Piece Us Together (Monstrous Survivors #3)

14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Maison

Hunter has an event he has to go to at the college Saturday, so we’re scheduled for a Thursday night meet-up instead. It should make things easier, having to go two less days waiting. It doesn’t.

By the time Thursday rolls around, the itch of anticipation is nearly unbearable. Last time went so fucking well. Too well, almost. I’m torn between excitement for a repeat and anxiety that something so good can’t possibly last.

I’d kill for a drink or to be able to go a few rounds with a heavy bag, but we’re only an hour away from having to leave and I don’t think Hunter would be pleased with either of those. I pace around the house before deciding to join everyone in the pool area, figuring it’ll at least be entertaining. It always is when our whole group gets together.

The pool area is thick with heat and chlorine, laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls. I immediately feel itchy when the door closes behind me. I try to shake it off, heading over to where Jake and Ace are lounging in chairs, each holding a beer. My eyes catch on their drinks, wondering if I could get away with just one. I’ve got plenty of time before we’ll be at Hunter’s. It wouldn’t even be enough alcohol to deter me from driving. If I brushed my teeth good, there’s no way Hunter would ever even know.

Just the thought of the secret has guilt gnawing at me.

I scowl, sitting a little too heavily on the open chair beside Ace. He raises an eyebrow at me. “What’s got you in a mood?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure. Okay.” He rolls his eyes before reaching toward the small cooler between them. I swallow hard when he pulls out a beer and offers it to me. “Drink?”

There’s a voice in my head, telling me to go ahead. Telling me Hunter isn’t the boss of me. It’s all macho bravado and stubbornness. It’s me, the reckless side of me, the side that likes to ruin things.

“I’m good,” I say, forcing myself to look at the pool area instead of the drink. I find Nolan. He has his head tilted back with laughter as Bryce chases him around and Casey watches with Matt braced on his shoulders.

Good boy, a voice in my head says.

I don’t name the voice.

I refuse to name the fucking voice.

It’s not Hunter, okay?

It’s just a fucking voice.

God, I need a drink.

“I could bottle all this laughter,” Ace says, leaning back in his chair again, now drinking the fresh beer I turned down. I look back at the pool. Bryce is on Nolan’s shoulders now. They’re playing chicken. Well, I think they’re supposed to be, anyway. There’s so much giggling and splashing and dance breaks that it doesn’t seem like they’re trying very hard. “I used to picture this kind of thing, when it was just the two of us. Remember?”

I nod. I do remember. We’d sit at the oversized dining table in the safehouse, everything freshly painted and half-decorated, and talk about what it’d be like. Talk about our hopes. Talk about the little things that kept us going over the years. Both of us—most operatives, if I had to guess—used the survivors most of all. Sure, I clung to the idea of peace, of finally having this nightmare over with, of not having to worry about bloodstained hands and lives relying on me, but it was the survivors most of all. Picturing them reuniting with families. Picturing the moment I got to tell someone, “You’re safe now. You’re free.” Picturing the house full of smiles and relief and hope.

Picturing moments just like this.

“Didn’t think we’d be falling in love with all of them,” I say with a smirk.

“Hey, speak for yourselves. You’re all dropping like fucking flies.”

Jake and I exchange a look before turning that look on Ace. He looks at each of us with a deep frown, eyebrows pulled together. I groan as I realize he’s not being a liar, he’s being a fucking idiot. “Oh, man, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out yet?” I ask in half-shock, half-dread.

“Figure what out?” Ace asks.

“Oh no…” Jake puts his face in his hands. “It’s even worse than us all dropping like flies. He’s dropped and doesn’t even know!”

“What? Oh—wait, no. That’s not—Matt? Are you talking about Matt?” Ace makes a psshh sound, but his dark skin is flushed on his cheeks, and he’s not meeting our eyes any longer. Not looking at the pool either. Apparently, his beer label has suddenly become very interesting. “We’re friends. He feels safe with me, that’s all.”

I blink at him, really wishing he’d look at me so he could see how absolutely idiotic I think that is. “Dude. The two of you are attached at the hip.”

“So? Bryce and Max are too, but you don’t see the two of them fucking.”

“Bryce and Max don’t share beds, or sleep on the couch of a certain someone’s office whenever that person can’t be in bed. Bryce and Max don’t have to give the other a single sad look to get their way.”

Ace splutters.

He thinks that taking a drink of his beer will help him, but it ends up making the spluttering worse as he starts to literally choke.

A strangled sound comes from our right. I have to hide my smile when I see it’s Matt, his arms braced on the edge of the pool. He looks terrified. I hit Ace on the back a few times before telling Matt, “He’s fine. Just forgot how to drink.”

Matt doesn’t believe me, watching Ace closely until Ace catches his breath and gives Matt an embarrassed smile. “Unfortunately, he’s kind of right…but I’m good now.”

Matt does the sign for, promise ?

Ace’s smile softens into something disgustingly lovesick as he signs it back. I roll my eyes with Jake. What an idiot.

Keats saves him, walking into the pool area with hunched shoulders and a look on his face I can’t quite place. He very purposely doesn’t look at the pool as he walks up to us and squats in front of Ace’s chair. There’s an aura about him that suddenly sucks the humor right out of the room. I find myself hoping the boys in the pool don’t notice it.

