shit went south.

But it so hasn’t gone south. Not even a little bit.

I’ve eaten more food and drunk more water this weekend than I normally would in an entire week. After every scene, there has been an entire bottle of water, a shitload of cuddles, and then a plate so full of food that I’m not sure even one of the daddies could finish it all.

Lunch today was the same. A giant gourmet sandwich from some fancy deli place. There’d even been little containers of different kinds of salads to go with it. I’d barely managed a third of what had been put on my plate.

I’ve been chillin’ on the couch ever since, trying not to think about the fact that there is one scene left to go before the weekend and our contract is over.

That it’s Xavier’s scene is making me even more nervous.

I’ve been given zero indication of when it is going to start or what’s involved. He’s been MIA several times since yesterday morning, and none of the others seem to care. And he watches me. All the time. I’m fairly certain that he would follow me into the bathroom if I didn’t lock the door.

And last night, during Hudson’s fuck toy scene, his questions about piercings had not gone unheard by me.

Is that something he wants? To thread a needle through my skin and leave a permanent mark? Is he going to do that to me today? And if yes, where? My clit? My nipples? Somewhere else?

A full-body shiver runs done my spine.

Do I even want that?

Nerves bubble in my stomach as I contemplate the state of my skin. I have nothing pierced and no tattoos. My skin is as unblemished as a baby’s, but that’s only because of the lack of cash in my life. And it’s not that I’m anti body modifications. At some point, I do want to pierce my ears for vanity’s sake, but I don’t see myself wasting money on ink or pierced flesh.

They are absolutely stunning on everyone else, but for me, I’ll be saving my money for my future. I never want to be reliant on another person or institution again, and the only way to make that happen is to be completely and utterly self-funded.

My phone locked itself while I was busy contemplating the mess of thoughts in my head. Unlocking it, I type out a reply to Oakley.

Me: Seriously, I’m fine, I don’t

Bang.

I fumble my brand-new phone, my heart rate tripling in beats per minute as I glance over my shoulder and see…

No one.

Wait, where did they go?

Swiveling around on the couch cushion, I scan the apartment but come up empty.

Shit, did they all leave?

My heart feels loose in my chest, like it is preparing to sink.

Did they really fucking leave me here alone?

They’ve had everything about this weekend planned down to a fucking T—how could they forget about me? What in the actual fuck?

Wait, is this their way of telling me to leave?

Maybe they are just having a quiet conversation in the bedroom together?

A bubble of hope that someone is still here with me, and they are just showering, fills in my chest as I abandon my phone on the couch and bolt to the bedroom.

The door is open, and the bubble of hope is already fizzling out when I don’t hear running water. The room is dark—the curtains are drawn and the lights are off. I flick the switch and walk around the bed to the walk-in wardrobe.

Dark in here too.

Fuck, is their stuff gone?

With panic starting to build, I search for the light, turn it on and sigh a massive breath of relief.

Their clothes are all still hanging in the wardrobe. Nothing is missing.

That must mean they are coming back, right?

Maybe it’s a momentary lapse in their planning, each of them thinking one of the others would be with me? That must be it.

Turning off each light as I pass the switches, I go back out into the main area of the apartment but pause a few steps in because it’s only now occurring to me how damn quiet the space is. All weekend, there has been noise.

Them talking, the TV, music—something.

The silence feels thick and heavy on my skin, but it also reminds me that there was a huge bang earlier, like something heavy falling on the ground. But if I’m here by myself, what caused the noise? A chill fills my veins at the thought that I might not be completely alone.

I almost snort laugh at myself. Could I sound anymore like the blonde chick who gets killed in a horror movie?

Ooo, there was a weird noise over there, I’ll go check it out.

Next thing you know, she’s carved up like a turkey and her friends keep finding pieces of her body around the cabin they rented for a weekend getaway.

It would basically be impossible for someone other than my men to be in here with me. Security fobs to get in and out of the building, a security guard at the front door, swipes to get the elevator going, and then another one to get into the actual apartment.

No, it’s more likely that something was sitting precariously and finally lost the battle with gravity. I’ll go figure out what it was, set it to rights, and then sit my ass back on the couch and watch some TV until one of them gets back.

Then I’ll give them a piece of my mind for abandoning me here.

I just need to be quick. There is absolutely no way I want them catching me walking through their personal torture dungeon. Nope, nope, nope. Am I going to snoop? Hell yeah, but only a little. I have no idea when they’ll be back, so this is going to be a quick in-and-out mission.

I ignore my racing heart and how sweaty my palms have become and go in search of the noise.

It’s like there is an invisible wall that I pass through as I step into the corner that is Darcy’s space. His beautiful ropes line the cornered walls, and I can’t help but run my fingers over them. The chair is gone—I have no idea where—leaving it as an open space.

I walk around several cabinets placed together to form a makeshift boundary wall and toward Derek’s space.

The Wall of Torment.

Almost as colorful as Darcy’s walls, Derek’s has a lot more black intermingled among the rainbow. I want to reach out to the floggers and whips, but I don’t. Instead, I search out the two paddles that have claimed special places inside of me.

There they are, side by side.

Good Girl. Daddy’s Brat.

Those, I do touch. I can’t help it. The leather is so much smoother than I thought it would be. The way my ass had stayed red with the imprinted words for hours after the scene had caused heat to simmer in my veins.

Just the thought of it is turning me on again. My nipples feel tight against the fabric of Xavier’s shirt, which he pulled over my head the moment I’d gotten out of the bathroom with Darcy and Hudson. He also helped me slip on the plain black panties that I’m wearing.

One shaky breath later, I turn away from the wall and stare at the abundance of kinky furniture.

The spanking bench from yesterday.

More cabinets in varying sizes, with plenty of drawers.

My eyes widen when I spy what looks like a gynecologist’s bed in the far corner, with stirrups and everything—really fucking glad that wasn’t on the menu for the weekend. What the hell do they even use that for?

Swallowing, I look at the next piece of furniture, and my mouth drops open. Is that a pillory? Holy fuck.

And then, the piece I have been trying really hard not to look at.

The St. Andrew’s Cross against the wall.

Tentatively, I take a step closer to it.

It’s wooden, with padding along each of the arms and legs, as well as where a person’s torso would go. There are handcuffs hanging from the highest points of the X. Straps dangle from the sides of the torso padding, perfect for restricting movement. My gaze traces down to the legs, and that’s when I notice something out of place beside the cuffs attached to the feet of the cross.

A massive black leather case.

That must be what made the noise.

I look around for where it may have fallen from and easily spot an empty space on top of a cabinet just behind it. Quickly, I stride over to the case and bend to pick it up.

A grunt of surprise leaves me. It’s heavier than I thought it would be. As I shift it to the top of the dresser, the items inside of the case make a weird metallic tinking noise.

I pause.

Is the stuff on the inside broken? Should I check?

There is a tiny voice in the back of my head, screaming at me to put it back and return to the safety of the couch, but my curiosity has been piqued. And besides, I didn’t snoop in any of the drawers. Surely, looking at just this one thing is okay?

Besides, if they catch me snooping, I can tell the truth. I heard a bang, found the case, and when I picked it up to put it back, I thought the things inside were broken. What I will do if they are broken, I have no idea. But it’s a good enough story for now.

Carefully, I place the case on the top of the dresser and then work the top and bottom buckles open. Butterflies have escaped from my stomach and now flutter through my chest. With a breath, I lift the edge but pause almost immediately. This isn’t a case. It’s a wrap.

I don’t even hesitate and open the wrap right up, rolling it all the way open.

Knives. So many knives.

My throat goes tight as I scan them all.

Long blades, short blades, thick handles, smooth handles, thick blades, pencil-thin blades, a scalpel, and more. All of them look sharp as fuck and glisten under the apartment lights. There are at least twenty knives here, each one secured in place by little pieces of black elastic.

Except, there is one empty set of elastics.

Just as I touch my finger to the empty loops, the air shifts behind me and the bite of cold, sharp steel presses against my neck.

“Hello, little dove.”

Chapter 38

Xavier

Her carotid artery hammers as fast as a fucking machine gun against my knuckle, and mine speeds up to match her tempo. As soon as my blade was against her throat, she froze and her curiosity turned to fear. My cock is already hard, and I’m ready to throw all my goddamn plans out the fucking window, just so I can sink my cock into her tight, wet cunt while she fears for her life.

Fucking calm down.

I do not want this to be over quickly. And I’m not fucking cheating myself out of this one moment that I have been given. I’ve been good, all fucking weekend.

Playing nice.

Being involved.

Not taking things too far.

Being gentle.

Soft.

Considerate of their time with her.

No accidental cuts or bites.

Good.

I’ve been goddamn good for these fuckers.

But now it’s my fucking turn.

Cupping her shoulder with my free hand, I lower my head until my face is buried in her hair, just below her ear.

Slowly, I inhale through my nose, eating up every single scent. Her shampoo-and-conditioner combo is a basic ten-dollar bottle and is so floral, it borders on intolerable.

It took me three stores to find them, but now there are four bottles of each sitting in the trunk of my car. When this weekend is over, I’ll be using every last drop to jerk off in the shower every fucking morning. My new favorite lube.

As my lungs inflate, I use my nose to trace the shell of her ear and fight the urge to take, so I can start the fucking scene I’ve been planning since Friday night, when she made her lip bleed all over my cock.

“You say red, and the scene stops. Nod, so I know that you understand,” I whisper, my throat thick, which causes my voice to sound like I swallowed a mouthful of crushed glass.

Emery dips her chin enough that it passes for a nod, and I finally give in to the urge to use my teeth. I wrap my arm around her upper chest and take the lobe of her ear into my mouth and bite until she gasps, the noise rattling loose some of the bars that hold my insides together.

