Page 250 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

MEL

W est shuts the door. The music outside fades away entirely. He looks straight at me, and his smile promises wicked sin. “Tonight,” he says. “You are all ours.”

Have you ever had a dream where you could fly?

I used to get them all the time. I’d soar through the sky, green fields rolling underneath me, and glide on invisible air currents.

Sometimes, I’d be aware that I was dreaming.

Sometimes, a small part of me knew it wasn’t real, but it wasn’t enough to yank me back to reality. I kept flying.

That’s what this feels like.

Rob and West are talking to me. They’re interested in me. They’re touching me. My mind feels hazy in the best way. Tonight seems magical, filled with possibilities. Removed from time and from consequences.

I look around the Romanov Room. This is a private room in a sex club, and I guess on some level, I expected it to look sordid. I imagined sticky floors, dried stains on the couches, and a wastebasket overflowing with used condoms.

But of course, Club M caters to the extremely wealthy, and this room is appropriately opulent.

This room is nothing like I was expecting.

It’s looks like the bedroom suite of a Russian tsarina.

The wallpaper is a deep shade of red dotted with golden fleur-de-lis.

There’s a sitting area with an elegant tan leather rolled-arm couch, a matching loveseat, and a couple of sturdy-looking wooden chairs.

There’s a four-poster bed in the middle of the far wall. Ornate, gilt-framed mirrors line the wall, along with a carved wooden wardrobe that presumably holds sex toys, whips, and chains. Or maybe that’s my imagination getting ahead of me. A side table has water and refreshments.

Oh, and there’s the Saint Andrew’s Cross. Can’t forget about that.

I’m nervous, of course I am. Everything about this situation is new. The sex club, the bondage implements, having a sexual encounter with West and Rob—it’s a shocker that I’m not freaking out more. But much more potent than my trepidation is the heady anticipation that thrums through my blood.

I’ve wanted this for so long.

“Let’s get the preliminaries out of the way,” Rob says. “I want to make sure all of us feel safe and know what to expect.”

I drain the rest of my glass of wine and set it down on the nearest flat surface. “Good idea.”

“What’s your fantasy tonight, kitten?” His voice is a hypnotic murmur. “Do you want us to make you come? Do you want to have penetrative sex? Do you want to be tied down on the bed? On the Saint Andrew’s Cross that you can’t drag your eyes away from? Tell us what you want.”

Oh wow. I thought he’d tiptoe around the topic, but no, Rob Yarrow does not tiptoe around anything. I guess I should have already known that—I am more than familiar with his management style, after all—but I didn’t expect it to carry over to sex.

It’s more than a little hot. It’s such a turn-on to be asked what I want. At this moment, I am the sole focus of their attention. They’re waiting for me to tell them what I need from them, and then they’re going to spend the next few hours making my fantasies come true.

If only I can make myself voice my needs out loud.

I tell myself to breathe. I plant my feet firmly on the floor and inhale a slow, deep breath.

On the exhale, words start spilling from my lips.

The product of a year of forbidden desires and secret fantasies.

“I want to be taken,” I whisper. “By both of you. Separately and together.” I gesture to the ominous-looking bondage furniture in the corner.

Ominous, yet exciting. “I’m new at this, so maybe go a little slow?

But I want to be tied down. I want you to restrain me. I want. . .”

I want the two of you to make me the object of your desire.

Rob moves closer to me. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the couch, and then he slowly, deliberately, undoes his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves.

He takes off his watch, sets it on the table, and glides his thumb over my lower lip.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that we can help you with that.”

I stare into his blue eyes, fighting the urge to part my lips and suck his thumb into my mouth.

West steps away from the door and into the room. He moves behind me, his breath warm on my neck. “If the three of us are going to play tonight,” he breathes into my ear. “We need to communicate. We need to all be on the same page.”

The way we’re standing, I’m sandwiched between my hot bosses. Rob in front of me, West behind me. Heat rises in my body and resonates between us.

“Let's go over a few ground rules, Cat,” West murmurs. His fingers gently thread through my hair. “You need a safe word. When you say it, everything stops.”

A shock of desire jolts through me. I’ve heard about safe words; I don’t live under a rock.

I never thought West Fontaine would tell me I needed one though.

I never imagined that he’d run his fingers through my hair, slow and meditative, and I sure as hell didn’t think it would turn me on so much that I can barely stand.

One night with them was supposed to fix my attraction. It was supposed to slake my curiosity and extinguish my lust. But what if it doesn’t?

“How about I use stop?”

Rob shakes his head. “It needs to be something that you wouldn't normally use in a sexual scenario,” he explains. “We’ll both respond to stop, but the club monitors need something else. How about the traffic system? Red to stop, yellow to slow down, green if you’re okay?”

Oh, right. There are cameras everywhere. I should have remembered that—Rob pointed them out to me, and the waivers I signed also prominently mentioned them. Ten pages of legalese. “That’s fine.”