“What’s wrong?” Ace asks, sitting up quickly like he’s sensed the same thing as me. Jake looks just as rigid from his spot. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Nothing, just—can I steal you? And Jake?” He nods at me. “Sorry.”

I scoff with a short laugh. “Don’t ever apologize for not needing me to do something.”

He gives me a look that clearly says don’t get used to it, which is fair, even if it makes all of my earlier anxiety return with a vengeance. I look away from him to avoid making things any worse. The last thing I need is him deciding he needs me after all, not only ruining my plans tonight but also forcing me back into a role I hate.

Thankfully the three of them leave, Jake mentioning off-hand that he’ll be back in a few minutes to tell Casey it’s time for bed. I keep my gaze on Nolan with his friends like I didn’t even hear him. The world suddenly feels too small. Too heavy. What’s going on? Ace is tech, always staying behind for missions, and Jake has made it clear he’s done with missions now that Casey’s loose ends are tied. He’s officially retired. If Keats needs them for now, it could be to set up the background support for something more. Something that will need boots on the ground. Boots like mine.

Fuck .

I run my hand through my hair, my eyes drifting to their abandoned beers and the cooler on the floor. Fuck .

For a rare moment, I find myself wishing Travis and Carter would have stuck around. Things have still been so damn tense between us all, Carter seeming to swing dangerously from wanting to be like we used to be and wanting to hate my guts for existing, but there’s a chance Travis knows what’s going on. A chance he could help put my mind at ease.

I shoot him a text instead, asking him discreetly if he’s heard about any movements from Keats. He answers almost immediately with a no, then a follow-up text with crying emojis and the question of why I’m asking. I tell him he came to visit and is acting sketchy. He counters that Keats is always sketchy, which is fair. The guy is always either acting suspicious or so relaxed that it feels almost unhinged. Neither are particularly settling. I tell him I’ll keep him updated, and he agrees to do the same.

Thankfully Jake is back soon enough, not looking the least bit worried as he approaches the side of the pool with a fond smile and relaxed posture. That helps a little. Even if Jake isn’t going to be sent anywhere if there’s a mission, he’d still be concerned. He’s definitely a daddy in that sense.

Jake squats down at the edge of the pool while Casey hurries to swim over to him. I can’t hear what he says when his boy is close enough, but whatever it is has Casey’s lip puffing out in a pout. Nolan and his friends all look amused as Casey works his daddy over, clearly trying to get his way. Considering he’s in the pool, and Jake had mentioned bedtime before, it’s a safe bet to assume he’s angling for more swim time. That’s a fight he’s had with Jake nearly every night since we moved in here.

I asked Jake once why he puts up with it when I’m fairly certain he could use his daddy authority to put his foot down and tell Casey he can’t keep arguing every night. Jake had said, “But he’s so fucking cute when he whines and pouts. And I like how happy he gets when I sometimes let him push the rules a bit.” He had smirked then, wicked and a little dangerous. “Besides, it gives me a chance to let him push just a little too far. Then I get to punish him—and he’s so damn pretty and sweet after he’s been punished.”

At the time, I hadn’t had much reference to go off of, but he’d seemed happy, so I had laughed. Now, I can picture Nolan on Hunter’s guest bed, writhing and begging, tears streaking his cheeks. Nothing drastic has changed with me. I still don’t like the thought of hurting him or making him submit. But seeing him wrecked from pleasure like that was fucking intoxicating, to the point where I lost myself a little in it, something I would have agonized over after if Hunter hadn’t been there to keep things in check. I could see how Hunter or Jake would enjoy watching their submissives, if they looked anything like that.

I wonder if Casey is going to be made to suffer before he gets to come tonight.

I wonder if Nolan will experience the same.

I wonder what that’s like—being the one made to squirm and endure before earning something mind-shatteringly beautiful. Two things, even. An orgasm, yes, but praise, too. They will have earned so much praise.

I look away from them at the side of the pool, wincing when my eyes catch on the clock. We need to get going. Hunter won’t like it if we’re late.

I stand, catching Nolan’s eye and tilting my head toward the door. We’ve been able to avoid any questions about where we disappear to on the weekends, but we haven’t been doing this very long and this house is full of spies and perceptive survivors. It won’t be long.

Nolan nods before turning back to Matt, saying something that makes Matt grin and shake his head. I realize I don’t know if he’s told Matt about Hunter. If he were to open up about it to anyone, it’d be Matt.

I don’t know how I feel about that—about him telling Matt. About Hunter being important enough for him to share. It makes things feel like more. Feel bigger. It makes things feel real and permanent.

It makes me itch, but I still can’t quite tell if it’s more of that anticipation or if it’s the dread of tonight being a letdown. Or if it’s the worry about the Keats situation, and nothing to do with Hunter at all. Regardless of the cause, I’m not a big fan of the sensation. Is this what Nolan feels like when he wants control taken away? What’s it like when that happens? When Hunter makes everything go quiet?

I shouldn’t want to know.

I shouldn’t think just how nice it sounds.

God, I’m such a fucking mess.

Nolan catches up to me just before I leave the shower, out of breath with an apology on his lips as we trade spots. I work on drying off with my towel as he strips out of his swimsuit and hops under the spray I hadn’t turned off. I slip out of the room before he gets to the part of his shower routine that includes cleaning himself out. The last time I watched, I got uncomfortably hard and had to spend nearly two hours with an aching cock while waiting for Hunter to allow things to get started. Even thinking about it has my cock twitching before I drag on a pair of underwear that contains the stupid thing.

