“Actually, yes.” She rubbed her forehead on his chest. “I think you really do take on a lot of stuff you don’t like.”
Mmm. Very perceptive. “But not with women.”
In fact, they’d been careful to pick ones who wanted a fun night or scene and nothing more. He molded her against him, enjoying the soft curves. “You’re going to be a bit of work, sweetness, but we’ll demand things from you to compensate.”
“Sex.”
He chuckled at her matter-of-fact tone, then without warning, fisted her long hair and tugged her head back so he could watch her face. When he cupped her breast, her nipple peaked immediately. Pink surged into her face, and her pupils dilated. As he slowly caressed her breast, feeling the heat against his palm, he said quietly, “If we didn’t think sex would be a treat for all of us, we wouldn’t have played with you to begin with. Were we wrong?”
He held her in place although she looked down and tried to pull away. No, she wasn’t going to hide her face. “Eyes on me.” He waited until her gaze met his. “Answer my question.”
“No… I mean, you’re not wrong.”
“Do you like my hands on you?”
The pink increased to an alluring red. “Yes,” she muttered.
Damn, he liked throwing her off balance. “Good answer. As to compensation for room and board, I think Galen wanted you to recover a hard drive that a virus trashed.”
She blinked, looking so startled he laughed. “Oh. Well, sure. I can do that,” she said.
“Good. Let’s get your place cleaned up, and you can fill a suitcase.” He waited until she made it to the middle of the room before adding, “I will—of course—help you decide what clothes you should pack.”
Definitely not a poker player.
That evening, Sally followed Galen into a room she hadn’t seen before. She stopped and stared. Wow. The entire house was a rehab patchwork. Some rooms were a broken-down mess; some were spectacular. This office was fantastic—very masculine with hardwood floors and light wood wainscoting. Leather chairs. A dark wood filing cabinet and bookcase shared one wall. At least, the oriental carpet and arched windows softened the testosterone. A bit.
Two antique desks held computers—and as far as she was concerned, that juxtaposition of old and new never looked quite right.
A massive round table filled the center of the room; the polished wood surface looked big enough to hold a person, which was a very…interesting thought. When Galen stopped at the table and tapped the surface, her cheeks flushed.
One of his eyebrows quirked up. He didn’t comment on her undoubtedly red face—thank you, God—but simply said, “You can set up your laptop here. The center compartment holds electrical plugs.”
Plugs. She’d heard the guys liked everything anal. Oh God, her mind was totally in the gutter, because the thought of his lean, ruthless fingers pushing a plug into her ass totally fizzed her hormones. She could feel her color heightening, so she shrugged and turned away. “Nice techie setup. And quite amazing. Considering your age, I figured you’d think a hard drive was a long trip on the road.”
His fingers gripped her chin and turned her to face him. He gave her a level look. “Yes, I probably have a decade on you. I definitely have enough years to know a little subbie is tossing out insults because she’s nervous.”
Oh shit. She could actually feel her color moving past red into fluorescent levels.
And she couldn’t think of any response to his dead-on conclusion. None. She retreated to get out of reach and tried on an I’m-just-adorable nose wrinkle. “You guys actually remodeled the office before the dining room?”
“Hell yes.” His rare grin made her insides quiver like jelly. “Of course, Vance insisted the great room come first so we could hook up the television. Can’t miss seeing the Buckeyes play.”
She laughed, half with relief and half with amusement. Once they’d returned from her apartment, Vance had checked the time and disappeared into the great room to watch his basketball game. “Good to know. I’ll remember to speak of them with respect.”
“Excellent plan. Insulting Ohio State would earn you a bare-ass spanking.” He tilted his head, watching her. “Of course, he’d probably hand you off to me for the punishment. He has a soft heart.”
His dark look sent a current running between them, heating her insides at the same time. She swallowed. “And you don’t? Have a soft heart?”