Do I look nervous again? West guides me to the couch. “Sit here,” he says, sitting down and patting the cushion next to him.

I perch on the edge while Rob takes a seat on the other side of me.

West gently but firmly places his hand on the side of my face and turns my head to face him.

My entire body leans toward him. My skin feels hot where he touches me.

I’m burning up. His fingers trail down my face, grazing my cheeks and ghosting over my lips.

“Look at me, kitty cat,” he says as he raises my chin up to meet his gaze.

An involuntary shiver runs down my spine.

Rob's fingers trail through my hair and slide down to the small of my back. I’m half-turned away from him, and I turn back, but West shakes his head, a slight smile curving his lips. “Look at me,” he orders. “Keep your eyes on my face.”

I stay where I am, transfixed by West’s gaze and by the firmness in his voice. This is a side of West Fontaine I haven’t seen before. I obey his order, heart pounding in my chest while Rob kisses my bare shoulder.

“You’re so sexy,” Rob murmurs, his breath tickling my earlobe. He lets his lips drop to the nape of my neck. He presses kisses over my bare shoulder, and his hands slide down to my waist, tugging me closer to him.

I move again toward Rob, and West shakes his head. His fingers grip my chin again, firmer this time, and he turns my face back toward him. “Do I need to repeat myself?” he asks calmly.

“No.” God, this is so unexpectedly hot. I figured I’d like being tied up, but we haven’t even gotten close to that yet—all our clothes are still on—and I’m blazing with need. “I’m sorry.”

A smile flickers on his lips. He rests his other hand on my leg, just above the knee. Heat immediately blooms at his touch. He continues to hold my chin with his thumb and three fingers, and his index finger traces the outline of my lips. Then he lets go.

My intuition tells me it’s a test, one I’m determined to ace. I hold my head steady and keep my eyes locked on him.

I must pass because he gives me that enigmatic smile again. “Good girl.”

Why is that hot? It shouldn’t be. If West said something like that to me at work, I’d knee him in the groin. But here, the rules are different. He calls me a good girl, and it sends a rush of heat through me.

His fingers move down my neck. My breasts are straining against my dress, supported and on display, courtesy of the corseted bodice. West caresses the swollen flesh and dips down my cleavage.

Please, yes, I beg silently. My gaze remains fixed on his, and I try to stay as still as possible. Inside, though, every fiber of my being is straining toward him. Please don’t stop…

He stops.

Argh. I want to scream in frustration. It takes all my willpower to keep my mouth shut, but I do because this game is fascinating. I’m seeing an entirely different side of West Fontaine, and I want to see more.

My breasts feel full and swollen and heavy. My nipples are hard and engorged. West brushes his thumb lightly over one of them, and my insides tighten.

I shift in my seat. My pussy feels slick, and my pulse is racing. Rob trails kisses down my back and back up to my neck. “Are your nipples hard, Cat?” he growls into my ear.

I nod.

“Say it, Cat,” he says, his breath hot against my skin. “I want to hear you say the words out loud.”

My heart beats a little quicker “They're hard,” I whisper.

“They?”

Heat creeps up my face. “My nipples are hard.”

Rob stands up. His erection strains against his trousers, his arousal obvious. West moves his hands under my arms and lifts both me and him in one motion.

Rob moves behind me, pressing his body against mine. His hands grip my hips, and he pulls me tight against him. My ass grinds against his erection, and I fight the urge to whimper.

“Show us,” Rob says, his voice low and dark, his breath hot on my ear. “Show us how hard your nipples are.”

I swallow. My knees feel weak, and my body is hot with anticipation.

My fingers tremble as I undo the button loops on my bodice.

This is a very complicated outfit. It’s corseted, so the boning digs into my sides.

The buttons are decorative—there’s a hidden zipper underneath that holds everything in place.

I’d loved it from the moment I laid eyes on it, but right now, I wish I’d picked something easier to remove.

West watches as I fumble with the button, but he doesn’t offer to help. I finally get it undone and move on to the next one.

Rob’s still behind me, holding me close. The way he grips onto my shoulders is almost like he’s displaying me for West’s approval. Fuck, that’s hot. Waves of lust wash through me.

Button number two pops open.

West keeps his gaze on me and adjusts the bulge in his pants.

Button number three gives way. How many buttons does this damn corset have, anyway? I’m strongly tempted to rip the rest of them off, except I know Cat would kill me if I damage the dress.

I tease the last button through the loop, unzip the corset, and let it fall away. West takes it from me before it falls to the floor, and he sets it on the side table.

My breasts bound free.

West inhales sharply. His expression turns hungry. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse.

Rob reaches his hands around and trails his fingers over my swollen, aching breasts. His hands caress and squeeze them.

I can’t tear my eyes away from the sight. Disbelievingly, a part of me thinks, this is Robert Yarrow’s hand . Robert Yarrow—financial wizard, CFO of Fontaine & Yarrow, and my boss —is playing with my breasts.