I head downstairs after I’m dressed, figuring I should start the truck since it’s freezing out. I’m pulling on my jacket when I nearly run right into Jake who is coming from outside. My stomach plummets. Not even so much because of the Keats thing, as the fact that he’s definitely about to question me. It’s the daddy in him—which I no longer find quite as amusing or endearing.

“I already brought the cans out,” he tells me.

And I’m an idiot who should leap on that excuse, who should pretend I was planning on taking out the garbage before disappearing upstairs and telling Nolan to wait a few minutes until the coast is clear. Instead, I stammer the fucking truth. “Oh, no. I’m not—I’m going out, actually.”

He frowns. “At this time of night? To where?”

I roll my eyes, trying for nonchalance. “It’s not that late, old man. It’s not even eight yet.”

“It’s a small as shit town,” he points out, which…is fair. “Where is there to go at eight on a Thursday night in this place?”

Oh, you know, the house of a breathtakingly handsome dom who makes me feel like my world is burning, but makes me feel at peace about it, and can also make my boyfriend come his fucking brains out, and me too, actually, but I’m not a submissive, don’t think I’m a submissive, and it doesn’t mean anything, he’s just a guy, a dom, nothing more, no feelings or whatever, you know? Just a guy.

Nolan saves me by rushing in, dressed in nice jeans and his favorite new sweater, his jacket already in his hands. He freezes when he sees Jake.

Jake arches an eyebrow as he takes the both of us in. “Hot date?”

Nolan looks at me, eyes wide like we’ve been caught. I force a smile. It’s not like we’re keeping our relationship secret, even if we haven’t made some grand announcement. The guys know we sleep together every night in my room, his room usually left empty except for his clothes. They’ve walked in on us kissing plenty of times, too.

It doesn’t give anything away for the two of us to be going out. There’s no hint of Hunter anywhere. That’s why I shoot for casual, shrugging before giving Jake a rueful, “Something like that.”

I grab Nolan a hat from the coat rack. He’ll need it, especially since I didn’t get the chance to warm the truck at all and his hair is wet. It reminds me of Hunter, the damn man always concerned about jackets and shit. I find myself mentioning it as I tug the hat onto Nolan’s head, hoping to sound grumbly instead of fond. “He’ll be mad if you show up without a hat.”

Nolan laughs, seeing right through me. “He cares about you too. Grab your scarf.”

I almost roll my eyes. Having a jacket and hat will be enough, I’m sure. I don’t need a damn scarf.

But the flash of Hunter’s disappointed face in my mind has me grabbing the scarf anyway.

I am so fucked.

“Look who found a hat,” is the first thing Hunter says when he opens his door for us. “Oh, wow, and a scarf .”

I frown at him, my defenses automatically clicking into place. “It’s cold. I didn’t wear it for you.”

“Of course.” He doesn’t even bother fighting his smile, just taking a step back and waving us in. “Well, since it’s cold, come on in.”

I catch Nolan smirking as we step inside and start shedding our outerwear. I hold in a groan. How did I wind up with two shitheads? I mean, I’m not with Hunter, but…he’s still a shithead I have to deal with.

“Drinks, sir?” Nolan asks, already heading to the kitchen.

“Yes. Lemonade, please. Maison?”

“Water.”

I realize as Hunter and I walk to the couch that the three of us have developed a routine. The drinks. The living room. Hunter placing the cushion on the floor. Him taking a seat in his chair. Me taking a seat on the couch and spreading out the coasters so Nolan doesn’t have to when he returns. Nolan with three glasses balanced in his hands, a shy smile on his face. Nolan sinking to his knees on the cushion.

I watch as Hunter automatically puts his hand on the crown of Nolan’s head, already knowing the praise is coming before he says, “Good boy.”

The routine feels good.

I’m not sure if I like that.

“I’d like to explore a soft limit tonight. One of Maison’s.” Hunter’s eyes settle on me. “I want to bind Nolan tonight. Cuffs, most likely. And a spreader bar. We would introduce them slowly into the play. It wouldn’t be very long with everything on him. How do you feel about that plan? I know cuffs are a soft limit.”

They are. Originally, back when this was just Nolan and me, I had tried to make it one of the things I was willing to do. We never got around to it, thankfully. Because the second I actually thought it through when filling out Hunter’s packet, the second I let myself picture them, I was tugged back in time to the compound’s dungeon. I couldn’t stop feeling the leather on my wrists whenever I thought about the cuffs that might be placed on Nolan. I couldn’t stop seeing the wall of the dungeon, couldn’t stop feeling the cuffs holding me in place, the whip cutting into my back, Jake’s fingers digging into—

“Maison?”

I jolt, blinking hard a few times as the details of my surroundings filter back in. Hunter’s living room. Nolan kneeling, Hunter’s hand in his hair. Safe. I’m safe. I swallow. “What? Oh—cuffs. Um.”

“No, I don’t think we’ll be exploring the cuffs today after all,” he says with a frown that holds far too much concern for my liking. He moves his hand to the back of Nolan’s neck. “Go sit with Maison.”

“I don’t need—I’m fine.”

They ignore me, Nolan settling on the couch beside me for only a second before deciding he wants to be closer and climbing fully into my lap. I’m thankful he tucks his head against my shoulder because I can’t force a smile for him right this second. Not with the ghosts of other men’s hands still on my skin.