Her hands fly to my forearm, squeezing tightly, but her ass screams the truth as it presses back into my hard-as-fuck cock.

I chuckle, grinding into her. “I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

I grab one of her breasts and squeeze, hard, nothing but my thin T-shirt between us.

Emery Alana Nicholas, eighteen years, six weeks, and two days old, five-foot-three, with sixteen Facebook friends and no Instagram account, and a DCFS file that will only take me a few hours to get into, moans.

The sound is lightning to my balls.

Shifting the smooth handle of the knife so that the blade is angled up a little higher, I force her to tip her head back. I reach for the piece of black fabric hanging from my back pocket, then lift it to dangle over her face.

“Put this on.”

The knife shifts against the column of her throat as she swallows and tentatively reaches for the blindfold, fingers trembling. It threatens to break the last few bars on my cage, but I can feel my bloodlust slipping through the gaps.

A haze has already started to form, and I know I’m going to give in and take what I want. But not yet, not until she is secured and not until I have her safely in place. No need for her to flinch and cause more damage than I intend to inflict.

I ease up on the pressure with the blade to give her room, but that doesn’t mean I make it easier on her.

I’m starving for the taste of her. I need her in my mouth, on my tongue, and down my throat. I want to make her come so many times, her cunt runs like a river while I bleed her dry, capturing both in jars for later.

I want to mix them together, to taste her orgasm mixed with her vitality.

I want to consume her.

As she starts to tie the knot, I reach for the hem of my shirt she’s wearing and raise it up enough that I can slip my fingers beneath the waistband of the panties I picked out for her. Plain black cotton, not one of the fucking gorgeous sets we bought, no. These panties will be useless by the time I am done. They’ll also be my trophy.

Thrusting my hand down, I find her clit. I form a V with my index and middle fingers and pinch her clit between the two, rolling it between my knuckles.

Emery’s moans return, and her knot-tying skills go to shit. She starts to thrust into my fingers, making the skin under my blade shift.

“Ah, ah, ah,” I murmur, returning the pressure of my knife against her throat. “None of that. I’d hate for my knife to slip and end your participation in this scene. Finish tying your blindfold so the fun can really begin.”

Emery whimpers.

Ah, my little dove likes that idea. I continue to play with her clit while she finishes the knot.

“Can you see?” I ask, twisting the knife as I pinch her clit.

She gasps. “No, D-daddy.”

I glance over to where Derek is standing, partially hidden by the pulled-back curtain, and make eye contact with him. He makes his way over to us, slipping between the wall and the St. Andrew’s Cross.

He is Emery’s safety, in case the bloodlust steals me from her.

The fucker will get his rocks off from watching me play with Emery, and he’ll keep her safe. He’ll keep her safe after I restrain her to the cross. He’ll keep her safe when I score her skin. He’ll keep her safe when darkness consumes me and she bleeds for me.

I’m not giving her up. Not after this scene. Not after this weekend.

I’m claiming her.

She’s mine.

Chapter 39

Emery

“Walk forward.” Hunter’s voice is low and rough in my ear.

His fingers are still playing with my clit as I shuffle forward, one-hundred-fucking-percent aware of the knife pressing against my throat.

He wouldn’t actually cut me, would he?

Ravenous hazel eyes flash in my mind as a phantom sting fills my lip.

My heart pounds, and I feel a little lightheaded because, yes. Yes, I do think he will cut me. Is that the plan for this scene? Am I going to bleed for him? Am I going home with more than just the bruises I have been gifted so far?

A streak of pleasure shoots straight up to my belly button as Hunter pinches my clit, causing my steps to falter and the knife to send a tiny little zing across my skin.

I gasp and reach up for the knife. “I—I think you cut me.”

Hunter pauses, and that’s when I feel it. His cock twitches against my ass. Is this turning him on?

Well, obviously, otherwise he wouldn’t have set up the scene like this. But is my fear or the thought of his knife drawing my blood the reason for his pleasure?

Could it be both?

A thrill runs down my spine at the idea of my fear turning him on. And him loving the sight of my blood… How far will he go? Another nip to my lip? Or are those knives going to slice through my skin?

Then it dawns on me. I’m alone with him. The others all made sure they had their scenes before Hunter.

Holy shit, is there a realistic chance that I’m actually going to be chopped up into little pieces and tossed into the river? I’d been joking with Oakley when I had asked her to tell the police if this exact thing happened.

My skin flushes hot and my breathing increases.

I don’t get a response on the potential cut to my neck, just pressure to the back of my leg with his knee. “Keep moving.”

The heat from his body lines the entire length of my back, and it’s the only thing that is providing me with any direction. I have a feeling we are moving toward the huge ass cross, since that’s the last thing I can remember seeing before the blindfold cut off my vision.

We keep the shuffling gait that we have established. My hands feel useless as they tremble out in front of me. And my brain is completely fucked up right now because my clit keeps shooting sparks while the skin at my neck burns.

I have no idea which way is fucking up or down right now, but the heat in my pussy is starting to take over the fear.

My fingers bump into something firm but soft, and it takes me a second to fight through the fear clouding my brain to realize it is the padding over the center of the cross.

Here we go.

His cheek presses into the side of my face, his hot breath flowing down my neck and raising goose bumps. “Spread your legs.”

The pressure on the knife eases, slightly, and I shuffle my feet apart.

“Wider.”

Swallowing, I go as wide as I can manage without my muscles screaming.

The hand in my panties slips free, and he grips my wrist, raising my arm and then pressing my palm into the wooden arm of the cross.

A wave of relief floods my system as the knife is removed from my neck, and I feel like I can take an actual deep breath, but it stutters in my throat as both hands return to my panties and the cold steel of the knife slides against my skin beneath the waistband. I’m frozen in place as the knife is positioned point down into the crotch and Hunter’s hands leave my panties.

My stomach clenches with tension, causing the knife to jostle against my pubic bone.

“You will not resist when I move you,” he murmurs in my ear. “Wouldn’t want to risk any more unintentional cuts. Do not move otherwise.”

The way he says unintentional causes my heart to crash wildly around in my chest.

Hunter doesn’t give me a chance to respond or protest. He raises the yet-to-be-positioned hand the same way the first is, but instead of needing me to hold it in place, a thick padded fabric is wrapped around my wrist.

The handcuffs.

He never once stops touching me. Fingertips trace lines up and down my arms, across my back as he transitions to the other wrist. Then down my side as my ankle is given the same treatment.

Something happens down near my free foot, but the restraint doesn’t come. The noise of the chains clinking, like they are being dragged together, starts, then shifts from the ground to up near my wrist.

There is a loud clank, and I feel the vibration through the padding against my chest. Then a hand curves around my thigh and gently pulls until my foot comes off the ground. The knife shifts in my panties, and panic flares as I feel an edge start to press into me.

“Wait, I can’t.” My wrists and shoulders instantly take the weight of my body as a thick strap wraps around the lower part of my thigh near my knee.

Hunter’s body heat disappears from behind me, and I’m left strapped to the cross, partially hanging, partially holding myself up.

I don’t know if my heart can race any faster.

I have no idea where he is, not until fingers pinch my cheeks hard enough to make my lips part. I flinch, but his grip on my face is so tight that I can’t dislodge him.

“Stick your tongue out.”

With only the tiniest amount of hesitation, I force my tongue past my lips and immediately regret it. Something sharp bites right into the tip, shooting fire into my mouth. I choke on a gasp, but that is swallowed as his mouth closes over mine.

Our tongues mingle, a metallic flavor filling my mouth, before he sucks on my tongue, an animalistic growl ripping from his mouth as he pulls away. There is the clank of metal landing on metal, and then I’m alone again.

The seconds stretch. My shoulders start to burn, and I try to shuffle the foot on the ground in just a little. The chain pulls tight after only about an inch, which isn’t nearly enough to help the pain in my arms.

A whole minute passes in complete and utter silence.

The knife against my pussy is feeling heavy in my panties.

“Daddy?” I call out, not at all surprised to hear the tremor in the word. My heart feels like it’s going to explode.

I’m scared. He isn’t really going to hurt me, is he? This is all just a part of the scene, right?

But then I remember, at the beginning, he said I could say red and the scene would end. Yes, this is all a part of the scene. I just need to trust him, like how I trusted Darcy this morning. I need to give in to the fear, like I gave in to the ropes. And even if the others have left, and I am only here with Hunter, there is no way any of them would leave me in danger.

I’m safe. Mostly.

Just as I start to relax and lower my head to see if I can reach the padding there, a warm body presses against my back. Arms come around me, slipping between me and the padding.

I jerk in place and the knife shifts. “Oh, shit.”

The hands work my shirt away from the handle. I stay completely fucking still as the knife is removed from my panties, the pointed tip dragging up and over my pubic bone. My throat aches as he takes a step back from me, until I feel the back of the shirt shift. The tip of the blade is placed at the base of the back of my neck.

It starts to slide down my spine, and a sting like a paper cut follows in its path.

I jerk away. “No, don’t.”

But he doesn’t listen. Instead, he braces his forearm against my neck, forcing me against the padding, and places the knife over the shirt again. He begins tracing down my spine over the shirt this time, and the sting is lessened, but it’s still there.

“Daddy, no,” I cry, not wanting to feel the pain. Sweat is breaking out all over my skin, and I’m trembling, fear having burned away any pieces of pleasure.

When he lets go of me, cool air rushes along the skin of my back as the shirt falls to my sides, only attached to my body via the sleeves. I sob with relief when I can’t feel anything more than a slight sting.

