Binding Discoveries

Citation preview

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Binding Discoveries ISBN 9781419915505 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Binding Discoveries Copyright © 2008 Claire Thompson Edited by Mary Moran. Photography and cover art by Les Byerley. Electronic book Publication June 2008 With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/) This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

BINDING DISCOVERIES Claire Thompson

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Baja 30 Outlaw: Baja Marine Inc. Boston Globe: Globe Newspaper Company Boston University: Trustees of Boston University Harvard: President and Fellows of Harvard College James Bond: Danjaq S.A. Kristal: Louis Roederer Le Monde: Groupe Le Monde Oreos: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc. PowerPoint: Microsoft Inc. Speedo: Speedo International B.V. Twinkies: Continental Baking Company

Binding Discoveries

Chapter One “Any questions?” Olivia James looked around the table at the eight men who comprised the senior management of Jeffries Medical Technologies, or JMT as it was known in the industry. A junior accountant with the firm, she’d been tapped by her boss George Wilson to do the presentation of the company’s quarterly financial performance for management. It was her first solo presentation and somehow she’d made her way through it without falling into a dead faint or forgetting how to speak the English language. To her dismay, Harrison Jeffries, founder of the company, cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, twirling his waxed moustache. “The Johnson deal. How will this new contract affect the bottom line? Elaborate a bit, if you would, on the value of the collateral we’re using to secure the deal, eh,” he paused, no doubt trying to remember her name. He succeeded at last as he added, “Olivia.” Olivia nodded, clicking back through the PowerPoint slides to find the numbers she’d spent so many hours amassing, analyzing and projecting she could recite them in her sleep. Trying not to focus on her rumbling tummy and the delicious pile of sticky sweet pastries whispering her name from the center of the table, Olivia went over the figures and tried to answer Mr. Jeffries’ questions as best she could. Finally back in her office, Olivia flicked open her cell phone and pressed the speed dial for Tom. “Tom Dylan.” “Oh good, I caught you!” Olivia said. Tom was a veterinarian and usually too busy to answer his cell phone during clinic hours. “Olivia, sweetheart.” His warm tone made her smile. They’d been dating a little less than a year, having met at the party of a mutual friend. “How’d it go? I bet you knocked ‘em dead.” “It went pretty well. I didn’t pass out or throw up on anybody. I was able to answer most of their questions, and the ones I couldn’t, I wrote down and said I’d find out and get back to them. I don’t think anyone noticed my hand trembling.” She gave a selfdeprecating laugh. “George said I did well. I’m just glad it’s over. I hate public speaking.” “You and most people,” Tom laughed. “I’m proud of you. Let’s meet at Pazzo’s for happy hour and celebrate.” Over drinks in the crowded trendy bar the pair discussed their respective days at work, leaning close to be heard over the din of music and loud conversation. Tom, who could eat nonstop and never put on an ounce, popped a mushroom stuffed with herbed cheese into his mouth. His plate was piled high with butter-soaked garlic bread, spicy

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sausage and shrimp scampi puffs. Olivia, who’d worked very hard for her slender figure, sipped her red wine and contented herself with the grilled shrimp. Tom hadn’t known her before, during the period she thought of as the “fat years”. Though not a heavy child, when she’d turned sixteen it was as if a ripcord had been pulled on her body, allowing it to balloon to nearly twice what she weighed now. Anxiety over her weight gain made her turn ironically to food for comfort. As boyfriends drifted away and even girls were less friendly, cookies and ice cream never let her down. Even now under periods of stress, when she closed her eyes, it wasn’t a strong drink she craved, but a stack of Oreos next to a tall, cold glass of whole milk. Her parents, themselves obese, saw nothing wrong with their daughter finally taking her natural place as “one of them”. “It runs in the family, dear,” her mother would say mildly. A moment later she might hold out a plate of tempting pastries. “Have an éclair.” “Men like a woman with meat on her bones,” her father would declare, grabbing a handful of his wife’s ass for emphasis. Not the men Olivia knew. The popular girls in her high school were thin and confident, tossing back their hair and pouting prettily for the boys while Olivia watched from the sidelines, fingering the Twinkies hidden in her purse. Accepted at Boston University with a very good scholarship, she’d finally been removed from the influence and overflowing pantry of her parents. Late at night when no one else was there, she’d brave the university’s swimming pool, doggedly swimming laps until her legs and arms grew rubbery with fatigue. She learned to control her portions and cravings and, as the weight began to drop, remained motivated to continue. Her image of herself took longer to change than her actual body. She still thought of herself as “the fat girl” and this mentality colored her behavior and personality more than she realized. Though a pretty girl with green eyes and dark blonde hair, she didn’t give off the sexual vibe that attracted men—she was turned inward, still more obsessed with cake than cock. She’d dated in college, but never seriously. It wasn’t until she graduated and took a job with JMT that she began to attain the confidence and comfort with herself to accept that men were actually interested in her for herself and not just for sex. “Can it be? Is it really she? Arthur’s queen incarnate?” Olivia froze at the sound of the voice beside her. Though she hadn’t heard it for seven years, she’d have known it in an instant. It was a gravelly voice with a hoarse timbre to it that oozed sensuality. The recollection of their first meeting all those years ago flashed into her mind as if it were yesterday. Mark Hunter didn’t attend B.U., but was the older brother of a girl in her dorm. While visiting his sister, he’d spied Olivia in the cafeteria and had actually asked a guy sitting across from her if he’d mind moving as Mark had to discuss a matter of great

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importance with the lovely young woman across from them. From his tone it was clear he was used to being obeyed, and the boy had moved. Olivia had blushed, resisting an impulse to look behind herself to see who he was talking about. Mark set down his tray and extended his hand across the table. “Mark Hunter. I’m Amy’s brother. I graduated a few years ago but I work in the area. And you are…?” Olivia realized she was staring. Mark wasn’t precisely handsome, or at least not classically so. His nose was too big for his face and his eyes—dark, piercing eyes—were set deep beneath thick dark brows. He gave off an aura of blazing but controlled vitality that had at once captivated her. Olivia’s nipples and pussy responded to him before she did. He exuded the confidence of a natural-born leader. She wanted to follow. “Olivia,” she finally managed, hoping her palm wasn’t damp as she extended her hand to meet his. He held it longer than was polite, something in his expression making her blush. “Your eyes are green with golden hues. Or golden with a green glaze. I can’t decide,” he said, tilting his head slightly, examining her as if she were a work of art he was considering purchasing. “Either way they’re beautiful. Like Arthur’s queen in the legends of yore, her pale skin lightly kissed by the sun, her green-gold eyes lowered demurely beneath tawny lashes that match the dark golden of her hair.” As Olivia stared, he laughed. “Sorry,” he said with a grin. “I get carried away. I was an English major. I love the Arthurian legends. You remind me of Guinevere, the way I imagine her. You’re quite lovely.” Olivia had been enchanted. He’d taken her out several times over the next few weeks. Their last date together had ended at his apartment. Though she’d shed most her unwanted pounds by then, at nineteen and still a virgin, she wasn’t ready for what he offered, or more accurately, for what he demanded. Up to their last date they’d only kissed and groped one another. She knew he expected her to make love that night, and she’d been conflicted. He had taken control, instructing her to raise her arms so he could lift her shirt over her head and remove her bra. He had knelt in front of her, unzipping her jeans and peeling her panties down. Something about him had been so masterful—she couldn’t think of any other word to describe it. She’d had to lean forward, gripping his shoulders to keep herself steady, trembling with equal parts fear and lust. Yet at the last moment she’d lost her nerve, yanked from the sensual web of desire he’d woven around her by her own insecurity and inexperience. He’d been gracious, the perfect gentleman as he watched her pull her clothing back on and listened to her stammer her excuses. If she’d known what was to come, would she have behaved so rashly? Would she have forced herself to stay, to give in in order to keep the elusive Mark Hunter in her life? That was the last she’d heard from him until this moment. He’d vanished from her life, leaving her to believe he’d dumped her because she’d left that night without

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allowing him to make love to her. Her pride hadn’t permitted her to seek him out. After two weeks she finally asked his sister if she’d heard from him lately, her tone elaborately casual, though Amy hadn’t been fooled. Amy explained he’d been offered a chance to write a series of articles for a London paper. “He barely said goodbye to his own family, much less all his girlfriends,” Amy said. “Mark’s never cared about anybody but himself,” she added, her tone bitter. “You’re better off without him, trust me.” Olivia had absorbed this information with the fatalistic acceptance of youth, consigning the enigmatic, elusive Mark Hunter to the recesses of her heart. She did credit him with jumpstarting her sex life as he’d unlocked whatever part of her that had kept men from noticing her, and she found herself with more offers than she knew what to do with. Tom, who had been telling her about a successful surgery on a pregnant cat, had stopped speaking, cocking his head slightly as he gazed at the tall man standing near the table and then back at her, a question in his eyes. Slowly Olivia turned her head. There stood Mark Hunter, the same shiny dark hair curling around his face, the same brooding, deep-set eyes sweeping over her as if he were privy to all her secrets. When she’d known him last, he never wore anything but faded T-shirts and ripped jeans. Now she observed the fine linen shirt cut beautifully over his broad shoulders, the tailored dark wool pants on his long legs and the leather boots that probably cost a fortune. He wore no jewelry, no rings to signify attachment. Five years older than she, he’d be thirty-one now, compared to Tom’s twenty-eight. Having come straight from work, Olivia wore a simple tailored skirt, patterned blouse and sensible pumps. Her hair was pulled back in a scarf at the nape of her neck. Tom was wearing his customary button-down shirt and jeans, hidden by day beneath his white lab coat. A part of her wanted to apologize for their less-than-elegant attire but she bit her lip, aware that was ridiculous. Who was she trying to impress? She couldn’t take her eyes off him as her body responded with perking nipples and a moistening pussy. She looked away, flustered, while her boyfriend sat staring quizzically at the two of them. This was the man who hadn’t even had the grace to say goodbye before leaving the country, before leaving her with, if not a broken heart, certainly a badly bruised ego. Affecting a puzzled expression, Olivia stared at him, pretending not to place him right away. “It is you,” he said softly, “Olivia. Olivia James.” His voice rolled over her like an intimate caress. Tom reached for her hand. “Is this someone you know, Livvy?” Tom’s voice was cool, his fingers tightening around hers. “I’m Mark,” Mark said, swinging his head toward Tom. “Mark Hunter. Forgive my manners, or rather lack thereof. The last time I saw Olivia was, what, six, seven years ago?” He smiled toward Olivia. “Let’s see, that was just before I took off for London

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and a job that would end up taking me all over Europe.” Shaking his head, he added, “She swept me off my feet, your Olivia, but I had to leave before I could steal her heart.” Oh, you stole it all right, Olivia thought. Tom’s grip relaxed slightly, perhaps because of Mark’s use of the possessive pronoun—your Olivia. Through lowered lashes Olivia scrutinized the face of the man she’d never completely gotten over. The attractiveness and charisma were still evident, though there were lines etched on either side of his mouth that suggested suffering or hard living. There was also a strength in his features that hadn’t been there before. She thought she detected something in his eyes, sorrow perhaps, but decided she was being fanciful. She allowed a small smile as she said airily, “I remember you now. Amy’s older brother, right? I think we might have gone out a few times, is that right? It’s all so long ago…” She gave the slightest shrug of her shoulders. “A lifetime,” Mark agreed, laughing. His laugh was infectious, hearty and fullthroated so that Olivia found herself laughing with him, and Tom laughed as well. “Won’t you join us?” Tom said. “We’re celebrating Olivia’s first major presentation to her board. She’s an accountant with a prominent medical technology company.” Tom’s proprietary pride beamed from his face, warming Olivia. “Congratulations,” Mark said with an exaggerated nod toward Olivia. “I’d say champagne is in order.” He turned his head, raising his eyebrows. Olivia could have told him he’d have to do more than that to get anyone’s attention in the crowded bar, but to her surprise, in a moment the waitress appeared beside them, smiling eagerly, her pen poised over her pad. “My name’s Angela and I’m here to serve you, sir,” she said in a breathy voice ripe with innuendo. The girl’s push-up bra pushed her breasts nearly out of her blouse. Olivia found herself annoyed with her obviously flirtatious manner, but Mark didn’t seem to notice. “Bring us a bottle of Kristal and a selection of your finest cheeses. Oh, and some grapes if you have any decent ones. Purple.” Olivia expected the waitress to tell him he couldn’t order food not available at the bar’s buffet—he’d have to go into the main dining room, which served fine Italian cuisine at a hefty price tag. Instead she dutifully took down the order and promised a prompt return. “And what do you do, Tom, when you’re not escorting this lovely lady?” “I’m a vet. Mostly cats and dogs, the occasional bird,” Tom said with a small smile. Though he made a very good living in a competitive field, he was always modest about his work and his career, and the modesty was genuine. Tom hadn’t an arrogant bone in his body, though with his brains and good looks, it would have been understandable if he had. Where Mark was dark with a slightly dangerous edge to his persona, Tom’s skin was fair, his eyes a deep, clear blue, his features evenly proportioned. He had straight light brown hair, cut short. All of his emotions were there to see in his open, guileless