“Get him his drink, Nolan.”

Nolan moves around until he’s settled in a way where he can reach for my drink. I take it with a soft “thank you,” not thrilled about them taking care of me, but also knowing arguing will just make it worse. I just have to convince them that I’m fine, then the attention can shift back to Nolan like it’s supposed to.

I can feel Hunter’s eyes on us. I tell myself it’s just Nolan he’s watching, but my gut twists at the thought. There’s something inside of me that’s starting to want to be Hunter’s focus too. Something I’m not sure I like.

“Can I ask something, Maison?”

I close my eyes. “Sure.”

“Is it cuffs on both wrists and ankles that bother you? Or just one pair?”

“Any of it. It’s the leather.”

“What if the cuffs are lined with something soft?”

“No. The leather would still—it’s still leather.” I don’t like having my eyes closed, feeling too vulnerable, so I open them and focus on Nolan instead. He’s watching me, his eyebrows pulled together. He gives me a shaky smile when our eyes meet. I can’t smile back, so I just lift my hand to touch my thumb to the corner of his lips, borrowing his. His smile widens. It makes me feel safe enough to add, “Rope would be okay.”

Hunter’s voice is a little lighter, almost excited, when he answers that. “Oh? You like rope?”

“I’ve never done anything with it. Just saw on the videos. I—I liked it, the look of it. I think—yeah, I think I’d like it.”

“The videos?” Hunter asks.

I can’t help the wince, my hands tensing on Nolan’s hips. My face is already burning before I even force the words out. “Your tutorials.”

It feels like forever before Hunter’s chair makes the softest noise. I can’t help but look at him, almost like he’s reached out and tugged my focus right to him. He’s sitting forward now with his elbows on his thighs, hands loosely clasped together between his knees. He rolled his sleeves up at some point. I stare a little too long at the veins on his forearms.

“You’ve watched my videos.”

It’s not a question. My face gets hotter.

“Yes.” I swallow. “I wanted to know what I was getting into.”

“With me?”

“With…any of it.” I think of those videos, of his hands nimbly creating art on people. “I liked the—the patterns. When it’s all—you know. Not just random rope tied around wrists. I mean, that’s fine, too. But my favorite videos were the patterns.”

Hunter doesn’t move, not an inch. His expression doesn’t even change. But something in his eyes grows impossibly intense. “Would you like to see it in person?”

Nolan shifts on my lap, pressing against my cock. I tell myself that’s why my voice is a little breathless when I say, “Yes.”

“Now, there’s rope bondage and then there’s shibari,” Hunter explains as we all enter the room we always play in. “Shibari takes longer and requires more skill and patience. I will have to adjust my plans for it, which I’m not opposed to doing. Otherwise, I can continue with my plans, just using rope in place of leather cuffs. Nolan, don’t answer. It’s not up to you.”

Nolan drops his chin, doing a little shift on his feet that I know by now means he’s turned-on.

I decide to be a little selfish. There isn’t much about the BDSM stuff that I ever liked, but those rope videos were always enticing. “I want the patterns. The—the shibari.”

“Alright. Nolan, go use the restroom. I’m not tying you up only to cut you loose because you have to pee. Strip while you’re in there.”

Nolan does as told while Hunter fiddles with the blankets on the bed, making sure everything is tucked in securely. When he comes out naked and ready to go, Hunter gives him a pleased smile and calls him good. Somehow, Nolan manages not to melt into a puddle, but it’s a close call. I wonder if he’ll ever stop being so affected by the praise. Or by Hunter in general, for that matter.

I wonder if I will.

“Do you have any areas that are sore today or muscles that are tight?”

“No, sir.”

“Any past injuries that sometimes flare up?”

“No, sir.”

“And your circulation is good?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.” Hunter nods to the bed. “Get comfortable on your knees on the bed, toward the end. Wait quietly unless you need to use a safeword. Use yellow if you need a break in the position or need something adjusted. If you use red, I’ll cut you loose immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” Nolan flashes me an excited smile before climbing onto the bed and settling where he was directed. His position is close to kneeling, but just different enough for me to be able to look at him without feeling itchy.

A hand touches my elbow. I suck in a breath, turning to face the man beside me. Hunter’s eyes are still holding that intensity from the living room. I want it to stop. Or I should, at least.

“Come here.” He leads me toward the closet where he pulls the double-doors open to reveal hooks on the wall, five of which have rope hanging from them.

I smirk. “Enough rope?”

“Oh, that’s not even all of it. Just the hanks I use most often.” He grins, that intensity from before fading a little in place of sheer happiness. His hand waves over the left three hooks. “Pick a color. I can make any of these work with my new plan.”

Something warm coils in me. Usually, I don’t want to choose things, don’t want to have the weight of control on my shoulders, but this time I don’t mind. It’s like we’re a team. I get to pick out the rope and he’s going to make our— my, my, my —boy look pretty in it.

I choose the dark green, wondering if Hunter is aware that it matches his eyes.

“Perfect.” He grabs a pair of medical scissors from a smaller hook I hadn’t noticed before and leads me back to the bed. “I don’t want him distracted while I tie him. You can take a seat if you’d like to, or you can stand here and watch.”

“I’ll stay here.” I move to the side a little though, not wanting to be in the way. “Do you—can I help?”

