Page 14 of Filthy Rich Daddies

Dean slow nods as he traces lines on her arm from the other side of her. “Understandable. But sexually, what else would you be open to trying?”

She shrugs bashfully, as though we aren’t all lying here naked. “I don’t know…you guys mentioned something about kink earlier, and I’m not opposed…actually, I’d like to try…I don’t know?—”

“Let me stop you right there, baby. There’s nothing we haven’t done, and nothing that will offend us?—”

“I have to keep breathing.”

I frown and glance at my brothers. They’re equally baffled. I clear my throat. “Thalassa, we have every intention for you to remain breathing throughout our encounter.”

She shakes her head once. “No, I mean, I know some people are into oxygen deprivation?—”

“Breath play?” Dean asks.

“Right, that,” she continues. “I’m not. Like, at all. Okay?”

“That’s what we call a hard limit,” I explain. “It means we don’t cross that line. I’m glad you told us. Ours overlap—no wasteplay, no age play, no permanent marks. Beyond that, we’re happy to negotiate.”

“So, if it’s a hard limit, I don’t have to worry about you guys trying to make me do it?”

I kiss the back of her hand, trying to soothe her fears. “Never. We will never make you do anything you don’t want to do, Thalassa. And we don’t forget hard limits either. No breath play. Consider it done.”

She takes another deep breath, and I wonder what happened to her. Breath play isn’t for everyone, but clearly she has some experience in that realm. But now is not the time to dig into past traumas. Now is the time for fun.

“What about restraints?”

Her body goes tense at first, until she thinks about it. “What kind of restraints?”

“I brought a few options with me—I never travel light. Ropes, handcuffs, shackles, spreader bars, hoods, blindfolds, the usual.”

“I…I might be open to some of that.”

“Now isn’t the time to be coy, pet,” Dean says as he kisses her bare shoulder. “What would you like to try?”

She bites her lower lip, her pulse kicking up, evidenced by the breathiness in her voice. “What’s a spreader bar?”

Colin latches his hand around her ankle. “Typically, a shackle goes around each ankle, and they’re separated by a metal bar. The contraption keeps your legs spread wide, no matter what you do. You’d be on display for us, vulnerable, open.” He slowly widens her legs, until they’re shoulder-width apart.

To my surprise, she doesn’t move them back when he releases his grip. Her breaths come in small puffs. “Oh.”

“We can bind your arms apart or overhead, keeping you from having any physical control over things,” I add. “Such things usually require a bit of trust between parties, so I never assume, but I like to bring them for options. There’s also my sex swing, which facilitates unique mobility.”

“People really use those? I thought that was just in porn.”

I chuckle. “Hardly. Mine is modified with restraints to alleviate any pressure on your joints and any control from your body. Does any of that appeal to you, baby?”

Her feet fidget. Not her hands, not another nervous bite of her bottom lip. Her feet circle each other, big toe drawing circles around the other big toe in turn. I don’t know why, but it’s incredibly endearing.

She finds her voice. “The bar thing. Maybe the hands. I don’t know about the swing—I’m not exactly the most athletic person anymore.”

Thatanymoresticks out like a sore thumb. But again, now is not the time. Not when we’ve just gotten her to agree to an experiment.

“I’ll be right back.” I stroll from the bed to the closet for my duffel bag of fun.

Dean asks, “You’re not athleticanymore? You seem plenty athletic to me. Takes a lot to keep up with us.”

Her voice rises an octave. “Used to be. You grow out of hobbies…just changed my mind.”

Don’t dig, don’t dig, don’t dig?—