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face. His demeanor was calm, sometimes even passive, Olivia thought in less generous moments. He would never have left town without saying goodbye! In fact, Olivia was pretty sure he was edging toward marriage, a step she wasn’t quite ready to take, but she had begun to think in the back of her mind when she was ready, Tom would be the man. The waitress reappeared carrying a platter containing wedges of various cheeses, surrounded by an assortment of crackers and a large cluster of purple grapes. Behind her came a waiter bearing the champagne in an iced bucket and three champagne flutes. Mark thanked them as a man used to being obeyed, gracious but not at all surprised his bidding had been done. The waiter popped the champagne cork and poured the sparkling wine into their glasses. Mark raised his. “To fair Olivia. May all your presentations be successful.” They clinked rims and drank. Mark refilled the glasses and pulled off a stem of six grapes from the cluster. He held them out to Olivia, his head inclining in invitation. Something in the gesture was curiously intimate, almost sexual. Olivia felt herself coloring as she cast a sideways glance at Tom, but he was focused on spreading some soft cheese on a cracker. She accepted the grapes, her fingertips touching Mark’s as she did. She pulled her hand back and looked down, her face now, she was certain, in full blush. “So what do you do, Mark?” Tom asked, apparently unaware of anything amiss. “I’m a journalist. I was a freelancer for the last seven years. I’ve lived in Paris the past five, but I’ve just moved back to the States. I recently took a job with The Boston Globe. I’m staying in a brownstone in Cambridge.” “We live in Cambridge,” Tom said, “not far from the Harvard campus.” Olivia smiled at his statement, which implied they lived together. Though they did in fact spend most nights together, each still had their own apartment. They had been talking about moving in together to save on the rent, but Olivia wasn’t quite ready to make the leap. “I have a terrific view of the Charles,” Mark said. “It’s my grandmother’s place actually. She recently moved into a nursing home and asked if I’d take it over for her. I—I was ready for a change.” Now Olivia was certain of the flash of pain that washed over his features like a shadow over moving water. In a moment the sun reemerged in his smile as he added, “So the timing was good.” They talked a while longer. Mark glanced at his watch and looked up with an apologetic smile. “I’d much rather stay here with you, though I’ve probably overstayed my welcome as it is.” As Tom began to politely protest, he added, “I actually have a dinner engagement with the editor-in-chief over at the paper. He’s a stickler for promptness and I just saw him come in.” He stood, taking a slim black wallet from his pants pocket. Casually he tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “Say, if you two aren’t busy tomorrow night, I’m having a small get-together, just a few friends. Welcoming myself back to town, I suppose you might say.” He grinned.

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“I’d be honored if you’d care to join us. Nothing fancy. Pizza and beer.” He pulled a card from his wallet and placed it on the table between them. “Seven o’clock. My address is on the card. No need to RSVP. Check your calendar and come if you like.” Slipping the wallet back into his pocket, he turned to Olivia. “It was wonderful to see you again, Olivia.” His gaze held hers a moment, the black eyes mesmerizing. She couldn’t look away. He turned to Tom, releasing her from his spell. “It was great to meet you as well.” “A pleasure,” Tom said, extending his hand.

***** Olivia was naked, her legs spread, Tom’s head buried between them. His tongue swirled over her sex, his hands holding her thighs apart. Her nipples ached, her pussy throbbed. She felt her body begin its familiar cascading slide as he brought her to a thundering climax. “Fuck me!” she screamed. She loved nothing better than to feel his hard, thick shaft press its way home while she was in the throes of an orgasm exquisitely wrought by his lips and tongue. Tom complied, pulling himself up over her, his cock finding its slippery target. As he filled her, her orgasm intensified and unable to control herself, she bucked hard against him, gasping with pleasure. Tom wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her tight as he moved inside her. His chest moved over her breasts, stimulating the distended nipples, adding to the nearly unbearable pleasure of his cock deep inside her. He was breathing hard and she knew in a moment he would come. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer as he shuddered and thrust inside her. As they lay quietly together, recovering, Mark, who had only been just below the surface of her thoughts, reemerged full-blown in her mind. She loved Tom—of course she did! The fabulous sex they’d just enjoyed proved that surely. Yet seeing Mark in the flesh after all these years had reawakened fantasies and desires never resolved. She recalled Mark’s kiss those many years ago. He had a way of offering and then pulling back, of teasing and withholding until one was ravenous for his touch, wanton with need. She recalled that last night, a night she’d relived over and over in her fantasies over the years, embellishing it, imagining a very different conclusion. What might have happened if she had been more willing? Would he have stayed in Cambridge? Would they have fallen in love? Perhaps married? She shook her head, aware such speculation of what “might have been” was always fruitless. More than likely, they’d have had sex and she would have fallen even more hopelessly for him than she had, and he still would have gone, never looking back. She realized now it was a good thing they’d never consummated their relationship. It would have been awkward to meet him again with Tom as witness to the reunion of old lovers. Now she had nothing to admit, nothing to hide.

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As if reading her mind, Tom spoke next to her in the dark. “So what exactly was your relationship back in college with Mark?” “Nothing serious,” Olivia answered vaguely. “We dated a few times then he disappeared. All that talk about me sweeping him off his feet was nonsense. I was his little sister’s friend. A diversion for him, nothing more.” She realized her tone was bitter and wondered if Tom had noticed. “Well, he sure seemed all over you this evening! All that talk about King Arthur’s queen and crap. What was that about?” Olivia laughed, “He was always like that, speaking like some English poet from the eighteenth century. He seemed to think I look like Queen Guinevere, you know, in the King Arthur stories.” “Right,” Tom said slowly. “So if we take his allusion to its conclusion, I’m King Arthur and he must be…” “Lancelot,” she replied without thinking. She felt her face heat, glad for the cover of darkness as she wondered how well Tom knew the tale of the lovers’ tragic triangle. To change the subject, she said, “So should we go to his pizza party?” She held her breath, waiting for Tom’s response. If he said no, that would be that. She wouldn’t push it. She was with Tom, committed to him. She wasn’t about to pursue Mark Hunter. But if Tom wanted to go, well…where was the harm? “Sure,” Tom said easily. “If you want to, why not?” She snuggled into his side, resting her head on his chest. She felt his hand stroking her hair, tucking it behind her ear, smoothing along her cheek. “You have the softest skin,” he whispered. “I’m so glad you’re mine, Olivia.” “Me too,” she said, closing her eyes. If Mark slipped into her dreams, she didn’t recall it in the morning.

***** Mark’s brownstone town house was located on a tree-lined street edging the Charles River. Several cars were already parked outside when Tom and Olivia pulled up. They were a half-hour late due to a sudden emergency at Tom’s clinic. Leaning over the backseat, Tom grabbed the six-pack of a locally brewed beer he’d picked up as a contribution to the party. Olivia felt butterflies of apprehension as they walked up the narrow cobblestoned walkway to the front door. She was the decidedly less social of the two. Tom lifted the polished brass lion’s-head knocker and let it fall sharply against the door. He put his arm around Olivia and kissed the top of her head. A moment later the door opened and Mark stood before them, a beer in his hand, a broad smile on his face. “You made it. I’m delighted. Please come in.” He stepped back to allow them to enter. “I’m sorry we’re late,” Tom said. “I had to set a dog’s leg at the last minute. Hitand-run accident.”

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“Not at all,” Mark assured him. “Still plenty of food left.” Inside, a small group of people were seated and standing around the large, cluttered living room that opened out from the foyer in which they stood. Strains of soft jazz underlay the buzz of conversation. The room was pure Art Deco, filled with matching pieces crafted from burled walnut, upholstered in dark wine velvet. “What a great place,” Olivia offered. “It belongs to my grandmother,” Mark said with an apologetic grin. “I haven’t wanted to make many changes in case she gets well enough to move back in.” He led them into the room and said in a loud voice. “Friends, please welcome Tom and Olivia.” People smiled and waved. Most of them sported plates of food on their laps. “I’ll do individual introductions later. Too many names to remember right now.” Tom held out the beer. “For you,” he said. “Excellent,” Mark replied, taking the six-pack. “I’ve been wanting to try this one. Come into the kitchen and I’ll show you where things are. You can help yourself.” The kitchen was modern, the counters of marble, the double-doored refrigerator stainless steel. Spread along the counter were the remains of six huge pizzas. Along with the usual cheese and pepperoni, one pie was covered in fresh, lightly steamed spinach and feta cheese, strewn with Greek olives. Another was covered with sautéed mushrooms, green pepper and red onion. Another contained sun-dried tomatoes and goat cheese. Olivia’s mouth watered as they made their selections. They moved back into the living room, beer bottles in hand, plates perched on their knees as they settled on an empty love seat together. Mark was busy playing host for a while. A couple in their early thirties who introduced themselves as Sam and Audrey sat near them and made small talk. Someone put on more lively music and several couples began to dance in a large alcove just off the living room. Tom was engrossed in conversation with two guys about their favorite baseball teams. Olivia drifted toward a bookshelf, examining the rows of books when someone touched her elbow. The music shifted to something slower and the couples on the floor moved into each other’s arms. Holding out his hand to Olivia, Mark said, “Care to dance?” Olivia glanced toward Tom, who appeared to be in a heated debate over pitching techniques. With a shrug Olivia accepted Mark’s hand and allowed him to lead her to the small clearing where three other couples swayed in each other’s arms. Mark held her lightly, one hand on her lower back, the other on her shoulder. “You smell wonderful,” he said, dipping his head, his nose touching her ear. Olivia wanted him to take her into his arms. She knew this was crazy and pushed down the desire. He held her closer as they moved about the floor so their bodies touched. She could feel his erection pressing lightly against her belly. Shock warred with arousal inside her. She tried to pull back but he held her fast. “You’ve grown into such a lovely woman, Olivia,” he murmured. “I’ve often thought about you over years. Wondered what became of you.”

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“Then why did you disappear?” Olivia blurted. “Why did you go after me, say all that romantic bullshit, kiss me like you meant it and then leave town without even saying goodbye!” She bit her lip, aware she’d betrayed herself after having pretended to barely recall who he was. Mark’s eyes twinkled down at her, but he didn’t call her on it. Instead he sighed, his tone apologetic. “I was an asshole—a real jerk. I should have told you I was leaving. I should have explained myself. There’s really no way to clean it up. I was young and stupid. I found you charming and something of a challenge.” He paused while she waited for an explanation seven years in the coming. “It wasn’t you I was running from. I was in the process of exploring my sexuality at the time. There was a guy, you see. A guy I found myself involved with…” It took her a few beats to process what he was saying. “A guy!” Olivia wrenched herself from his arms. “What are you saying? Are you gay?” Mark grinned, again capturing her in his arms. “Does it matter so much to you, little girl? Aren’t you in love with your veterinarian?” He nodded toward Tom, who was gesturing animatedly with his new friends. “Of course I am,” Olivia asserted, annoyed. “You just don’t act, I mean—” She cut herself off, embarrassed and confused. “Don’t act gay? Don’t hold out my little finger when I sip my tea? Don’t simper and gush like a girl? I wouldn’t have thought someone like you would harbor such stereotypical notions of us queers.” His voice was teasing but then he sobered. “For the record, I’m bi. After that first bit of puppy love, my long-term relationships have always been with women. I’ve never been in love with a man, but I’ve been sexually attracted. More than attracted.” “So you’ve…you’ve acted on that attraction?” Olivia said faintly. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I? I believe in exploring sexuality honestly. Humans are sexual creatures. Why shut off the chance to connect on every level with people of like mind?” They danced in silence for a while. Olivia’s mind was in a whirl. Mark a bisexual! She glanced at Tom, unable to prevent the image of Mark and Tom locked in a sexual embrace from sliding into her mind. To her surprise the image aroused her. When Mark pulled her close once again, she leaned into him, her nipples poking hard against his chest, his erect cock making itself known against her hipbone. The music ended and Olivia pulled away. Mark let her go but she couldn’t seem to turn away, losing herself instead in those dark, compelling eyes. Her lips ached to feel the press of his lips. A touch to her shoulder made her jump. “Save the next one for me?” It was Tom, sweet, familiar Tom. Olivia put her arms around his waist and kissed him. “Of course! I was just coming to find you.” As Tom took her into his arms, she glanced involuntarily toward Mark, who was regarding them both with a bemused, enigmatic smile.