He pauses, his hands stopping in the middle of unraveling the rope. His eyebrows are higher than I think I’ve ever seen them. He’s usually so good at keeping his expression in check. Even now, his face is already fading to something softly pleased instead. “That’d be great. Just watch for now, okay? Pay attention. Ask questions if you have any. And hold these.”

I’m handed the scissors before he continues working the rope. “Nolan, you with us?”

“Definitely, sir.”

“Your only job during this is to pay attention to yourself. If anything tingles or goes numb, you’ll tell me. If you get dizzy, lightheaded, or nauseous, you’ll tell me. If you start to struggle to breathe, you’ll tell me. If you feel panicked at any point, you’ll tell me. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Repeat them back.”

“I’ll tell you if there’s any tingling or numbness, any dizziness or—or if I get lightheaded, or nauseous. I’ll also tell you if I have any issues breathing or feel upset or panicked.”

“Such a good listener.” Hunter lets the end of his rope trail down Nolan’s spine. I don’t know if it’s the praise or the touch, but he shivers. “I want you to snap your fingers twice when you start approaching subspace, okay?”

This time, Nolan pauses. “Can I ask why, sir?”

Hunter looks pleased again. “The ties I plan on using require you to be upright in the beginning. When you start drifting, I’ll settle you in a safer position and finish up, or alter my pattern if I can’t finish. I want you to be able to drift without needing to worry about safety. That snap will make it so you can keep heading into that space and I can take care of you the way you need. Most find it easier to snap than speak when they’re drifting. Promise you’ll snap?”

Nolan nods. “Promise, sir. Thank you for explaining.”

“So polite.” Hunter shoots a wink at me before slinging the rope over his shoulders and grabbing Nolan to move him. “Nice straight back, legs apart just a bit more. Good boy.”

He turns back to me with the end of his rope presented. “Use those scissors to cut near the end here, will you?”

“Why?”

“Such curious boys tonight.” He chuckles. “It’s because I haven’t used them in over a month and I want to ensure they’re as sharp as they need to be.”

I try not to think too hard about him having used them around a month ago. I try not to wonder who it was with, if he liked them more than us, if he still plays with them and just hasn’t used the rope recently.

Once we’ve checked the rope and scissors, he leads me back to Nolan. He settles right behind him, and I take my place a foot away on his left. I watch him place a steadying hand on Nolan’s shoulder. The touch sends a shiver through my boyfriend before his muscles go lax.

He guides Nolan’s arms until they’re behind his back, bent at each elbow, the backs of his hands resting in the crooks of them. He runs a loop of the rope through the gap between his back and arms twice before working a single stretch of rope through it until it’s knotted. He tugs the knot tight, Nolan’s fingers twitching as the yank gently rocks his body.

Hunter asks, “Comfortable?” while already winding the rope over Nolan’s shoulder and across his chest.

Nolan sounds breathless when he says, “Yes, sir.”

I glance at Hunter, catching the way his lips curl into a knowing smile before his face softens with concentration. The rope is brought over the opposite shoulder, looped around the second stretch, and knotted in the center of his spine. Hunter tugs upward, pulling it tight once, twice, three times. It makes Nolan bounce on his knees almost obscenely, his ass kissing the sheets each time before settling again.

Maybe the sight is just as enjoyable for Hunter as for me because he takes a break, holding the rope in his left hand like a leash as he caresses Nolan’s ass. I don’t know who sucks in a sharper breath the first time he smacks a hand down—me or Nolan. We both shakily exhale the same when it’s followed by a second hit. And a third. A fourth.

His pretty ass now tinged pink, Hunter moves on with his work like nothing even happened, leaving me hard as a rock and Nolan panting lightly.

He loops the rope between Nolan’s legs, separating the two strands to wind around his cock and balls gently but tightly. He secures the ends to the strip of rope across Nolan’s chest, knotting it the same way as his last two. I shift a little to the left to get a better view of him. At the same time, Hunter tugs at the knot, making him bounce again. This time, he cries out as he does, the rope pulling where it’s tied around his hard cock and dark red balls.

Nolan sways slightly when the rope is relaxed. He fumbles for a moment, arms twisting the best they can in their rope harness, before his fingers snap. Once. Twice.

Not a safeword, just a warning for subspace.

“Maison, come stand behind him. Brace him against your front.”

I follow the order, stepping up until my knees are against the end of the bed. Just a gentle nudge backward is enough to have his weight settled against me. I place my hands on his shoulders, thumbs starting to stroke soothing circles. I’m not sure which of us finds them soothing. I’m not sure it matters.

Hunter grabs another loop of rope and settles on the bed between Nolan’s feet. He looks more concentrated than ever, but the tie he does is a simple cuff on each ankle that he knots together to keep him from being able to spread his feet apart. It’s not the tie he’s concentrating on. Is he worried about Nolan? Is this too early for subspace? Should we bring him back?

“He’s okay,” Hunter murmurs as he starts working rope up his calves, creating a sort of ladder effect with such quick movements I can’t track them. Or maybe that’s just because my head is starting to feel a little too full. “Maison, what’s your color?”

I don’t give him a color. I don’t know my color without more information. “Is it normal? The subspace this early?”

“Sorry,” Nolan mumbles, blinking slowly. “Been a long time.”

“It’s alright, darling. What’s your color? Are you with us enough to tell me?”

“Green, sir.” He blinks again. Harder this time. I flinch, realizing I’m pulling him from subspace. Guilt eats away as he asks, “Is—is Maison okay?”