A shuffling noise, and very quiet pings of metal shifting, come from behind me, and I recognize it as the roll of blades shifting.

Then I hear a snap, and a familiar buzz fills the room, and for one terrifying second, a flash of an electric carving knife fills my mind, but then something firm presses against my panties right over my clit. With one leg raised and the other spread out wide, the vibrations hit me hard, and I curl my pelvis away out of shock.

As soon as I do, there is a sharp object poking into my shoulder blade, and I flinch away from it, forcing my clit up against the vibrator.

Oh, shit.

The sharp point feels like a pin, and the thinnest of the thin blades from the roll comes to mind. A line of fire is dragged diagonally over my shoulder blade and stops before it crosses to the other side of my back.

I cry out, sharp and shrill, and I struggle until the forearm reappears across my shoulders. The vibrations against my panties are creating a small tentative fire, one that can’t seem to actually catch a light, but I am too caught up in the streak of pain radiating from my back.

The knife returns to almost the same spot and draws a new line that feels parallel to the first. I scream and try to pull away, but it only forces me harder against the vibrator.

As suddenly as both sensations started, they disappear, and I’m left panting and sobbing, with a clit that throbs and a back that burns. My head hangs down and I shake my head. I can’t do this. I can’t.

But my mouth doesn’t open and say the one word that could make it all end.

The snap of the vibrator returns, and I brace myself for the cutting to begin again. It’s on the other shoulder blade, and two lines are drawn as heat pools in my core. My struggle to get away from the line of fire only grinds me up against the vibrator. My orgasm is building, even with the burn in my back, and my brain is going to that confused place it did with Daddy’s scene.

It hurts in that one spot, but everywhere else feels good.

I shift against the vibrator as the second line is drawn, chasing the pleasure that is already dulling the pain. My boobs feel tight, and directly under the vibrator feels hot and needy.

Again, it all stops, but this time, I cry out. “Noooo.”

The break between is less this time.

More cuts are made down and across my back over and over. They cross over, run parallel, streak down my ribs, trace my spine. They are everywhere. Something wet runs down a few spots on my back, and it stings as it slips over cuts.

I hazily wonder if I am bleeding, but with the bite of the blade keeping my orgasm at bay, it’s honestly too hard to care. My entire being is on fire, and all my focus is on the vibrator as it is dragged up and down my panties from my opening to my clit. The burn on my back has turned to a quiet hum, and I wish there was nothing between me and the toy.

My pelvis thrusts against the vibrator. I’m so fucking close to coming that I’m crying, gasping wet sobs. Heat burns through my veins, my tits ache, and my core is on fire. I’m fairly certain I’m begging. I have no idea if I have permission to come, and it’s honestly way too late for me to care, because it’s right there.

But then, it’s not.

The vibrations have stopped.

“Please,” I beg, thrusting my pelvis forward, trying to find the vibrator again. “Please, I need more. Please.”

Something firm brushes the inside of my upper thigh, and I jerk in place. Then fingers run down the edge of each side of the front of my panties, pulling the wet fabric away from my pussy.

With my knee raised, my pussy would be on full display to Hunter if not for my panties. It takes my hazy brain a few seconds too long to understand that the sharp thing biting into my skin next to the wet crotch is another one of his knives.

The tightness of the black panties around my raised thigh loosens just before the blade bites into the underside of my bikini line.

A whimper escapes and tears soak my blindfold. “Please don’t cut my pussy, Daddy. Please.”

There is no reply.

Why is he ignoring me?

I feel the very tip of the blade as it passes over my lips, but it feels like only my panties are being cut. The crotch, specifically. But then, I feel the nick of the blade as it cuts through the elastic on the other side.

I cry out.

This time, I know I’m bleeding. I have to be. My suspicion is proven correct when Hunter’s mouth closes over the cut, his tongue lapping at the burning flesh.

His beard brushes against my pussy and my sobs turn to a gasp. He turns and gives the other thigh the same treatment before burying his face against my pussy.

Open-mouthed, he laps and sucks at my entrance like a man dying of thirst. I squirm, my mouth hanging open at the sensation. His tongue thrusts in and out, then lathes, soaking up all the wetness he is making.

Then, finally, he turns that mouth on my clit. Teeth graze and sparks fly. My orgasm builds once again, and because I was so close before, it doesn’t take long for me to get close to the edge.

But I need more. My pussy is empty. I need something, a finger, a cock. Anything.

“Daddy, please, I need you. I need you inside of me.”

But he ignores me again.

I sob. “Daddy, please, I need to come. Fill me up, Daddy. I’m empty, please.”

His mouth never stops, but then I feel something thick at my entrance. A finger. Thank fuck.

But no. That is not a finger.

It slips into me smoothly. Too smoothly. It has absolutely zero texture, but it’s thick. It is fucked into me over and over, almost perfectly in time with his mouth, but then his mouth releases my clit.

“Come on the handle of my knife, little dove. Make it wet for me.”

The words startle me. His knife? Holy fuck, has this asshole put the handle of his knife inside of me?

It’s impossible to think about it too much because he has gone back to eating my clit, and now that there is something inside of my pussy, there is no stopping my orgasm.

Fire burns everywhere, and I clench, screaming as my orgasm tears through me.

My pussy clenches around the knife, but Hunter doesn’t stop licking my clit. Slowly, he pulls the knife out of me, but before I can catch my breath, a naked body presses against my back and a dick surges into my pussy.

“Oh my god,” I wail, as someone starts fucking me while Hunter’s mouth is still sucking on my tortured clit.

Whoever is fucking me reaches up under the tatters of my shirt and tweaks my nipples.

My lungs burn as I try to breathe.

Everything is tingling.

Everything is burning.

It’s all hazy.

The mouth leaves my clit.

All my muscles burn.

The man fucking me makes a grunting noise and then stills, pumping once, twice, more before pulling out and stepping away.

A mournful noise leaves my lips as I’m left empty, again.

But then I feel him. Hunter. His pierced cock rubs at the entrance to my pussy, then he thrusts into me, brutally. His piercing rubs the entire way in. His hands press down on my shoulder blades, forcing me against the padded cross and lighting up the burn of the thousand cuts again.

He doesn’t take his time. He fucks up into me with intent, never once pausing for me to catch up. His hands snake over my shoulders and his fingers lace around my throat. He pulls me back against him and squeezes.

A touch of fear flickers, but my next inhale tells me I can still breathe. But my consciousness flickers as blood pounds in my ears, the palms of his hands applying pressure to either side of my neck.

I start to lose the battle to the fuzziness as I gasp and struggle to understand why the noise in the room is fading.

The last thing I hear before everything goes black is a rough male voice mumbling “mine” over and over again.

Chapter 40

Derek

My heart is still pounding as I sip at the cool bottle of water. That scene had been…

Fuck. The way she had cried for him?

It had been fucking perfect, everything Xavier has ever wanted in a play partner.

She knew she could use her safe word. But she never did. It’s like the word disappeared from her vocabulary the moment she agreed to use it.

Now, she hangs from the cross, head tipped forward, hair a cascading, sweaty mess all over the place, with Xavier kneeling behind her, carefully using a scalpel to leave a mark that, if I didn’t trust him implicitly, I wouldn’t be letting him do.

I’m here as her safety and to stop him from going too far. Being able to add to the scene was just a bonus. However, like a few of my marks will leave non-permanent blemishes, I know the one he is leaving her with right now will outlast the ones on her back and inner thighs, but it won’t leave a permanent scar.

The crying lady tattoo on his shoulder ripples with his movements as he runs the scalpel over Emery’s ass cheek. He’s been at it for a couple of minutes. The scalpel came from a vacuum-sealed, sterilized bag, and he is wearing black latex gloves.

Every other cut on her skin was minor, baring the ones near her pussy. Those are going to need antiseptic cream and a promise from her that, if she starts to feel any discomfort, she will contact us, as well as book an appointment with a doctor. Same will go for the mark on her ass cheek.

He finally stands and takes a step back so that I can finally see what he’s been doing. And there it is. One word.

Mine.

The fucker carved mine into her skin, deeply enough that blood was bubbling along every line.

“Seriously?” I queried, a touch of mild annoyance, mixed with a large dose of exasperation. “You couldn’t have written ours?”

He throws a smirk my way before dropping the scalpel into the metal bowl and peeling off the gloves.

I’d watched everything from my hiding place behind the curtains.

Her confusion.

Her clear fear that we had abandoned her.

Her mischievousness as she’d realized she could explore without repercussions. Not that we would have stopped her if we’d been here. Quite the opposite, actually. I know I want to spend more time with her, teaching and explaining about all my kinks and desires. I’m certain Hudson and Darcy want the same.

Then the outright terror that had briefly flickered across her features as Xavier had pressed the blade to her throat. The tension in her body had eased, as soon as she’d realized who was holding her hostage, but even then, she’d held herself in check, clearly not fully trusting of the situation she was in.

Picking up the bottle of water I’d brought over for him, I lean forward and tap it against his bicep. Xavier glances down and accepts the bottle before taking several steps backward and leaning against the dresser with me.

“How was it for you?” I ask, ignoring that my chest tightens as I ask. It’s not only Emery who has to be happy with a scene for this thing to work out with all of us.

“I’m keeping her,” he states, twisting off the cap and taking a sip.

It physically hurts not to roll my eyes at him. “Well, clearly, with how you have claimed her.” I gesture at her ass. “But how was it? Did it feel right?”

He flicks a look my way, and I have to work incredibly hard to keep my face neutral.

Xavier knows what we all want. We came dangerously close to asking Emery for more before his scene, which wouldn’t have been fair to anyone.

“Yes.”

That’s all he gives me. But it’s enough. It’s all we need to move this thing forward.

