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She nodded and breathlessly whispered, “I will.”

But once he gently rolled it across her back a few times, something else touched her. Light sweeps of what she assumed was a large feather followed the same path.

Every roll of the wheel was followed by a brush of the plume. The two items were polar opposites: the feather more of a caress, the pinwheel more like being poked with tiny ice picks.

She didn’t know whether to groan or laugh.

She did neither when a hand grabbed her ankle and lifted her leg. When the metal spikes rolled over the sole of her foot, she squealed. When the feather swept over the bottom of her foot next, she jerked with how much it tickled.

“Do you like that?” Dayne murmured.

“I’m not sure. Do it again,” she encouraged before sinking her teeth into her bottom lip and holding her breath as thesame actions were repeated on her other foot. This time, her leg jerked involuntarily and she hissed out a breath. “No. No… Cabbage!”

Immediately, her foot was released. “Stop everything or only that?” Heath asked.

“Doing that on my feet. It’s too much.” It made her want to jump out of her skin.

“Can we proceed with the wheel?” Dayne asked next.

“Yes.”

Out of the two, Daynelovedto talk dirty. Tonight was no different. As both men worked, he released a constant stream of naughty words, filthy promises, and knee-wobbling guarantees while they continued to forge new paths all over her. The wheel’s sharp points were even rolled back and forth over her nipples. Funny how that turned her on, unlike with her feet.

She lost track of how long they continued to use the wheel and feather because she had fallen into some sort of trance. Or a state of euphoria.

Was this feeling of floating in the clouds similar to slipping into a subspace?

One night she had asked a barrage of questions about the Dom/sub relationship, a dynamic she ran across in the more erotic books she read. Despite the fact neither man took either of those roles, they answered her questions as thoroughly as they could.

While their answers piqued her interest, she wasn’t sure it was something she’d want to try.

Because of her current state of bliss, it took her a few seconds to realize they had stopped using the Wartenburg wheel and feather. A sharp tug on her hair quickly cleared away that foggy feeling and one of them—she didn’t knowwhich—began pulling a brush through her hair using long, sensual strokes.

She groaned at the pure Heaven of it.

It had to be Dayne wielding the hairbrush, because his pussy-twinging words began to wash over her all over again.

Of course, he didn’t stop there. The stiff brush bristles made contact with her skin, making her aware of every nerve ending in her body. Long strokes continued down her back, her arms, her legs. Across her butt cheeks, her belly, her breasts.

Her skin had to be turning pink by now.

But they weren’t done yet. Oh no. Not according to Dayne’s non-stop stream of wicked words. They wanted her climbing out of her own skin and begging them for release.

As if he could read her mind, he said, “You’ll come on our time, not yours.”

She shuddered.

Chapter Seventeen

“This isanother item I need to warn you about first,” Heath whispered close to her ear.

Oh shit.

Though, the Wartenburg wheel really hadn’t been that bad. At least not enough that she’d add it to her short “never again” list.

“This will be very…stimulating,” Dayne warned. “Maybe even shocking.”

What?Did they plan to hook a car battery charger to her nipples like a torture scene in a spy movie?