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Chapter Two The music changed from slow to fast and Tom opted for another piece of pizza instead of a dance. Before Olivia could tell him what she’d just learned, two women cornered her, one of them an old friend from college. While they talked, Mark invited Tom to come and sample the beer Tom had brought. They stayed late, later than Olivia had expected, given that Tom had put in a long day at his clinic. As they walked to Tom’s car, he said, “Mark invited us to go out on his boat next weekend. Doesn’t that sound great?” “He has a boat?” “Yeah. He keeps it docked in the Boston Harbor. He gave me directions to the marina. I hope it’s all right I accepted the invitation for both of us. We don’t have any other plans, do we?” “I suppose it’s a little late to ask, isn’t it?” Olivia grinned, though she realized she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about Tom’s accepting the invitation so readily. He usually deferred in all social matters to her. As they were driving toward Olivia’s apartment, she said, “There’s something you should know about Mark. It sure threw me for a loop.” “Yeah, what was that?” Tom was looking straight ahead, a small smile curving his lips. Lowering her voice for dramatic emphasis, she said, “He’s bi! Bisexual!” “Yeah so?” Olivia was nonplussed, having expected more of a reaction. “Yeah so? That’s all you have to say?” Tom glanced at her, putting his hand on her thigh. “Lots of people are bi, sweetheart. It’s not such a big deal, is it?” Olivia narrowed her eyes at him. She wasn’t sure if she could take any more unexpected surprises tonight. “Oh god,” she began, “don’t tell me you’re—” “Stop it, Olivia. No, I’m not bisexual, if that’s what you’re freaking out about. If you want to know, I already knew Mark was bi.” “You did?” Her voice came out a squeak. She cleared her throat, embarrassed. “He mentioned it to me while we were in the kitchen. He said he was afraid he might have upset you, and he wanted me to know why. He was worried he’d offended you somehow.” “Jeez, this is so embarrassing! I was not offended! Just surprised is all. Now he probably thinks I’m some kind of homophobic bigot! Did you tell him I’m not? Why

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didn’t you tell me at the party?” Olivia lifted her hand to her mouth, nibbling nervously on a nail. “Because I figured you’d react just like this. I didn’t want you getting all flustered and self-conscious at the party. I wanted you to enjoy yourself. It’s no big deal, I promise. I told him there was no way you were offended—that you were totally cool with it, as was I. It was basically a non-issue.” “Okay,” Olivia said, somewhat mollified. The next Saturday morning found Olivia staring critically at herself in the threeway mirror in her bathroom. She’d decided to wear her one-piece, a very pretty royal blue bathing suit that fit her perfectly, showing enough cleavage to be sexy without overdoing it. She glanced over her shoulder at herself, squinting in an effort to see herself as others saw her. She knew she was hypercritical of herself and thus dismissed the residual fear her ass was too big. Tom often told her her ass was her best feature, shapely and feminine. He always added that the rest of her was pretty damn hot too. She grinned at the mirror, feeling happy. She was adjusting her sundress over her bathing suit when Tom poked his head into the bathroom. “You about ready to go? Mark said to be at the dock at two o’clock.” She twisted her long hair up and tucked it beneath a baseball cap. “I’m ready.” Though they hadn’t seen or spoken to Mark since the night of his pizza party, he’d been present somehow, at least for Olivia, insinuating his way into their conversations, hovering like a ghost in their bedroom when they made love. Olivia found herself daydreaming over her computer at work, at first imagining Mark lowering his face to hers, taking her head in his hands as his lips parted to kiss hers. Disconcertingly the image often shifted and instead of her being taken into Mark’s arms, she saw Tom, his strong, naked body pressed against Mark’s as their lips touched, their hands holding each other’s hips as they kissed… These images flustered Olivia, at once arousing and confusing her. Since she and Tom had begun dating, she’d barely given another man a thought. Tom had never given the slightest hint of being interested in anyone else, no other woman and certainly not a man! Mark had been the only man to leave her, she realized, the only one to reject her. In all her other relationships she had always been the one to drift away, to grow restless, to make her sad goodbyes. Was that all this was? A lingering unrequited desire left over from her youth because of love scorned? Yet he hadn’t scorned her, not really. He’d been as confused and stupid as she had been, trying to figure his way through a labyrinth even more treacherous than hers with both women and men crowding his heart, coloring his dreams. Tom didn’t seem in the least fazed by Mark’s sexual orientation, which had surprised Olivia, though in retrospect she realized she shouldn’t have been. Tom was 16

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very accepting of most people. Where she was quick to point out flaws and faults, Tom was slower to pass judgment, more apt to think the best of them, to give them a chance. Was that all there was to it? Or was Tom in fact attracted to Mark? Did this possibility threaten or arouse her? “Earth to Olivia.” Tom was speaking. “What?” “I said this is it. We’re here. I’ve been talking for several minutes and I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said.” They were pulling into the parking lot of a small, exclusive marina. “You’re lost somewhere in your own world. I hope you’re not thinking about spreadsheets and LIFE versus FIFE or whatever those acronyms are you accountant types get all excited about.” “That’s LIFO and FIFO—last in, first out; first in, first out. They’re alternate ways of tracking inventory…” She laughed as Tom’s eyes glazed over, relieved he hadn’t pressed the issue of what she’d really been thinking about. As they climbed out of the car Tom said, “There he is.” He waved toward Mark, who stood on the dock in an elegant pose, his hand lightly on his hip, wearing white shorts and a white button-down short-sleeved shirt that showed off his tan skin. His dark hair was blowing in the ocean breeze. Behind him sat a boat gently bobbing on the water. It was white with a large bright yellow stripe down its side. The hull was sleek and long, calling to Olivia’s mind something James Bond would pilot, a beautiful, nearly naked girl by his side, her long hair streaming in the wind. “Hey, guys!” Mark called as they approached and climbed the stairs to the dock. “I’m so glad you could make it. I’ve been looking for an excuse to take this thing out.” He shook Tom’s hand and planted a light kiss on Olivia’s cheek. “Wow,” Tom enthused. “This is some vessel. I guess I was imagining a little sailboat or something.” “I’m too lazy to sail,” Mark laughed. “I’d rather just turn the key and steer. This baby is a terrific speed fiend. It’s a Baja 30 Outlaw, if that means anything to you.” “That’s a type of yacht, isn’t it?” Tom asked. “Yeah, technically I suppose it is,” Mark replied offhandedly. “I just think of it as my boat. I like to take it way out and then just kill the engine and relax. It’s got a roomy sundeck. Fits three nicely,” he added with a grin. Olivia glanced at Tom, but he was already following Mark, who had climbed aboard. A man from the marina appeared, helping to unmoor the boat. Soon they were moving at a steady clip toward the open sea, Mark at the wheel, Olivia and Tom sharing the roomy passenger seat. Olivia closed her eyes, enjoying the salty spray and the warm sun on her face as they sped along the top of the water, neatly slicing it as they zoomed forward. Eventually they left all sign of the imposing Boston cityscape behind them. Mark slowed and finally cut the engine. The silence echoed after the roar of the powerful

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motor. The three of them were adrift in a vast expanse of dark blue. The day was calm, the water nearly still, ruffled only by tiny silver-capped wavelets. “Let’s move to the sundeck,” Mark said, leading the way. “This is fantastic,” Tom said, leaning back against his seat. He was wearing dark green bathing trunks and a white T-shirt that clung to his curving biceps. Olivia still wore the sundress she’d put on over her suit. Without the wind, the sun’s heat was more noticeable. She pulled her dress over her head and leaned back, feeling a shy pleasure as both men openly admired her sleek form. “It’s hot,” Tom remarked, pulling his T-shirt over his head and casually tossing it to the seat beside him. Olivia glanced at Mark, wondering what he thought of her strong, handsome boyfriend. Feeling her eyes on him, he turned slowly toward her, a small smile whispering over his lips. Still keeping his eyes on her face, he began to unbutton his shirt. Olivia swallowed, turning away, certain her suddenly perking nipples had given her away. She leaned into Tom, whose head was back, eyes closed, his arms spread on the back of the seat. Tom sat up, leaning over to kiss the top of Olivia’s head. Mark sat across from them, his legs extended, his hands laced over his midriff, his face turned upward toward the sun. They sat quietly for a few minutes. Olivia surreptitiously examined Mark, taking in the dark, curling hair that V’d at his sternum, following a narrow trail that disappeared into his white shorts. She couldn’t help comparing the two men. Shorter by several inches, Tom was more heavily muscled and compact than Mark. Mark had the long, lean muscles of a tennis player or swimmer. Again she sensed the vitality coiled like a spring inside him, for now carefully controlled. Tom, on the other hand, seemed relaxed and easy, secure in himself with nothing to prove. The daydreams of the previous week washed through her. She imagined Mark leaning forward, pulling Tom into his arms, their bodies touching from shoulder to thigh… She startled when Mark stood and unzipped his white shorts, as if he were in on her fantasy and planned to make it a reality. She watched, holding her breath as he slipped the shorts down his strongly muscled thighs. Beneath them he wore a black Speedo that left very little to the imagination. The bathing suit hugged his cock and balls, in contrast to Tom’s loose swim trunks. Olivia glanced at Tom, who was also watching Mark through lowered lashes, his expression inscrutable. Was it Olivia’s imagination, or was the sexual tension she felt crackling around them shared by more than just her? “Let’s have a swim. It will cool us off,” Mark suggested. Olivia glanced sharply at him but his face was open, guileless. “The water’s pretty calm today. I think we can forego lifejackets as long as we stay close to the boat.” “Excellent idea,” Tom said, standing. “How about you, Livvy? Want to swim?” Mark lowered a ladder over the side of the boat. He stood on the edge, raised his arms over his head and executed a perfect dive, barely rippling the water. Tom

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followed suit in short order, and though his dive was perhaps less Olympian, it was well done nonetheless. They both surfaced at the same time, Mark some distance farther out than Tom. “Come on in!” Tom called, waving toward Olivia. “Is it cold?” she queried, hugging herself. “Freezing!” Tom laughed. “But it feels great.” “Dive in! We’ll catch you,” Mark called. Olivia found she didn’t quite have the nerve to dive, especially with the two of them watching her. Instead she climbed carefully down the ladder, lowering herself into the cold but invigorating water. Tom swam toward her, holding her a moment. “Are you having fun?” “Yeah,” she grinned. “This is great.” He let her go and they swam, staying close to the boat, mindful of the current. Mark swam farther than they did, his stroke strong and sure. After about twenty minutes they climbed back onto the boat, tired but much refreshed. Mark handed them each a thick yellow towel that matched the stripe along the boat’s side. As they dried themselves, Mark took a bottle of champagne from a small refrigerator beneath the seats. He withdrew three glasses from the cabinet next to the refrigerator, popped the cork and filled two of them, which he handed to Tom and Olivia. Pulling a small tin from the refrigerator, he held it reverently in his palms, as if it were made of gold. “One of my few indulgences,” he said. “Osetra. Ever have it?” As Olivia and Tom both shook their heads he added, “A friend of mine with Russian connections managed to procure some Osetra gold recently. It’s quite rare but worth every penny. It’s like eating pure heaven, if heaven were fish eggs.” He laughed. Using a glass spoon he scooped a small mound of the firm gold-colored roe onto a soda cracker and held it out to Olivia. “Do you like caviar?” “I’ve never tried it,” Olivia admitted. She wasn’t sure she wanted to—the idea of eating salted fish eggs didn’t seem especially appealing. “Today is a day to try new things,” Mark said, that mysterious smile again playing over his lips. She accepted the offered cracker, waiting as Mark prepared and handed one to Tom. “How about you, Tom? Have you been introduced to the ambrosia that is fine caviar?” “I’ve had it a few times. The type I had was black. Not gold like this.” “That was Beluga,” Mark said with a nod. “It’s a milder caviar. I prefer the Osetra. See what you think.” Tom took the cracker and popped it into his mouth. He chewed a moment. “Hey, this is really good. It’s not as salty as I was expecting.”