“Excellent, I’ll send Darcy and Hudson a message to bring an extended contract with them when they return.”

Xavier grunts. “No need. Already done.”

I glare at him but don’t bother saying anything about it. “We should start aftercare.”

He grunts again. “Need a few more minutes.”

Inhaling, I try to thrust the daddy in me down a little. Her shoulders must be screaming by now and probably filled with pins and needles.

Xavier heads over to his bag, which we all lovingly refer to as his “torture kit” and pulls out another, much bulkier, case that I’ve only seen a few times. He places the hard plastic briefcase-style case next to the bowl and unclips the latches before opening it to reveal his camera.

He fiddles with it for several moments before turning and facing Emery. The lines on her are still a fiery red, however the rest of the skin is also pink. The few streaks of blood along her back have mixed with sweat, the watery color meshing with the few purple stripes that remain from my scene with her yesterday.

I trace my eyes down her back, over her ass, to the trickles of cum that slide down her thighs. There is the faintest hint of smeared, dried blood beneath the semen.

Xavier gets up close and personal, taking photos from every angle and distance. By the time he is done, he has taken several dozen images, and I have a feeling that the one with her inscribed ass check, cum trickling out of her entrance, and blood on her thighs is going to make it into a printed piece that hangs in his house.

My cock twitches at the thought. I may need to put in an order for one of those, myself.

When he lowers his camera, I straighten. “Now?”

He grunts and nods.

As he puts the camera down, I immediately start work on the cuff around her thigh. I support the limb and unhook the chain from the upper support and slowly lower her leg to the ground, then make quick work of getting the Velcro undone. Her wrists are red, especially around the darker marks that were clearly a spot where a knot had sat during Darcy’s scene.

I frown at the sight. Those will all need to be checked.

With that decision made, I wrap my arms around her and gently lift.

Emery lets out a tortured noise, and I imagine that the sudden reduction in stress on her joints is simultaneously painful and wonderful.

Xavier joins me and works on all the other restraints. Once we have her free, he bends and scoops her up into his arms, bridal style, and carries her over to the padded medical table. It’s supposed to be used for scenes, but we chose it for the first phase of Emery’s aftercare.

I help him turn her so that she is lying face down, head supported by a pillow and turned to the side. When we have her settled, we both start the process of rubbing feeling back into her arms.

We work each significant portion of the limb. My concern for her discomfort shoots up when I feel how cold her fingers are, but after only a few minutes of massage and rubbing, they begin to warm under my ministrations.

Every now and then, she twitches or makes a noise that sounds just the slightest bit pained, which is both good and bad. Good, because it means normal sensation is returning. Bad, because all my instincts are screaming to make the pain go away for her.

After I have worked her shoulder and lowered her arm back down to the table, I look to Xavier to see if he still requires help or if I should go prep the shower.

We want to get her under warm water to rinse her clean so that Xavier can apply all the necessary precautions to her cuts. It would ruin him if she experienced any issues, long-lasting or otherwise.

For as long as I have known him, he has been an apt student in his kink, never once thinking himself too knowledgeable to learn from another master. In the time that we have been friends, I’ve seen him take lessons from paramedic submissives and receive formal lessons on piercings and tattoos, among other things.

Xavier gives me the nod to proceed, and I leave the two alone as he starts to massage her hips and outer thighs. I’m only gone long enough to get the water running and the shower steamy, but when I return, Xavier has removed the blindfold and Emery’s eyes are open, if unseeing.

Her eyes are red and her cheeks are tear stained.

I brush hair away from her cheek, but all she does is blink.

Unable to help myself, I lean down and press a kiss to her temple as my excitement builds. I still can’t get over how deep she falls into subspace.

It’s fucking beautiful.

Straightening, I turn and face Xavier. “Are you carrying her, or am I?”

He answers non-verbally by gently rolling her over and picking her up again.

I watch as he walks away with her, my throat tight with hope and worry. With the four of us ready to offer her a much longer-term extension, all that is left to do is convince her to sign on the dotted line.

Hopefully, it is as simple as that.

Chapter 41

Emery

The heartbeat beneath my ear thrums at a steady rhythm that threatens to drag me back down into the darkness. If it weren’t for the murmuring voices, I would probably let it. My entire body feels a little numb and tingly, like I put it through a massive workout.

Well, I kind of did.

Fingers trace through my hair, and now I know what woke me up. The haze still has a grip on me, but I am fairly certain I’m not purring.

“I can’t believe it’s over.”

Over.

That one word burns away the remaining haze that is floating around me.

So, I was right. Each of them got their kinky rocks off, and now they’re done with me. I was a means to an end. A weekend distraction. Now they are going to toss me to the side.

“I know. I’m honestly a little disappointed.”

Fuck. Stab me with a knife and fucking twist it.

Disappointed? Seriously? Was I not good enough for them? Did I do something wrong? Should there have been more sex? More begging? More tears? Should I have spent the weekend on my knees between their legs whenever they weren’t fucking my pussy?

“Hopefully, she feels the same way.”

Wait—what?

“What do you think she is going to say about the new contract?”

The chest under me rumbles a noise that sounds like an affirmative and makes my pulse race.

New contract?

I’m getting another contract? How long for?

Shit, what if they want to extend it for the week? I can’t miss the first week of classes. I can’t. It’s non-negotiable for me.

But this weekend has been…it’s been everything. If they want to keep me for a few more days, would it really be that bad to miss the course intro classes?

“Even with how new Emery is to all of this, she was perfect for us. All of us. She’ll sign it.”

The fingers run through my hair again, and this time, I allow my eyelashes to flutter open. “What contract?”

My voice is croaky, but that is easily fixed by the bendy straw that is pressed to my lips. I take an exploratory sip and find my mouth flooded with ice cold water. Several mouthfuls later, I relax back onto the chest and scan the room for each of the daddies.

My gaze lands on Darcy, sitting on the chunky wooden coffee table, hands wrapped around the edge and ankles crossed. His lips quirk. “Listening to our conversation, princess?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Only the last bit.”

He smirks at me, then picks up a stack of papers from next to him, curling them into a tube as he braces his elbows on his knees. “Yes, a new contract. But we have a few things we need to talk about first.”

My gaze darts to Hudson at the far end of the couch and to Derek, sitting on the couch up by Xavier’s and my heads. Pushing up, I look down at Xavier. “Hi.”

The muscles around his lips twitch as he watches me. “Hi.”

Not knowing what else to do, I try to sit up, but something pulls tight across my ass cheek. I glance back over my shoulder and have to do a double take at the huge fucking bandage covering one half of my ass. “What the—”

Bracing myself with one hand, I reach to touch it, but Xavier shifts beneath me and captures my wrist. “No touching until you are home.”

It’s then that I become completely fucking aware that I am very naked, while the rest of them are dressed. Not a single man-chest to be seen.

Ignoring the weird feelings that revelation creates, I face Xavier again and he smiles back at me.

Well, okay. After Friday night, I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m ending the weekend in his arms, which also seem to have issues with letting me go. Whatever. I can definitely deal with this clinginess if it means an extension to our weekend contract.

Lying back down, I make eye contact with Darcy again. “I’m listening.”

There is a choked-off laugh and Darcy grins before looking down and shaking his head. I think I also hear someone mumble something about “fucking perfect,” but I can’t be sure.

Hudson picks up the thread of conversation. “How did you find the weekend? We need you to answer honestly. Was there anything that approached a limit for you? Anything that you should have said yellow or even red to?”

His seriousness triggers the people pleaser in me. I close my eyes and replay the weekend from the moment I woke up alone and examine each thing that happened. Shopping. The fitting room. Fuck, the fitting room. And then the Italian place. And car. Goddamn. No regrets there. At all.

Derek’s scene. Had I enjoyed that? I can’t remember orgasming, but I do remember how hot I’d burned. Had it hurt initially? Fuck, yes, it had. But once the others had gotten involved? The pain had turned to something else. Not quite pleasure, but like a deep, hard, fiery massage that actually felt really good.

Then Hudson took his turn. A shiver runs down my spine as the feeling of being a useless fuck toy tries to return. Yep, that was definitely on the yes pile.

The ropes. The chair. Darcy. That fucking vibrator. Pretty sure I’d seen white explode behind my eyelids during that scene. That is one-hundred-percent something I want to repeat.

Swallowing, I recall as much of Xavier’s scene as I can remember. The fear. The blindfold. The cuts. Neck, thighs, back, and whatever the hell is wrong with my ass cheek. It had been the same as Derek’s scene, the pain turning to pleasure. Not to mention, the fear making my clit throb.

Do I wish I would have called red for any of it? Or yellow? No. No, I do not. Do I want him to introduce me to more of his knife roll? Do I want him to terrify me all over again? Weirdly, the answer is yes.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters around in my stomach. If I say no, that I don’t regret anything from the weekend, that I want them to teach me more… will they think that I’m fucked up? Especially given the whole orphan thing?

Opening my eyes, I make direct eye contact with Hudson and can’t help but being a little bit naughty. “The only thing that I wish I had said red to was how much water you all made me drink this weekend. Pretty sure I’m going to spend the entire night peeing.”

It takes a second for my words to land, but then I get a spank to my non-bandaged ass cheek.

“Don’t be a brat.”

I inhale through my nose, a bit shocked at how the butterflies react to both the order and the spank. Okay, so that is all going on the yes pile too.

Trying to play it cool, I force my voice to remain steady. “The majority of the weekend was green. Some yellow, but I spoke up when that happened.”

My ass is given a squeeze. A very fucking firm squeeze.

I lean up and glare down at Xavier, but he just stares back at me until I give up and lie back down.