“No, pet.” He moved closer and ran his thumb over her lips. In the sunlight streaming through the windows, his eyes weren’t completely black, but a dark, dark brown around the outer iris, and lightening near the pupil. Mesmerizing… His lips curved. “I look forward to turning your pretty ass red. To seeing tears in your eyes. And making you come so hard our neighbors will hear you scream our names.”
Their neighbors weren’t that close.
It was very hot in the room; the air-conditioning needed to be turned up. “Ah, right.” She took a careful step back and set her laptop on the table.
Time to get to work. She had a zillion texts and voice mails to answer. Apparently the Shadowkittens had heard about Frank’s attack.
And there were even more e-mails. Unfortunately, she also needed to catch up on the Harvest Association e-mails. Wading through their filth made her sick each and every time, but she wasn’t going to quit. Not as long as she could help. Heroes didn’t quit.
Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “Want some help setting up?”
She tensed. Her e-mail program came up first. Galen might recognize some of the bad guys’ names. “Nah, I can handle it.”
His eyes had narrowed. Frigging Feds, keen to notice the tiniest hint of guilt.
“Can I have your wireless security code?” she asked hastily.
After an intimidating pause, he walked over to desk on the left wall and scrawled the password on a sticky note.
“Thank you.” Leave. Leave now. Go on. And the first thing she’d do would be to check those e-mails and bury the program.
“We’ll be in the great room.” As he walked away, actually obeying her mental commands, she started to relax…until he turned in the doorway and gave her a long look. “If we decide to fuck you on the table, you’ll have to move your stuff—so don’t leave it too messy, eh?”
Oh. My. God. He really had known what she was thinking.
She couldn’t help looking at the table…imagining. Spread out like a feast, open to their hands, their mouths. After a long, shuddering breath, she turned to glare at the empty doorway. Now she had to sit at that table with an overheated imagination and a damp thong.
An hour later, Sally appeared. Galen frowned. The girl looked as white as she had last night; it made the bruising on her face stand out even more. “Problems?”
Her attempt at a smile failed badly. “Nah. I’m just tired.”
“Bullshit,” Vance said from where he was sprawled on the sectional. He picked up the remote and turned the TV off.
On the other end of the couch, in his recliner, Galen noted the game had only been in the third quarter. The little sub had better watch out.
After a nervous glance at the blank television screen, she amended, “Some…acquaintances…are upset because they lost some…money. And I hate reading profanity. But it’s not anything you can fix—or that I can share.” Her chin lifted, and she gave them a spirited glare. “Okay, Sirs?”
Galen’s lips twitched, and he worked to suppress his smile. He sat his recliner up, tossed a heavy couch cushion on the floor at his feet, and pointed to it.
Her hands formed little fists—and he had an appealing vision of how her hands would feel on his shoulders…or dick—then she obeyed.
He watched closely as she went to her knees. Moving better. No tightness around her mouth indicating pain. She was clever and used a hand on the coffee table to balance as she kept her weight off her braced ankle. And the cushion was high enough that her ankle didn’t have to bend. Good.
Galen tipped his chin at Vance. They needed to set some ground rules, and Vance would start out more gently.
Vance accepted the handoff. “We haven’t spoken about your place in the household, have we?”
She blinked, as if he’d sidestepped her anticipated argument. “Um. Right. I’d like a bit of clarity on what’s expected. Maybe even some negotiation.” A trace of sarcasm had crept into her tone.
Appreciation flashed in his partner’s eyes. The last submissive they’d brought home had been sweet but not too bright, and she’d missed a lot of subtext. He and Vance preferred the smart ones, even if they were more trouble.
From comments at the Shadowlands and her documented history and his own observations, he was beginning to realize the imp was very, very intelligent.
“We can do discussion,” Vance said agreeably. “Normally, we don’t get into full-time D/s relationships. We have no interest in picking a sub’s clothing—except for scenes. For example, I’m rather partial to French maid costumes, especially ones with short skirts. And no underwear.”
Sally’s color heightened.