“I’m green,” I say quickly. “Just—I was just checking. Sorry. Keep going.”

Hunter eyes me for a moment before returning to his work. He’s working quickly again. I’m realizing it’s not because he’s in a hurry, but because he’s so good at this. His long fingers maneuver the rope like it’s an old friend, or maybe a good little sub that does anything he asks of it. The knots seem to appear out of nowhere, just a few twists and turns, and suddenly an artistic bundle of rope is there, deep green pressing into Nolan’s milky skin.

It’s equal parts the most beautiful, most erotic thing I’ve ever watched a pair of hands do.

When he finishes, Hunter just sits on the bed beside Nolan, his hand firmly in place on Nolan’s knee. I don’t want to ask what’s happening, worried I’ll pull Nolan out of subspace again. I think I trust Hunter enough to wait this out.

To a point.

Just as I’m starting to feel antsy, I notice Nolan’s breathing shift. Hunter smiles. “There you are. How are you feeling, darling?”

“Greeeen,” Nolan says on a sigh. “Real green.”

“Can you hold yourself up for a few minutes? Be good for us?”

“Can try, sir.”

“Yellow or two snaps and we’ll brace you again, okay?”

He sighs again and I can only imagine the dopey smile on his face. I bet it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Hunter pulls him forward, his back no longer against me, and helps him adjust his positioning until he’s perfectly balanced. I step back when Hunter leaves the bed and comes around to check all of his knots and the tension of the ropes. When he’s satisfied, he steps aside and gestures for me to take his place. “Check it out, if you’d like.”

I feel like I’m burning up as I obey. The worry and curiosity are far away now, nothing but arousal and adrenaline hanging around. Everything is electric. Intense.

It somehow feels like the rope is around me too, an echo of dominance, an echo of Hunter. It settles me. Thrills me. It makes my heart pound. Makes my cock throb.

It takes considerable effort to keep my eyes on Nolan when I feel Hunter settle right behind me. He hovers just inches away, his breath falling on the back of my neck, the heat of him radiating like a beacon, begging me to sink into.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs, his arm brushing against mine as he reaches for Nolan. He’s only close enough to skim the very tips of his fingers along the ropes with his arm fully extended. It forces him to be pressed up against me. He’s all hard lines and warm skin and a large cock along the curve of my ass.

I try not to press back, try not to chase his heat and his pleasure and his attention. It’s difficult, enough so to have me trembling with the effort, but I miraculously manage.

“Touch him,” he whispers against the shell of my ear. “Map it out.”

I obey, retracing the route his fingers took before moving on. I let my fingertips dip whenever I reach a knot, lingering at the skin compressed beneath the tight balls of rope. The simple brush of skin on skin is always enough to have Nolan shivering when I do.

Hunter’s hand finds my hip. I open my mouth, ready to tell him to back the fuck off. The words don’t come, stuck to my tongue with the molasses of my secret wants. Hunter uses the hold to guide me a step forward. My body doesn’t crawl or itch or fight against being controlled. It melts, sinking back against his chest, letting my head loll against his shoulder. He hums, a pleased hum that I’ve heard him give Nolan before. It’s a heady feeling, having that noise for myself.

“See here?” His other hand appears, sliding over mine where I’m mapping out the slope of the binding toward Nolan’s hip. His fingers are warm. Slightly thinner and longer than mine. No callouses. I let him slot our fingers together, my eyes locked on them. I let him move our hands lower, to the knot on Nolan’s hip. I let him curl our pointer and middle fingers around the rope and give it a tug. “See how it doesn’t give much?” He makes us release the rope, moving our fingers beneath to touch the imprint pressed into Nolan’s skin. The bumps are light pink. When we touch them, Nolan whimpers. I can see his cock leaking onto the bed.

“This pretty pink, with the subtle bumps, is perfect. Anything deep red or purple means they’re too tight. No imprint and too much give when you pull means they’re too loose.” He lifts his other hand from my hip, moving it until our hands are pressed together on the left now too. He guides until I’m gripping each hip’s knot. It forces him to press harder against me, to almost curl around my frame. It takes everything in me not to grind against him. “These knots are essential for suspending him, but they serve a purpose for us tonight, too. Do you know how, Maison?”

I exhale. It’s shaky. Heavy. I fight very hard against the urge to whimper or cry or shove my pants to my ankles and beg him to fuck me right here. When I trust myself, I ask, “How?”

“They’re perfect little handles to hold while we fuck him.” I shiver, the image he paints appearing vivid in my head, Nolan needy and helpless as I use the bindings to fuck him back onto my cock like he’s a toy. He’d fucking love it. I know he would. And I— fuck , I’d love it too. “Do you want to fuck your boy, Maison?”

I nod, but my hands shift and grab at Hunter’s fingers when he starts to pull away. It’s just a second, a single moment of weakness, but he catches it. He remains frozen even after I’ve let him go. I try to think of what to say, of how to spin it, of how to escape.

He doesn’t give me the chance. His hands pull away, but only to come to the waistband of my underwear. I grit my teeth as his thumbs dip inside. This is against the rules, right? Should I say something? Do I…want to say something?

“Color?” Hunter breathes.

Nolan whips his head over his shoulder, staring at us with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

I tell myself I’m doing this for him. Only him.

“Green.” I swallow. Then panic and add, “Don’t—you can’t fuck me.”