“Thank you for being honest with us, kitten. The only way this is going to work is if we are all honest,” Hudson says with a smile that makes his pale eyes sparkle.

“What is going to work? Can someone please spell it out for me? And what’s in the new contract?” My damn heart has decided to tango with the butterflies.

“One more thing,” Derek says and holds out his hand to Darcy.

Darcy hands him the top sheet, and I instantly recognize the lined page as my rewards chart.

Derek holds it at an angle in front of my face. “You were such a good girl for us this weekend, you earned yourself a few more rewards.”

I scan the page and see that the first six rows have all been completed.

Hudson’s backpack.

Derek’s iPhone and case.

The clothes.

The art supplies I picked.

The fifth row says gift card.

And the sixth has bracelet written on the line.

Then there are eleven new lines.

Eleven.

This time, when I push up to sit on Xavier’s stomach, he lets me get free. I take the page from Derek as I straighten, ignoring the tape that pulls on my skin, my mouth falling open. “What is this?”

Darcy holds a pale blue envelope out to me. I stare at it, then up at him with some many questions.

One side of his mouth quirks. “I had something else picked out, but I think you will prefer this. I don’t typically enjoy giving gift cards but knowing you will be able to choose exactly what you want means a lot to me. I’ll save my other gift for one of your other rewards.”

Slowly, I take the envelope and open it.

It’s a five-hundred-dollar gift card for the art supply store he took me to yesterday.

My throat tightens and my eyes burn.

I can buy myself all brand-new art supplies. Whatever I want. More charcoals. Another sketch pad. Oh my god, I could buy paint. Or pencils. Or those watercolor markers. And they would be mine. No one would be able to take them away from me.

I make eye contact with Darcy. “Thank you,” I croak out.

He smiles back at me, clearly pleased that I’m so affected by his gift. “This is just to get you started. Once we know where your preferences lie, I can help you pick out things that will work best for you. No more of that cheap shit, though.”

Before any tears roll down my cheeks, a black gift bag is placed on Xavier’s chest. I can barely see his hazel eyes over the top of it, but I put the gift card back in its envelope and open the black bag.

I tilt my head to the side as I pull the first thing out. The packaging is an odd shape, and there is a flat-looking teddy bear staring at me through the little plastic panel on the front.

“Did you…did you get me a Build-A-Bear?” I ask Xavier, my gaze zooming up to meet his eyes.

He stares back at me. “There is another box in there.”

He got me a bear. Because I have the one I bought on Friday for the hotel? Parking my confusion about his gift, I put the bear on the floor and go back to the bag for the box.

There is a tiny little black box at the bottom of the bag. It has black ribbon tied into a perfect bow around it. Carefully, I reach in and pull it out.

I don’t let the suspense build, just pull at the ribbon and open the box.

There, nestled against black display foam, is a gold bracelet with a circular pendant nestled in the center. It’s attached to the chain on both sides and has a black X engraved into the face, with each quadrant displaying a different letter.

D.

H.

D.

X.

Carefully, I pick up the bracelet. The little disc is thick and smooth under my fingers, but the chain is thin and delicate.

“It’s beautiful, I love it,” I whisper because my voice isn’t working right. It’s as if my heart has gotten confused and has now decided it lives in my throat. I offer my wrist to Xavier. “Can you please put it on?”

He moves the bag from between us, and we both have to shuffle so that he can sit a little more comfortably, but I don’t leave my straddle over the top of him.

A few seconds later, I’m cuddled back up to him, the opposite hand wrapped around the braceleted wrist as I stare back at Darcy. “Please tell me I can know about the contract now? I’m dying.”

I get a smirk in return. “Yes, princess. We can talk about the contract now. You might want to sit up.”

Sighing, I shuffle around, careful of the bandage on my butt, and end up sitting on Xavier like he is the couch, feet dangling over the side and my back against the actual couch.

Darcy offers me the first sheet of paper. “This is to say that our first contract and its extension are complete, with satisfaction from both parties. Have a quick read of that, and if you’re okay, sign and date at the bottom.”

Derek offers me a pen.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I reply, eyes already scanning the few paragraphs on the page.

It all looks fine. I’ll be receiving the last of the money today, and the short-term, temporary nature of this contract is now complete.

I squiggle my name at the bottom of the page, still a little weirded out that I have legal autonomy over myself now. For most of my life, I’ve had to get approval from my caseworker to get a haircut.

I hand back the page, and three more are given to me.

“This is our new contract. Take your time reading this one. If you have any questions, at all, ask.”

My heart is in my throat as I begin to read.

They are established as the dominants and me, the submissive.

It mentions exclusivity between us for the duration of the contract.

My weekends from Friday five p.m. to Sunday at four p.m. are theirs.

Safe words are discussed, with zero changes to how we used them this weekend.

There is a very long paragraph on aftercare. Showers. Baths. Cuddles. Massages. Candles. Creams. Oils. Vibrators. Food. Water. So much fucking water.

Then I get to the list of activities that will be required of me. Where I am expecting a menu of sex requests and requirements, I find something so completely unexpected, I frown.

“You want to take me on non-sexual dates?”

“Yes.”

I glance over at Hudson, who has reclined back against the couch, one arm thrown across the backrest. That’s all he gives me, just that one word.

“As in, dinner and a movie?” I attempt to clarify.

“That, and maybe to a live show, out for breakfast. That sort of thing.”

“Will the dates be outside of the weekend activities?”

“It will depend on everyone’s availability, but most likely, yes.”

So, some weeknights and every weekend.

Okay, then.

I go back to reading but pause almost immediately. “What’s Club Obsession?”

“It is the BDSM club we are all members of,” Derek explains. “We’ll be adding you as a guest to my account, which will get you access to the club without requiring you to sign up as a member.”

“What will happen at the club?” I ask, my curiosity well and truly sending me the way of the cat.

“Whatever we have planned for the night. The club has public, semi-public, and private rooms. It caters to a vast majority of kinks. Though we like doing public scenes, we’re happy to negotiate this with you. But it would all be very similar to this weekend, just different flavors and levels of what we have already done with you.”

I swallow. Four thousand questions riffling through my head, but my brain locks on one word. Negotiate. I can handle that. If I truly do not want to do something, I can say no, and I can also use my safe words. Or I can end the contract.

Okay.

Turning to the second page, I find the list of sex activities I’d been expecting.

Everything from our first two contracts is on this list. But there are several additional items that have been added.

Spanking.

Orgasm control.

Sounds.

Spreading.

Sensory play.

Predicament play – medium.

Predicament play – hard.

Anal training – at request of submissive. Hard limit, otherwise.

Punishment.

Correction.

Protocol training.

Medical play.

The page ends there.

“Anal training?” I look straight up at Darcy.

He raises his eyebrows and holds his hands up. “Only, and I absolutely stress this, if you are interested. The whole list is that way. If there is anything on the list you are absolutely not interested in, or if there is something you would like to add to the list, we are happy to discuss it now or at a later date.”

Derek jumps in, leaning forward and pointing to a line at the top of the page. “See here, it says that these are activities that we would like to explore with you, the key word being explore. We can use that word however you like. If it is an activity that is new to you, maybe we do some internet research together—”

“Like, we watch porn together?” I interrupt, because I’ve done the reading research already.

Derek pauses, but Darcy can’t help himself—he starts laughing. Derek’s face does a weird sort of contortion, like he wants to smile but knows he shouldn’t reward my behavior. I get a little giddy twist of happiness from his reaction.

“If that’s what you would like to do.”

“Do you have any questions about the activities themselves?” Hudson asks from his side of the couch.

“There are a few on here that I don’t recognize, like sounds and protocol training, but if everything gets discussed beforehand, I can say no, and I can use my safe words to end a scene, then I am okay to do my own research and come to you with questions after,” I reply and glance at Hudson. His face is completely blank, and I’m not sure if I answered right, so I tack on a little more. “If that’s okay?”

His eyes flick to each of the others before landing back on me. “Yes, that works.”

I smile and take a deep breath before I turn to the last page.

My heart explodes when I see the last two paragraphs of the contract.

I shoot up to standing, fingers gripping the paper, tits, ass, and pussy on display for everyone to see, and I might have even screamed.

What the fuck.

What. The. Fuck.

“Six months? You want six fucking months?” My heart has exploded in my chest, and spots collect at the corners of my vision.

“Language,” Derek scolds, but he captures my hand and pulls me to sit on his lap. “Now, tell us what the issue with six months is. If it’s too long, we are okay to shorten it, but know that it is likely that we will just extend it again.”

I shake my head, my hair falling down over my shoulders. It takes real effort to get my mouth to form words because there is a hollow, too stretched feeling taking up all the room. When it finally works, my voice sounds watery to my own ears. “You want to keep me for six months?”

Derek freezes beneath me, before his arms tighten in the best hug I have ever had. I turn into his arms and wrap my own around his neck, papers still clutched in my hands. “Baby, yes. Six months. To start. We want to spoil you, keep you for ourselves, to show you everything we crave. Is that something you want? The six months is more of a check-in, make sure everyone is still happy with the arrangement.”

I nod, a sniffle accompanying the sound. They want to keep me for six months. I get to keep them for six months. I’m not even going to think about the possibility of more. Not right now.

Six. Fucking. Months.

My fucking heart is going to need some super glue after all of this.

“And what about the contract gift? Did you see that, princess?”

Over Derek’s shoulder, I look at the last block of text and almost freak the fuck out again.

Ten thousand dollars a month.

Yeah, the rate is obviously a lot less than this weekend, but it’s not a one-off gift. It’s a termed gift. Sixty-thousand dollars for twenty-six weekends. That’s just over two K per weekend.