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“Gold Osetra is hard to come by these days. I was saving it for a special occasion.” He smiled at each of them in turn. Olivia felt her face heating. She still held the untasted cracker in her hand. Mark spooned a small heap onto a cracker for himself, closed his eyes and settled the whole thing gently into his mouth. Slowly he chewed, his face suffusing with pleasure. Tentatively Olivia bit into the mound of dark gold roe. Surprisingly, it was delicious—the beads firm with a silky, rich nutty taste. She followed it with a sip of very dry, cold champagne. “I could get used to this,” she said with a grin. Mark poured himself a glass and refilled Tom and Olivia’s. This time he sat down, not across from them, but beside Olivia, his shoulder and thigh touching hers. “To friends,” he said, holding out the glass in his hand. “And to new experiences.” Tom sipped his champagne as he listened to Mark tell them about his first visit to Russia. The man had a seemingly endless supply of fascinating stories about his travels as a journalist for various prestigious newspapers and magazines. He was smart and funny, his observations witty and sharp. He was certainly good-looking, with all that dark curling hair and those liquid black eyes he no doubt used to ensnare the hearts of women. Tom frowned to himself and touched Olivia’s smooth, golden thigh. She, at least, belonged to him. Still, when she’d pretended to barely remember Mark at the bar, Tom hadn’t been fooled, nor, he supposed, had Mark. The flush in her cheeks, the slight gasp as she turned to face him, the way her hand fluttered up to her mouth in an unconscious gesture—he knew her well enough to know seeing Mark Hunter again had deeply and immediately affected her. It was clear she’d been in love with him once, or at least in lust. Tom couldn’t help the jealous feelings that surfaced as he watched Mark turn his compelling gaze on Olivia. He’d tamped the feelings down, recalling for himself the intensity of a college crush, and the aching, devastating pain of rejection when one still wasn’t certain of one’s own worth. After the party at Mark’s house, Olivia had admitted she’d been hurt by Mark, but felt better to learn his abrupt departure had less to do with her than with some guy he was confused about. Tom didn’t want to be jealous of Olivia’s past—that was hardly fair. He was certain of her love—she’d never given him the slightest reason to doubt it. Yet it was clear she was still taken with Mark—just how much, Tom wasn’t sure. He decided to wait and see how events unfolded. He reminded himself he wasn’t one for borrowing worry. He tried to take each day as it came. Olivia had brought the topic of Mark up several times over the course of the week, telling Tom stories from her past and wondering aloud about his bisexuality. Tom tried to listen with an open mind, not wanting jealousy to taint their relationship.

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Her interest was understandable. Being totally honest with himself, he had to admit there was something about Mark, something compelling and attractive that transcended gender. Beneath his friendly banter he exuded a certain kind of charisma and quiet authority. Yet he wasn’t overbearing. Tom had quite enjoyed him at the party, finding his stories interesting, his observations refreshing and yes, he would admit it, he found the man very attractive. Still, he couldn’t deny Olivia’s obvious lingering interest caused him some disquiet. “How about you, Livvy? Does Mark hold the same appeal he once did for you? Should I be afraid you’re going to run off with him?” He’d said it teasingly, smiling as he did so, though a part of him knew it wasn’t necessarily a farfetched idea. Olivia blushed—that physiological response far more telling than any denial she might have issued. To his surprise, she hadn’t denied her attraction, though perhaps she played it down. “Of course it’s a given that he’s good-looking. He’s funny and charming. But you know what they say—people don’t change. He was breaking hearts way back when, and I have a feeling there’s still a trail of them scattered over the globe—women and maybe men as well.” Tom had never sexually experimented with another guy, though he’d had some very close relationships with men over the years. Yet he had always been able to appreciate the sexual qualities of other men. He’d never understood guys who claimed they “couldn’t tell” if another man was handsome or sexy by virtue of the fact they were straight. That made no sense to Tom. Just because a guy didn’t want to have sex with someone didn’t mean he didn’t have eyes in his head. He looked at Mark, who was watching him. Olivia was leaning back with her eyes closed, her golden brown hair shining wetly in the sun. Mark’s gaze lingered on him as his tongue flicked lazily over his lower lip. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, Tom drained his glass and held it out for more. Mark leaned over Olivia, his arm brushing her breast as he refilled Tom’s glass. Was it a challenge—was he trying to stake a claim on Tom’s girl? Or was it simply an accident, unavoidable in the close space of the sundeck? Tom glanced at Olivia, whose cheeks were flushed, perhaps by the sun, but Tom thought not. His hand still rested on her leg. He moved his fingers, letting them slip down over the smooth skin of her inner thigh. He looked up directly at Mark. She’s mine. He didn’t say it aloud—he didn’t need to. Mark gave him a ghost of a smile and shifted slightly away. Olivia, her eyes still closed, seemed unaware of the little power play between alpha males. Tom let his eyes roam over her lovely form. The curve of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her bathing suit drew his eye. He wanted to touch them, to cup them in his hands and lower his head to bite the nipples, erect beneath her suit—from cold, or from arousal? He felt his cock stirring and was glad he was wearing loose trunks to hide his erection.

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“She’s lovely,” Mark said softly, his gaze following Tom’s. “You’re a very lucky man.” Tom was feeling the effect of three glasses of champagne, perhaps drunk too quickly. The afternoon seemed to shimmer around them, the sun dappling the deep blue water with coins of gold. His hand still rested on Olivia’s thigh. In slow motion, or so it felt to Tom, Mark lightly touched her other thigh, his fingers trailing down toward her knee. All the while he was looking at Tom, a question in his eyes, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. Olivia opened her eyes, taking in a sudden breath. She looked at Mark’s hand and then over to Tom. Yet she made no effort to shake Mark’s hand free. Oddly, Tom found he wasn’t angry or threatened by Mark’s action. It was a tentative gesture, an asking for permission, which he realized suddenly Olivia was also asking, as she looked to him, her lips parted, her lovely green eyes reflecting and absorbing the golden sunlight. The three of them sat like statues for several seconds, each man with his hand staking a claim on the woman between them. Olivia’s nipples were prominent against the royal blue of her suit. Mark’s cock was obviously erect within the tight confines of his Speedo. Olivia looked from one to the other. She said hoarsely, “I want some more champagne.” Her words dispelled whatever magic had fallen over them for that moment. Mark removed his hand and sat up, reaching into the ice bucket where he’d placed the open bottle. He filled the glass. Some of the champagne overflowed, splashing on Olivia’s thigh. “This is too good to waste,” Mark said lightly. Dropping nimbly to his knees before her, he licked the bubbly wine from her smooth thigh before either Tom or Olivia could protest. “Try it,” Mark laughed, the sound low and sensual in his throat. This time he purposefully poured a bit of the champagne on Olivia’s other thigh. Tom was assailed with a sense of the surreal—was this really happening? And what exactly was it that was happening? Tom’s cock throbbed as he too slipped off the padded deck bench and knelt next to Mark. Ducking his head, he licked along the smooth, sea-salty flesh of Olivia’s thigh, lapping at the champagne. “What are you guys doing?” Olivia’s voice was a protest, but a feeble one. She made no effort to move, to pull away, to stop either of them. Tom pulled himself up and sat again beside Olivia. “We’re admiring your beauty,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. “While you dozed I was telling Tom how lovely you are,” Mark said. “And how lucky he is to have you.” Mark sat next to her on her other side, his hand again dropping to her leg. He was pressed close to her, his body touching hers from shoulder to knee.

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“What’s happening here, Tom?” Olivia whispered, a hint of trepidation in her voice but also the undeniable husk of desire. “What do you want to happen?” he whispered back, aware Mark was listening. Mark’s hand moved along Olivia’s upper thigh, the tips of his fingers nearly grazing her sex. Olivia’s eyes were bright, her lips parted. She reached for Tom, pulling his face down to hers. “Kiss me,” she demanded, slipping her tongue into his mouth. Tom did, pulling her toward him in a possessive gesture, keenly aware of Mark watching the two of them with those dark, dangerous eyes. Olivia finally let him go, falling back against the seat. “It’s the champagne,” she said in a breathy voice. “It’s making me stupid.” “You’re not stupid,” Mark said softly. “You’re beautiful.” “Beautiful,” Tom echoed. Olivia was his. Whatever the two of them might be contemplating with the enigmatic Mark Hunter, he knew Olivia loved him. Yet he also knew the concept of possession was an illusion, usually a dangerous one. He knew she could leave him, her head turned by the dazzling, wealthy man beside her. The surreal atmosphere that had pervaded the entire day still clung to him like a fine mist, clouding his senses, lowering his inhibitions. Really, he thought, the next move would be Olivia’s. He touched her thigh, sliding his hand to her pussy, which emanated heat, the lips swollen and outlined beneath her bathing suit. Olivia gasped slightly but didn’t try to close her legs. Feeling his power, Tom used his other hand to tug lightly at the strap of her bathing suit. He pulled it down past her shoulder, revealing part of her breast in the process. His heart was pounding. He could barely believe what he was doing, yet didn’t seem able to stop himself. Olivia was breathing hard, her eyes again closed, her legs still parted. Mark smiled a slow, lazy smile as he touched the other strap of Olivia’s bathing suit. His eyes clearly said, “May I?” but he wasn’t asking Olivia—he was asking Tom.

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Chapter Three Mark’s fingers burned on her shoulder, jerking Olivia out of whatever champagneand-sun-induced stupor she’d been in. Abruptly she sat up, pulling the strap Tom had lowered back into place. She felt dizzy and her face was hot. “I think I’ve had too much sun,” she said, turning to Tom, away from Mark. Tom’s expression, a moment before hooded with desire, seemed to clear like someone released from a spell, and then shifted to one of concern. “You need more sunscreen. Let me get your cap.” Mark’s hand fell away from her shoulder. He stood, retrieving his shorts and pulling them on. Shading his face with one hand, he stared out at the horizon. The last several minutes of erotic play might never have happened. For a moment Olivia wondered if it had been a dream. Tom returned with her baseball cap and a tube of sunscreen. Olivia grasped her thick hair with both hands, twisting and piling it on her head before accepting the cap from Tom. Mark said, his voice neutral, “The sun’s going down soon. We should probably head back.” Tom, glancing at his watch, nodded. Mark put the empty champagne bottle into the cabinet, tossed the ice from the bucket into the sea and scooped the last bit of the fine caviar from its tin with his finger. Olivia couldn’t help staring as he lifted the finger to his mouth and sucked it, his eyes on hers. She felt her breath catch in her throat. Whatever had happened between them had been no dream. She was the one who had broken the highly erotic mood the two men had created around her. Relief was tinged with regret. Why had she stopped them? Why had she stopped herself? Tom and Mark moved back to the cockpit but Olivia elected to remain where she was in the bow of the boat. Once Mark turned the key, she could no longer hear the masculine murmur of their voices, drowned out by the roar of the engine and the rush of the waves parting before them. She closed her eyes, trying to process what had just gone on between them. The last week’s daydreams had revolved mostly around herself and Mark with liberal dashes of homoerotic fantasies involving Mark and Tom. She’d never, she realized, put the three of them together in her head. Yet clearly that seemed to be the direction this afternoon was taking. She could barely believe Tom, her sweet, careful Tom, had been the one to make the first overt move—pulling down her strap, offering her in a sense to the other man. What the hell was that about? Was she an object to be displayed, to be given away? She tried to muster a sense of outrage, but in truth, her body warmed again, her nipples tingling at the memory of what had nearly happened. 24