Hunter makes a soothing, sort of hushing sound. One of his thumbs moves above my waistband to rub circles against my skin. “My pants will stay on. Can I keep touching you like I’ve been? Just your hands. Your hips. Nothing that’s covered right now.”

I exhale, telling myself I’m not disappointed. I’m not. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s—okay.”

He exhales just as shakily as I’ve been. Then he’s hooked into my underwear again, this time not hesitating before pulling them down my thighs, over my knees, before letting them fall to my ankles. I don’t step out of them. For some reason, I don’t mind the feel of the fabric around my ankles, like a barrier he placed there just for me. I don’t think about it. I—I don’t think about it at all.

“He’s soaked for you, Nolan,” Hunter rasps. He places one hand on my left hip, the other on my right wrist. He guides my hand toward my cock until my fingertips are touching the hot, flushed skin, sticky with more precum than ever before. Then his hand is gone, no risk of touching what I made off-limits, and I don’t wish he’d stayed. I don’t . “How bad do you want it, darling?”

“So bad,” I whisper at the same time Nolan whines, “Please, so much, want it so much, sir, Mais.”

I freeze. Because the question wasn’t for me. Of course it wasn’t. He fucking used darling . Nolan is his darling. I’m just Maison to him.

Hunter’s hand twitches on my hip. I squeeze my eyes shut. Stupid. So fucking stupid. Why did I even think—

“Don’t make him wait,” Hunter tells me. “He’s been so good, hasn’t he? Don’t you want to make him feel nice now?”

I nod quickly, relieved Hunter is letting the moment slide. I’m just horny. I’m fucking horny and tired and just not thinking straight. The slip was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything. It’s good he sees that. Good he didn’t get confused by it.

It’s good.

Everything is good.

I grip my cock, stepping forward. Hunter was right before, I have been leaking like crazy. Leaking more than I usually do. I rub it all over, making myself nearly as slick as I would be with lube. It’s enough, I know. Nolan is prepped plenty.

I grip his left cheek, pulling it to the side to expose his winking, glistening hole. Nolan shivers and arches his back the tiny bit he can in his bindings. I press my cock against his opening, pushing until I’m just inside. Then I grab both of his hip knots just like Hunter showed me and fuck into him. Hard.

I don’t know what’s louder, my grunted, “ Fuck ,” or Nolan’s surprised, “ Ahhh! ”

I grip harder and start rolling my hips in a steady rhythm.

It’s only seconds before I realize Hunter isn’t touching me. Not even his chest to my back anymore. I falter, my head turning without my permission to look. He’s watching me with slitted eyes and a parted mouth, his bottom lip slick. His eyes sharpen when they meet my gaze. I shiver, my heart jumping all around inside my chest.

“Where’d you go?” It comes out all small. Vulnerable. Maybe even a little shaky.

Hunter softens, his lips forming the tiniest of smiles. “I’m still right here, Maison. Want help?”

My face burns. I turn back to Nolan, hands so tight on the knots that Nolan squirms and whines. “I don’t need help.”

Hunter’s warmth returns, first with his hard chest against my back, then with his warm breath on my ear, and finally with his hands curling over mine. “Need and want are two very different things, sweetheart. But you don’t have to ask. I’m right here. Fuck him. Show me how well you do it.”

Sweetheart .

My own nickname. All for me.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe and everything is terrifying and my head is too full and also kind of empty and he—he called me sweetheart .

I’m shaking.

I’m shaking and I’m fucking into Nolan again and everyone is panting and my eyes are watering and my heart is thundering.

I’m shaking and I can’t breathe and Hunter is gently hushing me, whispering praise between his louder words meant for Nolan, and he’s helping me lift Nolan’s hips higher until my cock is perfectly angled to nail his prostate.

“Don’t you dare come yet,” Hunter growls, and I know it’s meant for Nolan, but a part of me wants to obey too. Wants to beg him to let me. Wants to warn him that I’m close, I’m real close, can I please, please can I fill him up, can I—

I grit my teeth. Close my eyes. Spill into Nolan without permission because I don’t fucking need anyone’s permission.

Nolan is sobbing, desperate, writhing against his bindings.

“Go help him,” Hunter tells me, guiding me on shaking legs around the end of the bed. I climb clumsily onto the mattress by Nolan’s head. He takes me into his mouth immediately, suckling me clean, not caring that I was just buried deep in his ass. I ignore the slight pain of oversensitivity, knowing he needs this. I don’t have the energy to run my fingers through his hair, just burying my hand in the strands and letting it rest there.

Hunter is scooping my cum that dripped when I pulled out and using it to coat his cock. I feel fuzzy around the edges. I’m all keyed up and yet fucked-out. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know—I can’t—

Hunter looks at me as he pushes into Nolan. His gaze is intense. I can’t look at him.

“Easy,” I whisper to Nolan. It’s safer to focus on his too-intense sucking, to focus on his overwhelming desperation to come, to focus on him. Just him. Because this whole thing, because Hunter , is about Nolan. Just Nolan. “Doing so good for us, baby. We’re almost done with you. Then you can come. You can wait, right? Such a good boy for us. I know you can.”

Hunter usually joins in the praise. Usually leads it, actually. He murmurs soft things once or twice, but otherwise, he’s quiet. I can’t look at him to see why.

I think I know why.

I don’t want to know why.

He gets louder the closer he gets to finishing though, reverting back to his filthy-mouthed self.