My gaze drifts down to the bottom of the page, where the signatures and dates belong. All four of them have already signed. The only blank spaces are for my signature and date. They are all in on this. So certain they want it, want me, for that long.

Their certainty sparks my own. I don’t want to think about this. I don’t want to hem and haw. I want what they are offering to show me. This entire weekend, they have looked after me, even while getting what they paid for. I’ve never been so cared for in my life. Not even by Tray.

Balls to the motherfucking wall.

Pressing tighter into Derek, I click the top of the pen, brace the paper on the couch, and sign.

As soon as I raise my pen, a rush of relief hits me. They are mine for the next six months. No one can take them away from me.

Chapter 42

Emery

“Have you got everything, baby?” Derek asks as I wheel Oakley’s little suitcase toward the kitchen.

He is waiting for me by the couch and takes the handle as I pause in front of him. There are a million emotions on his face, some indecipherable. All I know is, I’m fucking floating. They picked me. Me. Sad, little orphan me.

And even though I need to go home now, they have promised me at least two dates between now and next weekend. Giddy—that’s what I’m feeling right now. My heart is suspended so high above me, I feel like it’s attached to a million balloons and is drifting off into the clouds.

“I think so, Daddy,” I reply, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. I step into him and wrap my arms around his middle, pressing my ear to his chest and listening to his heartbeat.

Derek automatically wraps his free arm around me, and all I want to do is burrow into him until I can wear him back to my dorm room. He rubs my lower back, and I breathe in his musky cologne.

“I don’t want to leave,” I murmur, not caring how clingy that makes me sound. No one has ever wanted to keep me before, and now that they do, they are just going to have to deal with my previously hidden stage-five clinger personality.

I didn’t even know I was this clingy. Seeing other people like this is usually a massive ick for me, but now that I have someone—several someones—to be this gross around, you bet your ass I’m going to be as disgusting as possible.

Hell, besides one sketchbook of drawings that I have sticky-taped together, prior to this weekend, there wasn’t a single thing, let alone person, in this world that I was overly protective of.

“I don’t want you to leave, either,” he replies with a kiss to the top of my head. “But we need to get a few things sorted out on our end. Xavier has already programed all our numbers into your phone and yours into ours. I’m sure there is even a group chat already started between the five of us.”

A giggle escapes, and the noise still shocks me. What have these men done to me? “Yeah, there is. Daddy Darcy has been sending me gift ideas already.”

“That is not surprising. We’ve been looking for you for a long time. Did we tell you that the invitation you responded to was going to be the last one? It was our last attempt at finding a baby girl for us to share.”

I snap my head back to look at him, mouth hanging open. “Really?”

He smiles, his dark brown eyes scanning my face. “Really. On Thursday nights, we all get together to play poker at my place, and we were discussing changing the ad. I wanted to take it down altogether. But it’s like the kink gods were listening and sent you to us.”

I snicker. “Kink gods? I don’t think that’s a thing.”

Derek smirks. “Wait until we take you to Obsession. You’ll be praying for mercy.”

My thighs clench and my cheeks burn as my stomach heats, and I let out a huffed breath. “Daddy.”

“Come on, let’s get you on your way home before someone decides they aren’t going to let you go and your roommate gets worried.”

Unhelpfully, pings of hope explode inside of me at his words. I would not hate being trapped here forever.

But I know I need to go. Orientation is tomorrow, and I promised Oakley I would be home tonight.

My grin returns when I think about telling her everything that has happened this weekend. She is going to shit her pants when I tell her this thing has been extended until next year.

Derek takes my hand and leads me toward the others, who are all waiting by the kitchen. At some point, a baby-blue duffel bag with a stitched floral print appeared in the apartment today. It is currently sitting on the counter, next to my equally full backpack, both of which are stuffed with all the clothing, art supplies, and gifts they have showered me with this weekend.

I came with borrowed luggage, clothes, and handbag, and now I am going home with my own wardrobe, two new bags, art supplies, a new phone, and a contract that says I am theirs for the next six months.

What more could a girl ask for?

As we approach the kitchen, Darcy and Hudson stop their conversation mid-laugh. It’s a little odd to see them both so carefree and not completely… I don’t know. Dominant. In control. Daddy-ish.

They‘ve taken two of the stools under the kitchen island, leaving Xavier to sit at the dining table, where he is playing on his phone. I slip free of Derek’s hand and go get my hugs from the two of them first.

I go to Hudson, my eyes sliding closed as his arms encircle me. He rests his cheek on the top of my head, and I let myself relax into his hug.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

My throat aches with sudden tightness, and all I can do is nod. I want to tell him thank you, but there is no way my voice is going to work. His heart beats solidly beneath my ear, and it hurts to not let the tears fall.

“I’ve put something in your backpack for the nights you are away from us. No peeking until you get home.”

The words are only loud enough for me to hear. I peer up at him, not bothering to hide my curiosity. He smiles and then boops my nose. “You’ll like it, I promise. No peeking.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I can’t check my ass cheek until I get home, and now I can’t check my bag. So many rules.

Instead, like the good girl I have been for them all weekend, I nod and start to pull away, but Hudson leans down and captures my mouth in a kiss. His fingers flex against my lower back as I part my lips and our tongues slide along each other’s. The kiss doesn’t last long, but my chest aches as we pull apart. One final look into those pale blue eyes, and I have to turn away before tears roll down my cheeks in a super unsexy way.

With a sniff, I move on to Darcy. My face is buried in his chest before anyone can see all these stupid emotions. I don’t even really understand why I am so sad. They are keeping me, for fuck’s sake.

A hand cups the back of my neck and the other rubs up and down my back as I take fistfuls of his shirt into my hands.

“Shhh, princess. It’s all going to be okay. We’ve got you now. You’re ours. Nothing will take you away from us. We aren’t going anywhere.” Darcy keeps murmuring words of comfort until I relax, my tension fading to a manageable level.

I’m theirs now.

I really fucking love the sound of that.

The hand at the base of my neck comes around to my chin, tilting my head to look up at him. Darcy presses kisses over my forehead, eyes, cheeks, my nose, and then on my lips. He keeps the kiss shallow, like a movie kiss, nothing but lips.

We break apart, and he stares straight into my soul with those dark blue eyes of his.

“How about, Tuesday night, you and I have our first date? I’ll come get you from your place, and we’ll go out to dinner and then see a movie? I know that’s simple for a first date, but it’s nice and low key. We can get to know each other. I can’t guarantee that none of the others won’t turn up and third wheel our date, so no getting cranky with me if that happens.” His eyes smile as he makes the offer and, fuck, the relief that sweeps through me makes my knees weak.

I have to swallow, twice, because holy fuck, this is really happening. “Yes, please, I would love that.”

I don’t bother to tell him I’ve only ever been to a movie theater once before, and that was when a group home took all the kids to see a cartoon about emotions.

Darcy gives me one final kiss, and then I turn to Xavier. He isn’t playing on his phone anymore; it sits face down on the table. He has angled himself, so he is facing me, knees man spreading, body reclined a little, one arm resting on the table.

I reach for my bracelet and rub the pendant.

D. H. D. X.

It’s basically a claim of ownership.

I love it.

Xavier holds out a hand for me, and I slip mine into his. I’m taller than him when I step between his thighs, so I wrap my arms around his shoulders, slide my fingers into his sandy-brown curls, and hug him to me.

His arms tighten around my lower back, and we stand there, with his head pillowed against my tits. I lower my face and press a kiss to the top of his head. When the hug ends, he holds my hips in his hands and looks up at me.

“There are bandages in your bag, with antiseptic cream. I want morning and night photos of all the cuts,” he orders, his voice even.

I instantly picture the cuts on either side of my pussy from when he had cut my panties off. “All of the cuts?” I manage to squeak out.

He smirks. “All of them.”

All I can manage is a nod. Sounds like I’ll be sending snatch snaps.

Xavier gives my hips a quick, painful squeeze before shifting in his seat and reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out a small black wallet, then pulls out a card that looks vaguely familiar.

“This will give you access to the building, elevator, and the door to this apartment. If you lose it, notify me immediately. You are free to come to the apartment whenever you like.” Xavier offers me the card, and I can’t help but gape at it.

“I can come here whenever I want?”

He raises my hand for me, then presses the card into my palm, his eye contact never faltering. “Yes. Whenever you want.”

He doesn’t give me any more after that. Just helps me to wrap my fingers around the key and presses a kiss to my knuckles.

Adjusting my hold on the key, I step away from him and turn back to Derek. He already has the duffel over one shoulder and is still holding on to the handle of my luggage. Hudson has my backpack in his hands, ready for it to be slipped onto my back.

As I am helped into the white bag’s shoulder straps, Derek explains everything that is going to happen for the next little while. “We’ve all agreed that we are going to let you have some time to yourself tonight. No texting, no calls. You, however, are free to reach out to us whenever you need to. And we expect you to contact us if you start to feel sad, worried, nervous, anxious, etcetera. No holding back. We can’t help if you hide it from us, and we really want to help, so please, let us.”

I scoop my hair over one shoulder as he talks and nod the entire time. Exhaustion is hitting me, but I get what he is saying. “I promise to call one of you if I start to feel droppy.”

Derek smiles down at me and cups my cheek. “Droppy. I like that term. Message or call us if you feel droppy.” He takes a breath, then indicates to the hallway that leads to the door. “Ready to go?”

I want to scream no, that I want to stay. I don’t want to leave this bubble. What if, after they give me all this space they are talking about, they realize I’m not worth it? I’m not worth their time, their effort, their money?

But then I touch my fingers to the pendant at my wrist, and I shut the thoughts down. They keep saying they want me and that they aren’t going anywhere. Now I just need to believe them.