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She glanced down at herself, her nipples poking through her bathing suit, her long, slender legs stretched out before her. She could feel the imprint of their hands on her— Tom’s thick, blunt fingers stroking her thigh, Mark’s long, tapered ones moving like fire over her skin. Her body recalled their tongues, licking along her flesh, awakening all her nerve endings. The men were behind her and she with her back to them, facing the sea. She was pretty sure they couldn’t see what she was doing, and even if they could, she could barely help herself at that moment. Shivering, though not from cold, she pressed her legs together, slipping her hand surreptitiously between them to massage her swollen, aching pussy. She glanced back at the two men, but they were focused on the horizon, each lost in his own thoughts. Turning back, she slipped her fingers into the crotch of her bathing suit and touched herself. Her fingers slipped easily into the wetness, her muscles contracting around them as she moaned beneath her breath. Why had she stopped them? What would have happened if she hadn’t? Would she be naked now? Draped over the laps of the two men, one of their cocks in her mouth, the other in her pussy? She began to rub herself, at once excited and frightened by the image. Would Tom really permit such a thing? Would she? Was that what Mark wanted? Or was he using her as a way to get to his real interest—to Tom? Her fingers began to get the better of her, stilling her questions as she brought herself to a rapid but intense orgasm, unable to control the shuddering sighs as she came against her hand. She leaned back, pulling her sticky fingers from her suit and hunching forward. Jesus! I can’t believe I just did that! What if they were watching? She felt embarrassment lick at her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around herself as she waited for her heart to stop its thudding. Finally she dared to glance back at them. Their heads were leaning close in conversation, but she couldn’t hear them. Neither was looking at her. She scrambled down from the seat, reaching for the refrigerator door beneath it. She opened it and found what she was looking for—bottled water. Extracting three bottles, she maneuvered carefully toward the cockpit, bending forward to offer the men some water. Mark slowed the engine, allowing Olivia to join them. Olivia leaned back against Tom’s arm in the large passenger seat. Tom had put his T-shirt back on but Mark remained shirtless. He was standing, his hand lightly on the wheel, the muscles of his strong, broad back flexing. Tom leaned down, giving Olivia his characteristic comforting kiss on the top of her head. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear.

***** The three of them stood on the dock, the last bit of glowing summer sunlight spilling over the water behind them. “Thanks for taking us out on your yacht,” Tom said. 25

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“My boat,” Mark grinned. “Yacht sounds so pretentious.” “Your boat then,” Tom said, smiling back. “Hey, it was my pleasure.” He extended his hand to Tom, who shook it, and then leaned down to kiss Olivia’s cheek, a repeat of the greeting when they’d first arrived. She a felt stiffness in his gesture, or perhaps she only imagined it. After all, she had been the one to stop the action, just as she had seven years before. Both Tom and Mark had graciously and at once yielded to her. She was glad they had—wasn’t she? Olivia realized she didn’t want the day to end. Just because she hadn’t been ready to strip for the guys out in the middle of the ocean didn’t mean she wasn’t still interested in something—she just wasn’t sure what! She knew she didn’t want to just say goodbye. Tom put his arm around her and said to Mark, “Well, thanks again. We’ll have to get together sometime—” “Hey, aren’t you guys hungry?” Olivia cut him off, determined to salvage the evening. “The caviar and champagne were terrific, but not exactly filling. How about some burgers or sushi or something?” Tom turned to her, raising his eyebrows slightly as if to say, “Are you sure?” She nodded to the unspoken question and turned to Mark. “What do you say? Let us take you out for some dinner. Nothing fancy obviously.” She looked down at her sundress and pulled at the bill of her baseball cap with a laugh. “I am hungry, now that you mention it,” Mark said, the stiffness in his demeanor easing. “I could go for some fresh seafood. I know a great raw bar on the pier, not far from here. We can actually walk to it.” “We’re dressed okay?” Tom asked, gesturing toward his swim trunks and T-shirt. “Overdressed,” Mark laughed. They sat at the bar, which was overflowing with fresh oysters, shrimp and crab claws. Tom ordered a pitcher of beer and the three dug into their food with the appetite only a day spent on the water can produce. As they ate and drank they talked of their careers, of the changes in Cambridge and Boston since their college days, and of everything except what was uppermost on Olivia’s mind—what had happened on the boat between them. When Mark excused himself to use the bathroom, Olivia seized the moment. “Tom, we need to talk. What happened back on the boat—” “Yeah. I’m not sure myself. I went too far. I’m sorry, Olivia. I didn’t mean to—” “No, no. You didn’t. It was me. I mean, I don’t know what was going on exactly, but I liked it. I know I stopped you, but that’s because I was scared. I wasn’t sure. Mark’s not a known quantity. I think we were all three a little drunk.” “I think you’re right. And I agree, we need to talk. All three of us.” “Yes, but you and me first, Tom. Let’s figure out what we want first.”

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“What I want is to be with you, Olivia. Whatever was going on today turned me on—I’m not going to lie to you. But first and foremost in my mind is our relationship. I would never want to do anything to compromise that. Ever.” Olivia put her hand over Tom’s. “I love you, Tom. Our relationship is first for me too.” She sighed, recalling the sensual lethargy that had pervaded their time out on the ocean. “It was almost like a dream, wasn’t it? Like it wasn’t real, it wasn’t really happening. And then suddenly it was real. I just kind of flipped out, you know? It’s like I was in some kind of hypnotic trance and then I snapped out of it.” “I know what you mean. I had a sense of the surreal all afternoon. There’s something about Mark. Something compelling that makes one want to please him—to give him what he wants.” Olivia looked closely at Tom. “And you think he wants…me? And you want to give me to him?” Tom gave a small laugh, but his cheeks colored slightly. “No, no! Not give you to him. That implies ownership, doesn’t it? You’re not my pet—you’re my girl, my love. It’s just…” he paused. “It’s obvious he’s very attracted to you, but he doesn’t strike me as someone out to ‘steal’ you away from me. I don’t get a competitive vibe from him at all. I can’t really explain it. It’s almost like—” Tom stopped short as Mark returned to the table. Olivia wondered what he’d been about to say. She wanted more time to figure things out with him. Was he edging toward suggesting a threesome? That certainly seemed to be the direction in which they had been heading on the boat before she chickened out. She glanced at Mark, who smiled at her. “I interrupted you, forgive me,” he said. “No, not at all,” Tom said. “We were just talking about…” he looked toward Olivia for direction. “About you,” Olivia said. There. At least it was out in the open. “How dreadfully dull for you,” Mark said with a dry laugh. He lifted his hand toward a nearby waitress and in a moment the check appeared. Tom reached for it and Mark permitted him. “Maybe we could continue the conversation over coffee at my place?” “Olivia?” Tom turned to her. “Are you tired, sweetheart?” Olivia understood what he was doing and appreciated it. He was giving her a way out. If she wasn’t yet comfortable talking with Mark before they’d finished their own discussion, she could yawn, nod and say they would get together soon. She was in fact tired, but knew she didn’t want the evening to end—not yet. There was too much unresolved between the three of them. She didn’t want to stay up all night obsessing about it. “I could really use a shower,” she said, pulling her fingers through her tangled, ocean-washed hair. “And I want to get out of this suit.”

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“Of course,” Mark said smoothly. “We can meet another time, or if you like, you could stop by after you’ve freshened up. I’ll make espresso.” Tom looked to Olivia. She knew it was her call. “Give us an hour,” she said. “That okay with you, Tom?” “Absolutely.” He squeezed her hand beneath the bar. At the same time, Olivia felt the light touch of Mark’s hand on her knee. She pushed back from the bar, ignoring the tremor of nervous excitement in her gut.

***** Mark’s mind wandered as he pushed the button on the espresso machine to grind the beans. He had showered and shaved on autopilot, his mind caught up in the afternoon on the ocean. Though he was very attracted to both Olivia and Tom, he hadn’t expected the sexual turn the events had taken, at least not so soon. He sensed Tom’s posturing and had moved carefully so as not to offend him. In the back of his mind he knew he’d like to seduce either or both of the pair. Yet he also knew from experience that getting involved with a couple could be a sticky, sometimes nasty business. He certainly didn’t want to come between them in any way. His intentions were more lighthearted—a fun, sexual romp that when over would still leave the three of them as friends. He found he enjoyed the two of them, even without the possibility of a tryst. They appeared so fresh, not self-absorbed as many of the people who moved in his circles seemed to be. Neither struck him as cynical or jaded, or eager to fall into a ménage à trois as an excuse to get away from one another. He hadn’t been surprised Olivia had balked when Tom lowered her bathing suit strap. He really hadn’t expected her to permit them to strip her there on the boat. What had surprised him was Tom’s obvious interest and seeming willingness to go forward with whatever sexual game they were playing. He’d sent the signals that Olivia belonged to him, but also that he might be willing to share. He sensed an unexplored passion beneath the exterior of their seemingly typical vanilla relationship. Tom’s cock had been as hard as his when Olivia had lain back between them on the boat, her body like a ripe peach he would have loved to taste. Did Tom want to explore the possibility of a ménage? How far would he be willing to go? And Olivia. For all her pretending to sleep and her passive response to their touch—he had sensed the fire boiling just below her smooth, soft skin. He’d felt the tremble of her desire. He smiled, recalling the young Olivia, not quite twenty, pretending to a worldliness she clearly didn’t possess. Back then she’d resisted him too, though the circumstances had been different. He had been challenged by her resistance to his sexual overtures and her obvious naïveté. He recalled the submissive potential he’d felt from her all those years ago. She’d responded to his dominant overtures, only pulling back at the last moment due, he was fairly sure, to uncertainty and youth. He had been too 28

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distracted at the time with Lawrence to pursue her with the vigor she deserved. He’d grown a lot since then, but she’d been one he’d let slip away. Not the only one, he thought with a heavy sigh. Lawrence had been the first man to intuit Mark’s hidden bisexuality, hidden almost from himself back then. Lawrence—blond, aloof, arrogant—had radiated a raw kind of sexuality that attracted Mark from the outset. At first he hadn’t dared to believe there was any significance to the lingering stares they exchanged when finding themselves alone in the break room or walking along the corridor. He assumed his vivid imagination was working overtime. Lawrence, several years his senior, worked at the magazine where Mark worked at the time. He called Mark into his office late one evening. Most of the staff had gone home. “I know what you want, Mark. Let’s not play games. I’ve seen you looking at me. The question is, are you man enough to admit it?” Mark recalled how taken aback he’d been at Lawrence’s bald assertion. When he’d started to stammer he didn’t know what Mark meant, Lawrence pushed him against the wall and kissed him. When he let him go, he reached down, rubbing Mark’s rising cock through his trousers. Mark could have decked him—most men in his position would have, he supposed. He didn’t. Instead, allowing his natural dominant impulses to hide or at least master his trepidation, he had in turn pushed Lawrence against the wall and kissed him back, dropping his own hand to Lawrence’s erection. What ensued was a wild sexual affair that turned Mark’s world upside down. He continued to see Olivia, but his attentions were focused primarily on Lawrence. Then the unthinkable happened, at least for Mark. Lawrence began to fall in love. Mark knew while he enjoyed the thrill of sex with another man, he wouldn’t be able to reciprocate the emotional intensity of feeling Lawrence began to demand of him. In retrospect he took the coward’s way out, seizing on a job opportunity that required him to move to London immediately. He left Lawrence, and in the process Olivia as well. Mark was distracted from his musing by the sound of the brass knocker falling against the oak door. He walked from the kitchen through the living room to the door, pulling it wide for his guests. Tom and Olivia stood on the stoop. Olivia held out a white paper bag. “We brought dessert to go with the coffee.” Mark took the bag and stepped back, gesturing them inside. He preceded them into the kitchen. “What have we got here?” he asked, opening the bag. Inside were flaky pastries of layered phyllo dough stuffed with walnuts, honey, cinnamon and raisins. Delighted, he enthused, “Baklava! One of my favorites.” “We bought it at that new Greek bakery down on Comm. Ave.,” Olivia said, smiling.

