Page 26 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

FIONA

T he room we enter looks like an upscale hotel bedroom. If one ignores the black-and-silver Saint Andrew’s Cross against the far wall.

“Forget it for a minute,” Adrian urges, catching the direction of my gaze. “Let’s talk about your limits first.”

He leads the way to a black leather couch. I sit down. “My limits?” My heart is beating so loudly that it’s drowning out all other noise.

Brody sits down as well, and turns toward me, his eyebrow raised. “What turns you on? What turns you off? Soft limits, hard limits? Did Downing really have none of these conversations with you?”

“Sometimes. Most of the time, he thought he knew what I wanted.”

“Because he can read minds?” Adrian sounds disgusted.

“Fiona, this lifestyle requires open, honest communication. There’s a big difference between the pleasurable apprehension you feel when you’re tied up, and you don’t know exactly what your dominant has planned for you, and genuine fear.

I don’t want you to be afraid of us, ever. ”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I reply automatically. “Don’t worry. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Adrian says bluntly. “Trust is earned. Don’t hand it away so easily, Fiona.”

Brody looks at me thoughtfully. “Let’s set some boundaries,” he says. He points to the golden ceiling. “There are cameras on all four corners,” he says, pointing them out. “The way they’re positioned, there are no blind spots in the room.”

“Okay.”

“Someone is always watching,” Adrian says. “In the level below us, there’s a team of employees whose only job is making sure that the play is safe, sane, and consensual.”

“That sounds expensive.”

Brody shrugs. “Xavier has more money than God, and this is important to him. Next boundary: When we play, we’ll call you Fifi.”

“The way I call you Mr. Payne and Mr. Lockhart?”

“Yes.” Adrian smiles warmly at me. “Neither Brody nor I have ever been interested in a twenty-four-seven submissive. This way, the boundaries are clear for all of us.”

“I like it.” My pulse is racing with excitement.

“Good.” Brody leans back on the couch and stretches his legs out, looking lazy and relaxed. The only way I can tell that he’s not quite as laid-back as he’s pretending to be is the telltale bulge in his trousers. “Fifi, open that closet,” he orders, pointing to a mirrored cabinet opposite us.

Fifi. It’s beginning.

I get up and do as he asks. The doors swing out. Toys—whips, floggers, crops, canes—hang from hooks on the back of the closet doors, and the shelves hold more sex toys—buttplugs, nipple clamps, vibrators, and restraints. “Nice selection,” I mutter.

“You sound nervous. What scares you?”

“The cane.” I force the word out through the dryness in my throat. It looks so harmless on the door, a thin rattan rod, not much thicker than my little finger, but I know firsthand how much pain it can cause.

“No cane. Got it.” Adrian’s voice is calm, and his gaze is untroubled. He doesn’t look annoyed by my request. “That’s a hard limit. What else?”

My courage bolstered by their lack of reaction, I continue. “I’m extremely claustrophobic,” I confess. “I’ll freak out if you lock me in a small space.”

“What about being tied up?” Brody asks, patting the spot next to him.

I sit between them and engage in a silent war with my conscience. Tell them you’re afraid of being trapped, it screams.

But I can’t. If I do tell them I’m not ready to be tied up, they’re going to think I’m damaged. I don’t want them to look at me with pity, as if I was broken. When they see me, I want them to see a woman who is afraid of nothing.

“I like bondage as long as I’m not in a small space,” I lie.

I feel the weight of their gazes on me. Can they see through me? “Okay,” Brody says after a pause. “What about blindfolds?”

I stick closer to the truth this time. “I don’t mind being blindfolded, but I get scared if I’m tied up at the same time.” I flush as I hear the words spoken out loud, and realize how high-maintenance I sound. “I’m sorry,” I stammer.

Adrian’s fingers play with my hair. “Fiona,” he says, his voice gentle, “Everyone has things they’d rather not do. I’d be more concerned if you didn’t have any limits at all.”

His words warm me to the core. I’m freaking out about nothing. “I also have a phobia about needles,” I confess.

Adrian shivers, his face wearing an expression of acute distaste. “Me too. Needles freak me out. Can’t stand them. You’re in the clear there.”

Brody traces a slow pathway up my thighs, stopping at the hem of my dress. “What do you like? Floggers? Crops?”

I imagine being tied down, my legs spread wide for their use.

Will Brody crop my inner thighs? The undersides of my breasts?

Will Adrian bring the flogger down on my body, the way the guy in the main club floor had whipped the woman?

My breath catches in my throat, and I discreetly rub my thighs together.

Brody’s lips twitch. “I think that’s a yes, or at least a maybe. What else do you enjoy?”

This feels like such a personal conversation. I should be squirming as my innermost desires are revealed, laid bare for the two of them, but instead, I feel connected to them. I feel cherished as they take the time to discover what brings me pleasure, and what causes me pain.

“I like being spanked.” My cheeks heat. “Over a knee.”

“Why?” Adrian probes.

“It’s intimate,” I whisper. “I’m touching you. You’re touching me.”

Brody’s eyes glitter with desire. “You want me to keep touching you,” he says, his voice raspy with need. “Got it. That’s not a difficult request to fulfill.”

I shift in my seat, turned on already, anxious to get started. “Are you ready, Fifi?” Adrian asks me, his eyes dancing with amusement at my impatience. “You know your safewords?”

I nod, pushing my tremor of nerves away. “Red to stop, yellow to pause, green to continue.”

“Good.” He rises to his feet and holds his hand out to me, pulling me up. Brody gets up as well. They close the gap between us, pressing me against their bodies. Adrian’s breath tickles the back of my neck as his fingers works at my zipper. “Let’s get you undressed,” he mutters.

“Yes, Mr. Lockhart.” My heart races, my palms sweaty with anticipation. My dress slides to the floor in a whisper of sound, and I step out of it.

“Come here,” Brody growls. He pulls me against his chest, unclasping my bra strap and pulling my panties down my hips.

Adrian runs his fingers over my nipples, tugging them gently until they’re are erect and pebbled with need. “You’re beautiful, Fifi,” he murmurs. “An obedient little kitten.”

He hangs up my dress and retrieves a handful of items from the closet. “Let’s start with this,” he says, showing me a thick leather collar. Three D-rings are evenly spaced on it.

A flicker of apprehension courses through me, and I bite my lip. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I’m about to be immobilized in many creative ways.

Adrian pauses, his chocolate brown eyes searching my face. “Check in, Fifi.”

I ignore my shiver of nerves. “Green, Mr. Lockhart.”

He trades a look at Brody and then turns back to me. “Can I trust you to be honest with me?”

No. “Yes, Mr. Lockhart.”

I’m not exactly lying. I’m just withholding all the relevant information.

Besides, I’m fine. What I’m feeling is normal.

I haven’t done anything BDSM-ish in a long time.

Of course I’m going to be slightly on edge.

That’s all it is. Submission is like riding a bike.

Any moment now, it’s all going to come back to me.

“Fine. Lift your hair up.”

I obey, and he buckles the collar around my neck, sticking a finger between the leather and my skin as he fastens the straps. It’s tall and stiff enough that I’m not going to forget it’s on. I inhale deeply and try not to feel like it’s choking me. There’s plenty of room to breathe.

Brody lifts up my wrists, one by one, and cuffs me with wide leather cuffs. Then he wraps a thick leather belt around my waist, also adorned with d-rings. “You okay, Fifi?” His lips brush against mine.

“Yes, Mr. Payne.”