I need to trust them.

Straightening, I try to smile for Derek, but I know it’s strained. “Yep.”

I’m one-thousand-percent not, but I follow him to the door. I do not look back. My heart, which has grown in size and now takes up the entire cavity of my chest, simply won’t be able to take whatever emotions they have on their faces. I’ll just end up making a fool of myself by running back to them and begging them to let me stay.

Derek holds open the door for me, and I quickly dash out into the corridor. We walk in silence all the way to the elevator, the only sound the occasional muffled noises from the other apartments and our feet shushing against the carpet.

I make it to the elevator first and hit the down button, and when Derek steps up behind me, I lean back into him. Heat from his body coats my shoulders, but he doesn’t let the bags go. We stand there, with me resting against him while we wait.

The elevator down is even less dramatic. I keep sneaking looks at him, but besides taking my hand in his, he remains stoic. As soon as the doors open, he steps out, once again keeping the doorway open. There is a new security guard at the desk, and Derek shoots a nod in his direction as we pass by on our way to the glass doors.

Derek swipes his card, just like how Darcy had on Friday night, and the doors glide open. As soon as he stops on the sidewalk with my luggage and duffel, a particularly devoted cab driver pulls up next to us.

“Are you doing okay?” Derek asks as the cab driver pops the trunk.

I nod, but I’m back to needing to cry.

He goes to the back of the car and quickly puts the bags in before returning to me and taking my hands. He places my palms on his chest and cuddles me to him. “Is this sad because you don’t want to leave us, or do we need to go back up to the apartment for some more aftercare?”

I force a swallow past the massive elephant-sized lump in throat. “Don’t want to leave sad.”

Derek kisses my forehead. “I’m glad you’re sad.”

I frown up at him. “Glad?”

He hums. “Yes. Because it means you are as deep into this as we are. If you weren’t sad, I’d be questioning if this was the right thing to be doing. But you want to be with us as much as we want to be with you. Just take tonight for yourself. Trust me when I say, you’ll wake up to your phone flooded with messages from all of us. You are stuck with us for the next six months.”

My heart soars and cracks at the same time.

Six months. Only six months.

And then I am on my own again. But only if I can’t convince them to extend the contract again.

Third time’s a charm, right?

Chapter 43

Emery

“Okay, missy, spill. I’ve been good. I left you alone when you got home last night and basically fell into a post-sex coma. And this morning, we were both rushing, even though you had a massive smile on your face. But now that the orientation seminar is over, we both have an hour to kill before our first classes. Details. Don’t hold back, I want to know everything. Was it like the first night? Were you on, you know, restrictions again? Did they tie you up? I saw you take ibuprofen this morning, are you okay? Do we need to swing by a store and get you anything? I ordered you that pillow, by the way. It should arrive today—thank you, overnight shipping.”

Oakley’s rambling is both cute and impressive. I’m not sure how she gets enough breaths in for the words to just flow like that. I haven’t heard a discernible gap, which is almost frightening.

But she’s right. I did get home and crash, and if it hadn’t been for her waking me this morning, I would have totally missed the opening speeches. Turns out, they were boring as fuck, but I’m pretty sure it’s one of those life milestones that I’m sure I’ll be glad I checked off at some point in the future.

The final thing I remember from last night is seeing several notifications on my phone.

SugarLife

$10,000 has been deposited into your vault.

SugarLife

Brat4Us has validated your account.

Club Obsession

You have been added as a guest to Obsession by Master Derek King.

The transfer of all the cash into my bank account is already processing. Apparently, it’ll take two to three business days. Which is totally fine. Friday night’s money will be in my account tomorrow, hopefully. I just need to make it through today with the last of the money Oakley leant me.

Which brings my wandering mind back to Oakley.

“Okay, but I have an important question first,” I state as I adjust my backpack. “Where are you taking me?”

“Ah…it’s called…you’ll see when we get there, but it’s the on-campus coffee shop,” she replies before linking her arm through mine and squeezing a little too firmly over a spot that is slightly tender. “Now, details. I’m dying.”

I laugh, still under the surreal spell that I woke up in this morning. Going from the weekend to a mundane first-day-of-college Monday morning has been a real mindfuck. My body is kind of wondering where my orgasms are, but yeah, everything aches.

And as promised, there was a buttload of messages on my phone waiting for me this morning. I did my best to reply to as many as possible, but I plan on going back through them all when I have more than two seconds between toast and a shower.

“Okay, do you want me to start at the beginning or the end? Hot tip, the end is far more interesting,” I offer, as we follow along a winding curved path that is leading us through a large, open grassy space that’s buzzing with activity.

There are students sitting around on the grass in groups, a game of football going on between a bunch of guys with no shirts on. The way they are built, I would say they are probably a part of the Newton University football team.

Another group of guys, all wearing aqua and black baseball caps, call out to the football players, and a discussion starts. A high-pitched squeal comes from my left, and I turn in time to see two girls running toward each other for a hug that has them clashing together.

I feel like my head is on a swivel, trying to take it all in.

“All right, start at the end. But no distracting me from finding out actual”—she lowers her voice—“sex thing details.”

I burst out laughing. “Oaks, if you can’t say it out loud, I’m not sure I should be telling you.”

She huffs. “I just don’t want everyone else hearing what we’re talking about. It’s none of their business. Besides, I did some internet searches while you were gone, and I learned some things.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “What things?”

She opens her mouth to answer, then glares at me. “I know what you’re doing. Stop distracting and spill already.”

I grin. When was the last time I felt this carefree? Knowing I have my own money, a stable roof over my head, easily accessible food, more time with my daddies, and potentially, my first ever chick friend is nothing but a huge rush of endorphins.

How is this even my life right now?

“Okay, well first, they gave me all of my rewards from the night before,” I start and quickly rattle them off before she can ask. “Backpack.” I grab the strap and give it a little adjustment, then pull my phone out of the pocket of my denim skirt. “Brand-new phone.”

Then I show her my bracelet. “Jewelry. And a shopping spree for a whole new wardrobe. And some art supplies.”

Oakley comes to a complete stop on the path. There is an annoyed noise made by the people behind us as they have to step around, so I quickly get her going again.

“Holy shit.”

“Uh-huh,” I reply, remembering each separate moment with the guys and how impossible it had all seemed.

“And that was on top of the, what? Original ten thousand dollars?” she asks, eyes bugging out of her head. “Damn, maybe I need to broaden my search filters.”

I shrug a shoulder. “Up to you. Maybe start smaller, though? Do some of the hand job or blow job dates.”

“The what?” she whisper screeches.

I side-eye her. “I think they were ‘getting handsy’ and ‘just a quick taste’?”

Her eyes bug out of her head. “Oh my god, they do not mean that.” I stare at her for a moment, and if it’s possible, her eyes widen even more. “No way.”

I shrug, again. “You’re the SugarLife app expert, you tell me.”

“I am so messaging my sister about this,” she mutters before returning to the conversation. “Okay, tell me the rest.”

“Well, they have requested another extension,” I say as we round the corner of a huge building and see what is clearly the coffee shop built into the ground level.

“Shut up! Another one?” she exclaims as she grips my bicep with both hands and jumps up and down, with me basically dragging her along.

“Yup.” I nod as I reply, grinning at her.

I scan the space, and there are picnic tables everywhere, some with massive umbrellas protecting people from the sun. There are a few massive, gorgeous oak trees here and there, lending a shaded vibe to the space.

“For how long this time? The rest of the week?”

I’m about to answer her, but it’s my turn to pause mid-step. “No, they fucking did not.”

Oakley follows my gaze to the sign above the door and laughs. “They did.”

I stare up at the sign. “They called their shop Grinder? They do know what it means, right?”

“I have no idea,” she replies as we push through the door, a little bell jingling and cool air-conditioned air chasing away the heat from outside. “I think it has something to do with a pun about the coffee and all of NU’s sporting teams, but I’m honestly not interested enough to figure it out.”

We silently make the mutual decision to stop discussing my sex life while we wait in line to order. A few people separate us and the barista taking orders, so I glance around the space.

There are tables and chairs everywhere, and there doesn’t appear to be a discernible layout. People just pull tables together to fit the number of people in their group.

In the space farthest away from the counter, there are a bunch of couches and comfy-looking chairs by a fireplace, which I imagine is a popular space when the cold weather hit.

“What can I get you?” a perky voice asks.

The girl at the counter, wearing glasses and a big smile, doesn’t appear much older than us.

Before Oakley can jump in and order anything, I step up and place my order. “Iced chocolate, please, with whipped cream. And my friend will have…”

“You don’t have to get me a coffee,” Oakley protests.

I laugh and shoot her a grin. “I’m using your cash, so really, this is on you, anyway.”

Oakley rolls her eyes at me and laughs too. ”Fine, I guess I’ll get a medium caramel macchiato in a large cup, half and half, with two pumps of vanilla, two extra pumps of caramel, extra caramel drizzle, whipped cream, and sprinkles.”

The barista taps away at her screen, and I stare at Oakley, horrified at her order.

She mock glares at me. “Aren’t we going to be friends who don’t judge each other?”

I widen my eyes, look away, and mutter under my breath. “Only if not judging won’t lead to the need for an insulin pump.”

“Name?” the barista interrupts.

“Emery.”

I remove my arm from one strap of my backpack and sling it around to the front, so I can fish my wallet out to pay with cash, then we turn to find an available table. I spot one tucked to the side, against the exposed brick wall. Floating shelves above the tables that line the wall host a random variety of decorations, which makes it look like someone blindly selected things from Home Goods.

As soon as our butts meet the seats, Oakley hits me up again. “What are the terms of the new contract? You didn’t say before.”