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Mark pulled out one of his grandmother’s old china plates patterned with the family monogram and set the pastries on it. “Put this on the table, will you? The coffee will be done in a minute.” He handed the plate to Tom and pointed toward the large round table set in the corner of the kitchen his grandmother referred to as the breakfast nook. “Can I help you get anything?” Olivia asked, hovering nearby. He could smell her perfume, a light floral scent, along with the clean smell of her freshly washed hair still slightly damp. He glanced at her, taking in the sleeveless blouse and loose, flowing skirt that fell nearly to her ankles. On her feet were slim sandals of soft brown leather. Her toenails were painted a pale pink. He looked up into her face, smiling as he saw the flush there—she’d been aware of his scrutiny. The three of them sat at the table, Olivia between the two men. They made small talk for a while as they ate the sticky, sweet dessert and sipped the strong espresso from tiny china cups. Mark could feel the sexual undercurrent that ran beneath the conversation like a river rushing below a bridge. Olivia and Tom kept glancing at one another, their eyes sparking with a shared secret. Mark was reasonably sure he could guess what it was. He was curious to see how they would approach it. Tom was the first to directly broach the subject. They had moved from the table to the living room, the three of them settling comfortably on the large sofa facing the nowempty stone fireplace. Mark offered them each a snifter of fine Cognac and poured one for himself. “Olivia and I were talking about what happened this afternoon on the boat.” “Did something happen?” Mark smiled into his brandy, waiting. “Something could have. Something nearly did.” Tom blew out a breath, as if gathering courage to continue. Mark looked at him, smiling gently. The guy really was extremely good-looking with all that straight light brown hair falling over into his very blue eyes. They were an exotic, unusual blue—the jewellike blue of a bird’s plumage. His expression was so earnest, so likable. It was hard to tease him. “Yes,” he admitted, recalling Olivia’s erect nipples, her parted legs and the “comehither” look on her face. He recalled Tom’s erection, poking against his swim trunks, mirroring Mark’s own rising desire. “Here’s the thing, Mark. Olivia and I are in love with each other.” “Of course,” Mark said softly. He glanced at Olivia, who was nibbling on a nail. She wore no makeup and needed none, her skin kissed by the sun, her thick blonde lashes lowered over those amazing green-gold eyes. She looked very young—nearly as young as the nineteen-year-old girl he might have fallen in love with if he’d taken the time. Tom plowed on. “Something happened out there today on the water. Something that surprised us both—intrigued us both. We’ve never really thought about the possibility of bringing someone else into our relationship. You know, uh…” Tom paused, blushing slightly. Here it comes, Mark thought, trying to keep his expression neutral. 30

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“Sexually,” Tom finished. He waited, clearly expecting a response. Olivia bit more furiously on her nail until Tom reached over, gently touching her arm. She dropped her hand and bit her lips instead, looking down at her lap. Mark waited several beats for Tom to elaborate, or for Olivia to pick up the thread. Instead they both sat, silent as nervous schoolchildren waiting for the headmaster’s decree. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re saying to me. Are you saying now you are considering the possibility of bringing someone else into your relationship, to use your words? Are you saying the person you want to bring in is me?” “Yes!” Olivia blurted. They both turned to stare at her as she colored prettily. Mark was unable to hide his grin. She was utterly adorable, her innocence palpable. He would have to be careful with these two, very careful. “You’re interested in—what exactly?” He kept his focus on Tom. “A little bi-curious experimentation?” Now it was Tom’s turn to blush. Mark waited for the heated denial, for the insistence the focus be on Olivia. To his surprise, Tom said softly, “Perhaps. I wouldn’t rule it out. We wouldn’t rule anything out. What I mean is, we talked it over. We both find you very attractive and we’re reasonably certain, from your behavior on the water, you’re attracted to us as well.” When Mark didn’t respond immediately, Tom added, “I mean, that’s the impression we were left with. If I’m totally off-base, let me know. No hard feelings and I hope no offense taken. This is all very new to both of us. We realize we’re not as worldly as you are. I know we might be misreading your cues. That’s why we wanted to talk, straight out, about what’s going on between the three of us.” “An admirable decision,” Mark said, and he meant it. “It’s important to be upfront about this sort of thing. Especially when love’s in the mix. I would never want to do anything to get in the way of your relationship. If we were to do anything, that is.” “If…” said Olivia, looking at him. He hadn’t been lying when he’d compared her beauty to Guinevere’s—the rosy lips, the dark golden hair, the long heavy-lidded green-gold eyes. He imagined her in a formfitting medieval gown of blue silk, hugging her lush breasts, molding to her long, narrow waist and spilling over her feminine hips to hide the naked, smooth flesh beneath… Mark took a breath, forcing himself to relinquish the powerful image, aware they both expected him to say more. “You weren’t misreading my cues. I don’t think you could, given how I was dressed. Those Speedos don’t give a man much place to hide.” He grinned. They both smiled back, albeit tentatively. Mark continued. “I find you both sexy and attractive. Beyond that, I really like you and know we could become great friends. I also think the three of us could have a lot of fun together. I’m definitely interested.” “We, uh,” Tom looked embarrassed but determined, “we want you to know we’re both clean. That is, we have regular medical exams and we don’t have any diseases and we’re monogamous.” He looked pointedly at Mark, clearly expecting a response.

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“I’m glad you brought that up—I would have if you didn’t. I can’t say I’m monogamous, but I definitely practice safe, protected sex and I also get routine checkups. I had to have a complete physical to start with The Globe and I received an Aplus on the exam, or so the doctor said.” Tom leaned back, visibly relieved to have dealt with that important if embarrassing preliminary. “Here’s the thing though.” Mark leaned forward earnestly. “Ménage à trois sounds sexy in theory, but in fact they can be messy. Emotions get in the way. Couples who thought they were secure find themselves questioning each other and their relationship. The two of you need to weigh the possible price of a roll in the hay with a near-stranger and the impact it might have on your relationship. I admit, I don’t know you well. Only you can gauge your comfort level in something like this.” “We’ve talked about that,” Tom said. “We both feel our love is strong enough that this experience would only enhance it.” Olivia nodded, though Mark noted she was twisting the stem of her empty snifter nervously between her fingers. He took the bottle from the table on his side of the sofa and raised it toward her. She held out her glass and he poured several fingers of the strong brandy into the delicate crystal. Setting down the bottle, he stood. “Let me sit between you a moment,” he said to Olivia, who obliged by scooting aside. He settled between them, feeling power rise up like an aphrodisiac in his blood. He wasn’t sure which of them he wanted more, or how far they were willing to go, but he planned to find out. Lightly he touched Tom’s thigh, half expecting him to pull away. Tom didn’t, though he could feel him stiffen. Mark turned to Olivia, who was watching them with blazing eyes. Slowly he lifted her skirt until her bare thigh was revealed. He put his hand on her skin, capturing her with his gaze. Olivia responded with a sudden intake of breath. He could feel her slight tremble. Leaning toward her, he kissed her lips lightly, pulling back when he felt the cool tip of her tongue against his. She leaned forward, her eyes fluttering shut, a rosy flush creeping up her throat. Mark was aware of Tom beside him, watching them intently. He turned to study him, trying to gauge the man’s level of desire. He could see Tom’s erection, his cock clearly outlined in denim and snaking up toward his hip. Mark’s cock responded in kind, pressing hard against his fly. Yet he could sense, along with the desire, a lingering uncertainty and perhaps even fear. He leaned toward Tom to test the waters, but Tom pulled back. He wasn’t ready then. Not yet. There was time. This delicious game was just beginning and Mark was a patient man. Draining his snifter, he stood and turned to face the pair, smiling brightly at each in turn. “Where are my manners? I haven’t given you a tour of the place. Come, let me show you the bedroom.”

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Chapter Four Tom looked around the bedroom, quite different from the rest of the town house, which was crowded with overflowing bookshelves, every surface covered in doilies and knickknacks, the walls covered with oil paintings depicting ancestors and pastoral scenes against faded, once-elegant wallpaper. This room was decidedly masculine with its low king-sized bed covered in a black down quilt set in a frame of black wrought iron. The two posts at its head supported a lattice of thin black bars that created a headboard against which were piled a number of pillows cased in black silk. A large abstract painting hung on the wall in rich golds and black, a tall, spare bureau of black lacquer with a matching table standing by a black leather recliner. The floors were hardwood with thick wool throw rugs in muted yellows and gold set here and there. Subdued lighting from recessed track lights along the edges of the ceiling cast a warm, romantic glow over the space. “This and my study are the only rooms I’ve really made my own,” Mark said as Olivia and Tom took in the décor. “I keep thinking Gran might come home, though my mother says it isn’t likely. Her bedroom is waiting, still full of lace and dried flowers.” He smiled, though it didn’t entirely obscure the sorrow that flitted across his features. Olivia put a hand lightly on his forearm, her expression one of sympathy. Mark shook his head as if shaking away any lingering sadness. “‘Hope is the thing with feathers…’” he quoted. “‘That perches in the soul,’” Olivia finished for him. Tom felt a warm rush of admiration. Olivia knew so much about literature and poetry. He vaguely recalled the lines from a poem he’d been forced to memorize in high school, but couldn’t place them. Mark bowed toward her with a flourish and Olivia grinned. “Now this is probably my favorite room in this place,” Mark said, leading them into the master bathroom. The room was large, nearly as large as the bedroom with marbled floors and counters. The two sinks were actually green glass bowls set on top of the long counter, gold faucets curving over them, a rounded shower stall set in one corner and in the other a large hot tub on a raised, shellacked wooden platform. Candles lined the wide wooden shelves that circled the back side of the hot tub. “Nothing more relaxing than lighting a few candles, turning the lights low and stepping into the hot water.” Mark reached for a long tapered lighter and proceeded to light the candles. Taking a small flask from a shelf, he poured several capfuls of bath oil into the large round tub. He dimmed the overhead light so the candle flames flickered intimately against the walls and ceiling. He flicked a switch on the wall, causing the already heated water to whoosh and whirl to life.

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His eyes on the pair, Mark unbuttoned and pulled off his shirt, tossing it over a towel rack. Already barefoot, he stepped out of his linen trousers, hung them with his shirt and stepped up to the hot tub. Olivia gripped Tom’s hand as they watched Mark pull down his bikini underwear in one swift motion without a trace of selfconsciousness. He kicked them aside and slid into the bubbling froth with a long, satisfied sigh. “Join me?” he asked, his teeth gleaming white against tan skin. His dark hair curled down his neck in the steaming mist rising from the hot water. Tom glanced down at Olivia. “It does look inviting,” he said, gently pulling his hand from hers. “Let’s get in,” he whispered into her hair. The scent of the melting candle wax had begun to permeate the room—jasmine, sandalwood, lemon. Tom felt slightly dizzy, from the Cognac, or perhaps from the perfume and steam filling the room, or the fact he was about to strip and climb into a hot tub with a naked man. Mark leaned back, his arms stretched along the rim of the tub, his eyes closed. Tom stepped quickly out of his clothing, gesturing for Olivia to do likewise. She looked at Mark, apparently satisfied he wasn’t watching her, and began to follow suit, unbuttoning her blouse, stepping out of her skirt and finally removing her bra and panties. Tom smiled, feeling his cock swell as he eyed his beautiful lover. Her breasts were high and round, the tips dark pink at their centers. His eyes caressed her form, sweeping past her flat stomach to her pubic mound, covered in sparse dark blonde curls. As she turned, he admired the globes of her shapely ass and her long, lean legs, the calves curved with muscle from her daily run. Together they climbed into the hot, fragrant water. Olivia sat close to Tom, pressing her body against his so their legs touched. He put an arm around her shoulder, squeezing it as he silently willed her to relax. Olivia leaned her head on his shoulder. All the while Mark remained still across from them, his eyes closed. The shooting jets of hot water felt good, pummeling the muscles in Tom’s back, shoulders and legs. He closed his eyes, relaxing fully for the first time that day. He drifted, barely noticing when Olivia pulled slightly away from him. “Hey,” he heard Mark say softly. He opened his eyes and saw Mark had shifted, moving closer to Olivia, whose body was angled slightly away from Tom now and toward Mark. This is what you wanted, Tom told himself, fighting down a sudden stab of jealousy as the two slid closer to one another beneath the water. As if reading his mind, Olivia reached over suddenly, touching his leg beneath the water, a question on her face. Slowly he nodded, forcing a smile to his lips. Olivia seemed reassured. She smiled back. Mark was now beside Olivia, as close as Tom had been a few moments before. Reaching beneath her thighs, he scooped her onto his lap. Olivia gave a startled laugh as she grabbed at his neck to maintain her balance. Tom inched closer but didn’t interfere. Despite the lingering prick of jealousy, he couldn’t deny his erection bobbing