“Fuck, that’s it. Almost there. Good boy.” He grips the group of knots between Nolan’s shoulder blades and tugs him up. The new angle makes a sob fall from Nolan’s lips. Spit drips down his chin, cooling just like it’s cooling on my cock now.

I don’t look at Hunter, gaze completely focused on Nolan.

“Sir!” Nolan wails. I look down, figuring it’s still safe. It isn’t. Hunter’s hand is working Nolan’s cock, slow and teasing. I know what that hand feels like against my skin now. “Sir, wait—wait, I can’t—please—”

I don’t have to look at Hunter’s face to know he’s wearing his evil grin when he says, “You’re a good boy. I know you can do it. Just wait a little longer, darling.”

Darling, darling, darling, but not for me, not me, not my nickname, not my dom, not mine, Hunter’s not mine.

I’m weak. My chin lifts without permission, my eyes seeking out Hunter. His cheeks are flushed, a few strands of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. Our gazes lock. Just for a second. Then his eyes flutter closed and he breathes, “Oh god,” and tenses, shoving his cock as deep as he can get into my boyfriend. Despite every muscle being tense, his whole face is slack now as he lets his head hang back, reveling in the pleasure for a few seconds.

I realize the moment is all Hunter . No sir, no man in charge, no pressure. It’s just a few seconds of blissed-out man .

He looks fucking beautiful .

Then he snaps back into focus, his eyes sharp as they lock on me. I can’t look away.

“Come for me,” he orders over Nolan’s babbles. “Be our good boy and show us how happy you are to be filled with our loads.”

Nolan moans.

He comes.

And I wonder, as I stare at Hunter, what just happened. What just changed. Why it feels like things will never be the same.

We fall into our aftercare routine easily, Hunter dismantling Nolan’s ropes before leaving me to pull Nolan in close while he grabs the basket. He cleans Nolan while I clean myself. His eyes dart to my hands, his lips parting, but then he goes back to tending to Nolan. He has us both drink and take bites of chocolate, telling us— no, Nolan, telling Nolan —“You did so good for me. You were so fucking good.”

This is the part of the routine where he sits in the chair. We haven’t talked about that since the first time. We haven’t even talked about the fact that we keep sleeping over even though he told us after that first time we didn't have to anymore. Nolan and I didn’t like the idea of leaving right after the scenes, so we kept packing our bag, and Hunter kept letting us stay, none of us putting words to the situation.

Nolan always lies on the left, just like at home. Me on the right. Hunter in his chair.

I watch him put the basket away as Nolan burrows down in the blankets and lets out a sleepy sigh beside me. If I try hard enough, I can feel the ghost of Hunter’s touch on me. It makes something in me ache. It makes it a little hard to breathe.

Maybe I should tell him he can’t do that again. Make it a rule to have no more touching between us. It’s too much. It made me feel things. It made me want things. Things that can’t happen. Dangerous things.

He heads to the chair.

There’s something in me that wants him to come back. It aches. Then it tugs .

It tugs until it hurts to breathe.

It tugs until I’m saying, “Hunter.”

He freezes, then slowly turns to look at me. “Yeah? Do you need something?”

You.

I think I need you.

I think maybe we both do.

“Sleep with us?” It was meant to be an order, but it comes out as a soft, almost fragile question. My face burns. That ache in my chest turns to a heavy weight.

“You’re sure?”

No. No, I’m not.

What the fuck are you doing to me?

I nod. When he hesitates, I find myself smiling a little. As nice as it is to let him be in charge sometimes, it’s also fun to get the man in control to waver. He doesn’t get flustered easily, but when he does, it pleases something in me—that same something that has started to ache and want.

“Just get comfortable, Hunter,” I say with a fond eye-roll. It makes me feel steadier for him to be unsure for some reason. Like I finally fucking have the upper hand with this man. “Then get in the damn bed.”

He hesitates for a breath longer, then begins to strip.

I watch.

I shouldn’t—this isn’t sexual, he isn’t mine, it’s completely inappropriate, there’s a reason I haven’t let myself do it before—but I can’t help it. I watch every second. Every detail logs itself in my mind before I can stop them. The hollow of his throat. The hair on his chest. The surprisingly toned stomach with a little happy trail. Strong forearms. Elegant fingers. Tight boxer briefs hugging firm, hairy thighs.

He sets his glasses on the bedside table, then his watch. A nervous hand runs through his hair, messing it on the top.

“What?” he asks when he catches me looking, freezing with only a knee on the bed.

“You let me tell you what to do,” I say, which is part of my amazement, but nowhere near the main event. His fucking body . Fuck. Am I allowed to be attracted to him this much?

Hunter chuckles, his body relaxing as he finishes climbing in beside Nolan. He doesn’t answer until the blankets are settled around him and the lights are off.

“I let you tell me what to do because it’s what I wanted anyway,” he says in the dark, a dangerous amusement lacing his words. “Don’t get it twisted, Maison. I’m still in charge when the two of you are under my roof.”

I swallow hard before offering the same argument I’ve been clinging to since all this began. “You’re not my dom.”

Why does that argument feel so fragile right now?

Why does it feel like a fucking lie?

Maybe Hunter can feel it too because he doesn’t agree or placate me like he usually would. Instead, he makes a soft noise before saying, “Go to sleep, Maison. You need rest.”

I obey him.

I don’t let myself think too hard about why.