I bite the side of my finger. “Six months.”

“Six!” she shrieks, the noise ending in a happy crescendo as she pops up from her seat.

Nearly everyone turns to face us. The bell above the door dingles again, which just makes it worse, because the new people enter to a completely silent room. I smile and wave awkwardly before grabbing Oakley and dragging her back down to her seat. Conveniently, the barista making the coffees calls out a name and the chatter restarts. “Shhh, jesus, Oaks. Keep it in your pants.”

“Six months. And what’s the gift this time?” Her face isn’t hiding her excitement at all.

I hesitate and glance at the door as people leaving catch my eye. Is this really something I should be sharing with her? It’s a shit ton of money. More than I expected to see, even in my first year after graduation. Will she be jealous? Will it ruin our budding bosom buddy dreams?

Oakley rolls her eyes at me. “Em, babe, I’m living for this. It’s like you are the main character in a rom-com or something. Could you imagine if they all end up falling in love with you, but then you have to choose just one of them to marry and start a life with? Swoon.”

She tips back on her seat and throws the back of her hand against her forehead, but I can’t find the comedy in her words.

Choose?

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

I’d prefer to have none of them, than only one. My heart aches at the thought of only having one of them with me, short or long term. I’m not delulu enough to think that they will pick me forever—well, mostly not. But maybe for a couple of years? While I’m in college, at least. That would be amazing.

And as for the marry-and-start-a-life thing? No, thank you.

A two-bedroom house with a cat is enough for me.

Absolutely no interest in starting a family.

Zero.

“Anakin Skywalker, I swear,” she promises, drawing a cross over her chest, big baby blues all wide and open.

With a deep breath, I try to shake off the nerves and open my mouth to answer her, but then a feminine voice calls out my name.

“Emery!”

Relief hits me at the tiny reprieve, but the moment I look toward the barista, my heart sinks into my ass.

Derek, Darcy, Hudson, and Xavier are all standing at the counter, in slacks and button-ups and looking fucking handsome. It’s like some sort of weird slow-mo movie effect, where all four of them turn and look at me.

The easy smiles on their faces drop, and my confusion is written on their faces. The noise of the café fades away and is replaced by the rapid beating of my heart.

What are they doing here?

“Order for Emery!”

“Ems, you okay?” Oakley’s voice sounds like she is speaking to me from underwater.

Slowly, I get up and go to collect our coffees, never once glancing away from the four men who spent the weekend rearranging my chemical makeup. But with every step I take, their expressions change to something that looks like irritation and worse. Anger.

I stop several feet away from them, the length of the fancy café coffee machine between us, and start to collect our coffees. My heart pounds in my chest and my entire body feels hot. All my internal warning alarms are going crazy right now.

Something is not adding up.

Why the fuck are they here?

And why do they appear angry with me?

Did I miss a text message?

Before I can collect my coffees, a hand latches on to my forearm, and I’m jerked away from the counter.

I stare at the back of Derek’s head as I’m all but dragged through Grinder’s door, back out into the warm air. Even if I could get free of his grip, there are three hulking presences behind me, who I highly doubt will let me get away.

“Wait—”

“Not a word,” Derek grits out as he leads all of us around to the other side of the building, which seems to be all but abandoned, compared to the coffee shop side.

We come to a sudden halt, and then I’m backed up against the brick of the building so fast, I’m a touch winded. The four of them crowd into me, blocking my view of anything past them. Ice fills my veins as they all stand there staring at me.

Derek, Darcy, and Hudson all look very annoyed, while Xavier’s face is neutral. Shit, what the hell is going on right now?

“What are you doing here, Emery?” Hudson demands, his icy blue eyes are narrowed and hard as they drill into me.

Nausea churns in my stomach. “I—"

“How did you figure out where we work?” Darcy asks before I can respond.

My heart hurts at the confusion on his face. “No, I—”

“You need to leave.” Derek’s voice is low and a little scary, to be honest. “Now.”

Tears prick at my eyes and my chest aches, but fuck that. I stamp my foot. “Would you let me fucking answer?”

When all they do is glare at me, I take that as a yes.

“I go here. Today’s my first day as a freshman. I had no idea you worked here,” I say as quickly as I can, my voice getting quieter as their expressions change faster than I can understand, but they all move in a direction I'm used to. Dangerous. “I live on campus.” That last bit is said on a whisper.

Something is going on right now, and my heart is racing too fast for me to think. All I know is that it can’t be good. At all.

The warm and fuzzy feelings that I have been holding on to all morning slowly turn sour in my chest. My fingers tingle and I am pretty sure I am hyperventilating, but I can't be sure, because everything feels like it is flowing towards me through a tunnel.

“You’re a student?” Hudson asks, his voice hard, even though his face has gone a little pale.

“Yes. First day,” I repeat, still unable to talk above a whisper.

Not good. Not good. Really not good.

I reach back and brace my hand against the brick of the building to try and ground myself. It doesn't help.

“Fuck!” Darcy shouts and turns his back on me as he brings his hands up to grip his styled man-bun. I flinch a way from the violent movement, and Xavier shifts to my side.

When Darcy turns back, the anguish on his face guts me. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I don’t get a chance to answer. Derek steps in between us. “No.”

I glare at him, nausea bubbling inside of me. “What do you mean, no?”

“No. You can not be a fucking student at this fucking school. Why the hell didn’t you tell us you are a fucking college student?” he demands, his face as hard as stone, any trace of the warmth he had held from me yesterday completely frozen away.

“It’s not like we spent hours getting to know each other,” I fire right back ignoring the way my flight instinct is screaming at me to shut the fuck up. “What’s going on? Why is this such a big deal?”

Derek stares down his straight nose at me. “Why is this such a big fucking deal? You are a goddamn student, and we are all professors. Us being together goes against the code of conduct for Newton University. This could cost all four of us our jobs, our careers. You could get expelled.”

I swallow. Okay, well, yeah, that’s bad. “But we didn’t know. Surely, we can explain that we were together before we knew, and then everything will be okay? We won't have to end this. It's pre-existing or whatever.”

I reach out to him, but he brushes my hand away before I can place it on his chest. He looks to the others, and I can feel their silent conversation. The way they lock eyes with each other, jaws clenching, I know the outcome isn't going to be what I want.

Almost as a unit, they step away from me. My heart aches.

No, no, no. This isn’t happening.

Not now.

I only just got them. They only just picked me.

We have a goddamn contract!

“Wait, no. Please, can we talk about this?” I plead, reaching out for them. “Daddy, please, don’t—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Derek’s reprimand feels like a physical slap, and I flinch away from him.

There is the briefest hint of sorrow before his features harden again and he continues. “We are not your daddies. You no longer have permission to refer to us as such. This," he waves a finger between them and me, "is done. Our arrangement is over. Do not contact us again.” His words are like a guillotine, slicing straight through my heart.

I watch as they turn and walk away, disappearing back around the corner. The ice in my veins hardens, slowly freezing me to the spot. My fingers tingle, my chest aches, and my stomach is one giant gaping shotgun wound.

How the hell did we get here?

My throat swallows over and over, attempting to stop the nausea, as I slowly fall to my knees onto the grass, staring at where they disappeared.

Over. Done.

They left me.

They're gone.

They aren’t picking me.

They aren’t fighting for me.

I’m alone.

Again.

Why doesn’t anyone ever fight for me?

To be continued . . .

Bonus Scene

Want to know what the daddies were talking about just before Emmy accepted their invitation? Get your copy of The Daddies now.

Bonus Scene – The Daddies

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Brat Baby

Available on Amazon

Four professors. One naughty college student. Six months of pleasure on the line.

They left me.

They didn't even try to fight for me.

They decided that things between us were over before we even had a chance to get started.

Now my body is covered in their marks, my wardrobe is filled with clothes they bought for me, and every time I sit down to sketch, all I can draw is them.

I'm not ready for this to be over. They promised me six months. Six fucking months.

So fuck them, I'm going to get my six months. We have a contract. I'm willing to uphold my side, so they will just have to come to the table.

They've met the good girl, now it's time for the brat to come out and play.

Brat Baby is the third book in the Sugar Life series. It is a high-steam why choose romance with one baby girl trying to win her daddies back and four daddy doms who want what they can't have.

About Harley Madison

Harley Madison is the resident Domme at The Red Door. She specialises in edging, O denial, and NSFW reading content. She loves to show her followers a fabulous time and reward them when they are good for her. If you love reading erotic romance with two or more partners, then be a good girl or boy, and purchase one of her books. Now.

Website – Amazon – Goodreads

Table of Contents

1. Dedication

2. Blurb

3. Chapter 1

4. Chapter 2

5. Chapter 3

6. Chapter 4

7. Chapter 5

8. Chapter 6

9. Chapter 7

10. Chapter 8

11. Chapter 9

12. Chapter 10

13. Chapter 11

14. Chapter 12

15. Chapter 13

16. Chapter 14

17. Chapter 15

18. Chapter 16

19. Chapter 17

20. Chapter 18

21. Chapter 19

22. Chapter 20

23. Chapter 21

24. Chapter 22

25. Chapter 23

26. Chapter 24

27. Chapter 25

28. Chapter 26

29. Chapter 27

30. Chapter 28

31. Chapter 29

32. Chapter 30

33. Chapter 31

34. Chapter 32

35. Chapter 33

36. Chapter 34

37. Chapter 35

38. Chapter 36

39. Chapter 37

40. Chapter 38

41. Chapter 39

42. Chapter 40

43. Chapter 41

44. Chapter 42

45. Chapter 43

46. Bonus Scene

47. Brat Baby

48. About Harley Madison