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beneath the water. Olivia looked beautiful, her cheeks flushed with the heat of the water, her long hair streaming like burnished gold over her shoulders, her breasts bare and shining wetly. She was sitting sideways on Mark’s lap, one arm still looped around his neck. Tom couldn’t see Mark’s hands, now hidden beneath the tumbling foam. Slowly Mark looked up, his dark eyes blazing into Tom’s, echoing it seemed, his own earlier internal admonition—this is what you wanted. His heart was thumping in his chest, his eyes locked on the pair as he slowly nodded to Mark’s unspoken statement. Mark, apparently satisfied, turned his attentions to Olivia. Gently he pressed her back into the crook of one strong arm. Tom watched, his own lips burning as Mark lowered his head to kiss Olivia. Tom slid closer until he was next to Mark. He pulled Olivia’s legs onto his lap and lowered his head to capture her nipple between his teeth. Olivia moaned against Mark’s mouth. Tom cupped her breasts in his hands, licking and teasing the distended tips with his tongue and teeth. As he twisted his body toward her, his erect cock made contact with Mark’s muscular thigh. Instinctively he started to pull back, but felt Mark’s free arm suddenly around his shoulders holding him in place, his cock pressed against Mark’s leg. After a moment Mark let him go. Tom pulled back and took a breath, shaking his damp hair from his face. Mark released Olivia as well. She slid from his lap to his other side, breathing hard, her hair a wet tumble around her face. Using his hands for leverage, Mark hauled himself up onto the edge of the tub. Tom’s eyes were drawn to the other man’s erect shaft, sprouting proudly from a nest of dark pubic hair. He glanced reflexively at Olivia, who was also staring at Mark’s groin, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. “We don’t want to stay in too long,” Mark said casually, hopping nimbly down from the hot tub. He wrapped a towel around his waist and held one out for Tom. Tom followed suit, hoisting himself out of the tub and accepting the towel. Olivia moved toward the stairs where Mark stood holding out his hand to her. Accepting his help, she climbed out. The rosy glow of the candlelight played on her skin, glimmering on the long shining hair that fell past her shoulders in rivulets of apricot light. Tom felt at once proud and fiercely possessive. Grabbing a large towel from the shelf, he held it open. Olivia moved toward him and he pulled her close, wrapping her in the thick, luxurious terrycloth. In silent accord the three of them moved toward the bed. Mark dropped his towel to the floor and pulled down the quilt. Lying down on one side of the bed, he stretched his long, muscular legs and put his hands behind his head. Tom dropped his towel and lay on the other side of the bed, pulling the sheet up to his waist. Olivia couldn’t help but notice both men still sported large erections. She was glad her own arousal wasn’t so evident.

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Mark’s kiss had sent her back to when they’d first met—the teasing, sensual offering and withdrawal of his lips and tongue making her pant for more. Tom’s mouth on her breasts, and the knowledge her lover was complicit in this stolen kiss had served to heighten her arousal to the point of near-orgasm. Mark patted the sheets between the two men. Olivia, her towel wrapped tightly around her, slid between them. Though still aroused, she was shy, even with Tom. The dynamic of three changed everything. “Come here,” Tom said, scooting closer to pull her to him. Gratefully she turned into him, hiding her face against his chest. He stroked her hair as she snuggled against him. She felt a gentle but persistent tugging at her towel and stiffened. Tom continued to stroke her head and cheek. “Shh,” he whispered. “Relax. You’re safe here with us.” Mark continued to pull at her towel until she was left naked between them. “She’s lovely,” he said to Tom. For some reason his addressing Tom instead of her made her relax a little. She could almost pretend she wasn’t really there, or at least not accountable. She felt cool fingers tracing a line down her back, hands moving downward to stroke and cup her ass cheeks. Tom pulled back and put his finger beneath her chin, gently lifting her face toward his. She closed her eyes as he leaned down for a long, lingering kiss. She could feel his heart pounding against hers as Mark continued to fondle her ass, fingers slipping down between her legs. She felt his hand on her shoulder, pulling her from her side to her back. Tom let her go. “Hey,” Mark said softly. “Open your eyes.” Her heart fluttering, Olivia obeyed. Mark dropped his hand to her breast, rolling her nipple between finger and thumb. Olivia drew in a sharp breath as pleasure hurtled through her. Tom slid his hand down her body, stopping to cup her mons. Olivia shivered as his sure fingers slipped between her legs, entering her wetness and then drawing up over her clit. Mark lowered his head to kiss her and she closed her eyes, her senses nearly overloading from Tom’s fingers and Mark’s lips and tongue. Mark cupped her head as he kissed her, wrapping his fingers in her damp hair. She felt her thighs being parted by insistent hands. A moment later Tom’s warm, velvet tongue flicked over her delicate parts. His touch was electric, sending shock waves through her body. Mark continued to hold her head still, kissing her as she moaned against him, incoherent with pleasure. At last he let her go, only to lower his head to her throbbing nipples, which he bit and suckled in tandem with Tom’s loving attention between her legs. “Oh, oh, oh, oh…” she began to chant, her voice ragged. Her hips arched up of their own accord as she began an uncontrollable ascent into ecstasy. She sagged into the bed, yet still Tom’s insistent tongue twirled over and around her clit. Tom, who knew her so well, surely was aware she needed him to stop. Once she orgasmed, Olivia tended to become oversensitive to touch, pleasure twisting into sensory overload. Yet he didn’t stop, for whatever reason not reading or ignoring her cues.

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Breathlessly she cried, “Stop. Tom…oh Tom…” It was so hard to force her mouth to form the words, but she tried again. Relentlessly he lapped against her swollen sex. “Please, you’ve got to stop…” She pushed hard at Mark’s head still at her breasts so she could get at Tom to push him away. Mark, instead of moving out of the way, gripped her wrists in his strong hands, pulling her arms up over her head. “No,” she moaned. “You don’t understand. He has to stop…too much…” “Hush,” Mark murmured in her ear, still holding her fast. “He knows what he’s doing. Give in to it. Give yourself over to the sensations. Take what he gives you.” As Tom continued to lick and suckle Olivia’s over-sensitized sex, she lost the capacity for speech, lapsing into deep guttural moans wrenched from the depths of her being. She could feel Mark’s strong fingers tight around her wrists. She could feel every flick and probe of Tom’s relentless tongue. Just when she thought she would pass out, something strange began to happen. Her overwrought nerve endings seemed suddenly to regenerate. The edgy, almost painful touch of his tongue shifted, melting into a pleasure so exquisite as to be almost unbearable. Olivia realized in that moment, or would have if she’d been capable of conscious thought, she’d never really orgasmed before. Every other spasm, every jerk toward release, no matter lovely and intense she’d thought it was, was nothing compared to the earthquake of sensation now roiling deep in her belly. She felt herself lifted by its power, her body caught in the thrall of this new experience. Dimly she heard the sound of a woman crying out, a plaintive high wail she realized must be her own voice. When at last Tom let her go, her body continued to twitch and shudder against the bed, completely out of her control. Tom pulled himself up over her, the weight of his body calming hers. Mark released her wrists but she hadn’t the strength to move her arms—they lay limp on the pillows over her head. She stilled at last beneath her lover, drifting in a warm, sensual cocoon of satiation. “Breathe, baby,” Tom whispered. “Breathe for me.” Dutifully she tried to fill her lungs but lacked the strength even to draw breath. “You okay, Livvy?” Tom stroked her cheek. “Open your eyes.” It took every ounce of strength she had left to partially open one eye. Tom’s face hovered close over hers, his expression concerned. “She’s okay, Tom,” Mark said softly beside him. “Just give her a moment. Let her come back to earth.” Tom slid off Olivia, falling to her left side. Mark lay on her right. She could feel the warmth of their bodies spread out alongside hers. Mark was right. She was okay. She was better than okay. She wanted to tell them so—she wanted to laugh and shout with joy, but her spent body wouldn’t comply. So this was what they meant when they talked about multiple orgasms. Until tonight Olivia had always been a “one per customer” woman. Tom could always make 37

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her come with his mouth or his cock inside her, but she had always pushed him away, thinking herself satisfied, the deed done. Tonight, with Mark as their witness, she’d come harder and longer than she knew was possible. She’d been plunged into a purgatory of sensory overload, only to be lifted on wings of pleasure into a heaven of orgasmic delight. Was it a one-time fluke? she wondered. Or could this incredible state of affairs be repeated? She would have to find out! As soon as she could focus, as soon as she could find the strength to move…to speak…to tell them…

***** “Should we wake her?” Mark watched the sleeping girl, taking in the slow rise and fall her chest, which was, along with her throat and cheeks, still mottled pink from her orgasms. Tom smiled down at her and then grinned at Mark. “I’m sorry. The sun, the champagne and brandy, the orgasms…” “No need to apologize,” Mark laughed. “I always consider it a job well done when a woman passes out in my bed. Though in this case, the credit goes to you.” They were speaking softly, leaning over Olivia, who was smiling slightly in her sleep. Long tendrils of her hair fell over her cheek. Gently Tom tucked the hair behind her ear, looking down at her with obvious affection and pride. “I love that look she gets. As if she’s drunk with pleasure, completely satisfied. I have to admit, I’ve never knocked her out before. Must be your influence.” To that point Mark had deliberately kept the focus on Olivia, certain that would be easier for his potential lovers to handle at first. Yet now she was asleep, and Tom, his thickly muscled chest and arms bare, his cock still at half-mast, looked good enough to eat. “You deserve a reward. Why don’t you lie down? I’m known for my massage technique. I’ll give you a sample, if you like, while we wait for Queen Guinevere to return to us from her dreams.” Mark kept his tone light, his delivery casual. He waited, raking Tom’s sexy body with his eyes. “All right,” Tom said slowly, as if not quite sure what he was agreeing to. He lay down on his stomach, cradling his head in his arms. Mark walked around the bed to his side and sat next to him. Tom tensed beneath his fingers, the muscles in his shoulders bunched in nervous anticipation. Carefully Mark massaged the muscle, digging deeper as he felt Tom relax beneath his touch. He moved down Tom’s back, kneading and stroking the tension from his body. When Tom sighed into the pillows with contentment, Mark smiled to himself. His hands still on Tom’s back, he lifted himself over Tom’s body, straddling his lower back. He felt Tom tense and leaned down, murmuring. “It’s all right. This is at your pace, Tom, not mine. I can give you a better massage from this position. Relax.” He focused 38

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again on Tom’s shoulders, ignoring the erection straddling Tom’s body had produced. Time enough for his own pleasure later. The night was young. Olivia stirred beside them, opening her eyes. “Oh!” she gasped, half sitting as she stared at the men. Tom tried to rise beneath Mark, but Mark pressed him down. “I’m giving Tom a massage,” he said, turning to Olivia. “Would you like to help me?” “I can’t believe I fell asleep!” she said, sitting up completely and lifting her arms in a languorous stretch, apparently no longer shy about her nudity. “Passed out cold,” he laughed. “A testament to your lover’s skill.” Tom twisted beneath him, lifting himself on his elbows. Mark rolled off him. He was pleased when Olivia said, “Let us massage you, Tom. You know you love to be massaged.” Tom looked slightly embarrassed. He wasn’t, Mark was certain, used to being the center of this sort of attention, especially not with a man thrown into the mix. Olivia scooted across the large bed toward Tom. “Come on,” she said softly, her voice encouraging. “Your turn, sweetheart.” She pressed her hand against his shoulder, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Tom fell back against the pillows, his face still toward Olivia and away from Mark. Olivia began to massage his back, moving in sweeping motions from his ass toward his shoulders. Mark focused on his legs, beginning with his feet and moving upward along his strong calves and thighs. They worked quietly a while, pressing and kneading Tom’s supple flesh as he relaxed beneath their hands. Mark caught Olivia’s eye as he slipped his hand under Tom’s hip. She understood and put her hands beneath his side. Together they gently rolled him to his back. Tom started to reach for the sheets but Mark moved them out of his reach. “Your pace,” he murmured, lightly stroking Tom’s thigh. He watched Olivia, her slim hands moving over Tom’s powerful chest, her long hair brushing him as she leaned forward. He began to massage Tom’s thighs, moving slowly closer to his groin. “Baby,” Tom murmured as Olivia’s right hand moved down his belly toward his cock. Mark’s shaft rose hard as he watched her pretty fingers wrap around Tom’s rapidly rising cock. Gripping his own cock, Mark crouched between Tom’s legs. As Olivia slowly pumped Tom with her hand, Mark leaned down, inhaling the spicy, sexy scent of Tom’s body. As Olivia shifted her focus entirely to Tom’s cock, Mark closed his lips over one of Tom’s balls, sucking it into his mouth. Following his lead, Olivia lowered her head over Tom’s shaft, taking it deep into her throat. Tom moaned, his hands reaching down touch Olivia’s head as she suckled him. Mark licked and sucked at his plump balls, his hand still on his own shaft. Olivia pulled back a moment, perhaps to catch her breath. Seizing his opportunity, Mark gently pushed her back, leaning forward over Tom’s groin. Mark took Tom’s length slowly into his mouth, not stopping until its tip lodged deep in his throat. He cradled Tom’s balls in one hand as he slid his lips slowly up Tom’s rigid shaft. 39

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Tom groaned, lifting his head slightly and opening his eyes. “Hey, what…?” he said, his voice part question, part protest, part lust. Mark let his cock go long enough to say, “You want this.” Tom took a breath, like a swimmer before a deep dive. With the barest of nods he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the pillows. “Kiss him,” Mark ordered Olivia, who was sitting still as a statue watching the men, her eyes wide as plates. He managed to lock her into his gaze as he willed her to obey. As if coming out of a trance, Olivia nodded. She draped herself over Tom, who brought his arms around her. Satisfied, Mark turned his attentions back to Tom’s cock. It turned him on to know he was the first man ever to touch Tom so intimately. He brought all his skill to bear, drawing out Tom’s pleasure in a slow, erotic tease. Each time he felt Tom’s body tense in near-release he let his shaft fall from his mouth and hands, leaving Tom thrusting toward him in frustration. Slowly he’d begin again with featherlight kisses and whispers of tongue licking over and around Tom’s rock-hard cock. He ratcheted the pleasure, finally taking Tom again deep in his throat as he caught the base of his shaft in his grip. Glancing up, Mark saw Olivia had rolled away from Tom and was kneeling up beside them, watching intently, her breathing ragged, her hands clenched in fists just below her breasts. Her lips were parted, her eyes shining in the half-light of the room, her nipples hard as gumdrops. Locking eyes with her, Mark gripped Tom’s balls, eliciting a grunt that might have indicated pleasure or pain. Slowly he lowered his mouth over the head of Tom’s cock, using his other hand to pump the shaft from its base. No longer gentle or teasing, he jerked hard against Tom’s granite-hard erection. Tom was panting, his eyes tightly closed, his hands clenched at his sides. Olivia put her hand on his chest, her other slipping between her legs. Mark’s cock ached as he watched her lightly touch her pouting sex. Tom moaned and Mark reapplied himself to his cock, taking it as far as he could. He released Tom’s balls, sliding a finger down toward the puckered entrance. Tom jerked at his touch, but at the same time began to spurt hot, steady ribbons of ejaculate down Mark’s throat. Mark easily took it all, holding Tom’s cock in his mouth, gently suckling it until it softened. He sat back on his haunches, wiping his face with the back of his hand. Tom lay limp on the bed, his chest heaving, one arm thrown over his face. Olivia stroked his chest, her other hand now resting on her knee. Mark smiled at her and she shyly returned the gesture. His own cock still throbbed with unrequited need. Reaching down, he gripped it lightly, his eyes still on Olivia’s face. She followed his movement, her cheeks coloring, her lips parting. She glanced at Tom, who remained still with eyes closed. Silently he willed her to look at him again. She did, her pupils so dilated only a thin ring of green surrounded them. God, he wanted her! Drawn by his hand on his cock, Olivia crawled forward on the bed, her lush breasts swaying gently as she moved toward him.

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Mark closed his eyes, sighing with pleasure as her small mouth closed over his shaft. She was kneeling on her hands and knees, her eyes open as she took him in to the hilt. He loved watching his cock appear and disappear between her red lips. Tom stirred beside them and sat up, watching the pair with a burning intensity. Mark met his look as he stroked the woman kneeling before him. Tom scrambled up, positioning himself behind his lover, grasping her hips as he pressed his body against hers. Olivia began to pull back from Mark, but he held her head, forcing her to continue paying homage to his manhood. Tom slipped his hand between Olivia’s legs, drawing a moan from her as he readied her for his cock, which, despite his recent orgasm, was again erect. When she began to twitch and swivel against his hand, he withdrew it, replacing it with his cock. As he entered her, Olivia sucked hard against Mark’s shaft, drawing a moan in turn from him. Each thrust of Tom’s cock inside her forced Mark’s erection deeper into her throat. He held her fast, only letting her pull back enough to catch her breath every so often. Tom’s head was thrown back, the tendons on his reddening neck distended, sweat visible on his brow. “Oh god!” he cried out, as he thrust hard against Olivia, still tightly gripping her hips to hold her steady. Olivia shuddered hard, her body spasming against Tom’s as she yelped and gasped, her mouth still wrapped around Mark’s cock. Watching the pair orgasm together sent Mark over the edge as well and he released his seed, holding Olivia’s head until he was certain she’d swallowed every drop. He let her go at the same time Tom did. The girl fell to the bed and Tom fell beside her. They curled into one another, wrapping their arms and legs together. Mark lay behind Olivia, pressing his spent cock against her ass. He brought his arm over her, lightly stroking Tom’s back with his fingers. The three lay quietly together a while. Mark nestled his face against Olivia’s neck, breathing in her feminine scent as he closed his eyes. He found himself wondering what might have been, if instead of obsessing over Lawrence all those years ago, he had focused his attentions on Olivia. His heart slowed along with his breathing. He kept expecting one or the other of the pair to sit up, to want to shift positions, to want to talk, but neither of them moved. He realized eventually they’d both fallen asleep. With a small sigh he gently disengaged himself and stood. Moving to his bureau, he pulled on a pair of black silk pajama pants and walked over to the bedroom window. Stars gemmed the black sky outside, their reflections sparkling in the river below. He glanced back at the sleeping pair. Olivia’s long tawny lashes shadowed her cheek. Tom’s face was turned toward hers, his lips lighted parted. Mark felt a pang of loneliness as he watched them. He missed being part of a couple. He missed Lisette.

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Chapter Five “Snowball is grossly overweight, Mrs. Loeb. You’re setting the stage for feline diabetes.” Tom stroked the fur of the huge calico cat attempting to hawk up a hairball on the exam table. The cat’s small birdlike owner hovered anxiously beside Tom as he explained the diet regime necessary for safe weight loss in a cat. The day had been jampacked with patients since he’d arrived at the clinic that Monday morning at eight o’clock. He glanced at his watch, realizing he’d missed lunch. Just as he finished with Snowball, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Before he told his assistant to send in the next patient, he pulled out the phone, saw it was Olivia and flipped it open. “Hey, Livvy. Good timing.” “Tom, I miss you.” “I miss you too. How’s your day going?” “It’s okay. I have to go into a boring meeting in a minute, but I wanted to touch base. Mark called me. He wants to know if we’d like to get together Friday night. There’s a club he wants to take us to, it’s called Elysium. It’s one of those trendy, impossible-to-get-into-unless-you-know-someone type places. I told him I’d check with you.” Tom tried to read Olivia’s interest in her voice, which was, he thought, carefully neutral. Was she eager to see Mark again? Eager to climb into bed with him? And what of Tom himself? Did he want a repeat of Saturday night? Did an invitation to a club include an obligatory post-session of wild sex? Taking his usual direct approach, Tom said, “It’s up to you. Would you like to go to this club? Do you want to see Mark again?” They’d said their goodbyes to Mark on Sunday morning after a quick breakfast. Tom had expected it to be awkward the “morning after”, but Mark seemed cheerful and relaxed, as if they’d only been casual houseguests in his home, rather than lovers in his bed. Olivia had pressed close to Tom in the booth of the small diner where they ate, gripping his hand or touching his leg throughout the meal. Mark had to go into his office, he explained, to meet a deadline for a story he was working on. Tom was glad for the easy exit as he needed time to process what they’d experienced. Once back at Olivia’s apartment, they showered together and climbed into bed. “So we did it,” Olivia said, tilting her head at him with a grin. “We had our first ménage à trois!” “Our first, eh?” Tom retorted. “Meaning the first of many?” As he said this, he realized he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about such a prospect. The image of his lover

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with Mark’s cock down her throat was at once erotic and disquieting. Tom wasn’t in the habit of comparing himself to other men, but he couldn’t help the niggling thought that wormed its way into his consciousness—what if Olivia preferred Mark to him? What if Mark was the better lover, the better man? “I don’t know,” Olivia answered. “It was hot though, right? There’s something about him, something about Mark. I don’t know how to describe it exactly. He knows how to take control. How to almost, not force exactly, but bend us to his will. Did you feel that too, Tom?” You want this… Mark’s words floated back to him. Though he’d been nervous and uncertain about letting Mark touch his cock, when Mark had quietly but authoritatively informed him of his desires, he knew they were true. Mark understood him, perhaps better than he understood himself. “Now that you put it into words, yes. I never thought I’d let another guy suck my cock, but something about the way he just took over—it barely occurred to me to protest.” Olivia laughed, playfully punching his shoulder. “No, I wouldn’t say you put up much of a fight.” Tom felt his face color. His cock stiffened with the memory of Mark’s mouth on it, taking him deep, pumping him harder than Olivia or indeed any other woman ever had. He’d teased him at first, offering and then withholding until Tom was reduced to pure lust. Then he’d used him roughly, gripping his balls almost too tight as he massaged his shaft with his mouth and throat muscles until Tom exploded in a mind-numbing orgasm. How did it feel to know a man had given him such pleasure? He realized he wasn’t quite sure. Olivia, following the pattern of her own thoughts, said, “I wonder what Mark thought about it all. About us. He’s probably done this sort of thing a hundred times before. I wonder how we rated.” Tom pulled Olivia closer in his arms. He’d watched her blossom over the year they’d been together, growing in confidence and self-esteem as she achieved success at work and became secure in his devotion and love. Though she rarely spoke of it anymore, he knew her issues with weight in the past still colored some of her feelings of self-worth. He tried to imagine Olivia as a chubby, miserable teenager but failed utterly, seeing only the slender, elegant beauty she had become. “You rated one hundred fifty percent,” he said, kissing her bare shoulder. “You were incredibly sexy. Mark is probably kicking himself for letting you get away all those years ago.” “Don’t be silly,” Olivia protested, but she was clearly pleased. “I don’t think Mark’s capable of really getting involved with anyone. Look at how he was this morning. It was almost as if the night had never happened.” “To be fair, we didn’t say anything either. It’s sort of awkward when you think about it. Maybe he was giving us a break since we’re the newbies in all this. Maybe there’s a certain protocol to be followed the morning after the first ménage. Maybe we can find the handbook on the Internet.”

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“Or ask him for his copy,” Olivia laughed. She began to kiss Tom’s chest, light kisses with her soft lips as she moved down toward his stomach and lower still. Tom sighed his approval as her hot mouth slid over his rapidly growing cock. After several moments she lifted her head, her eyes glittering. “The best part of the night had little to do with Mark, you know. At least for me.” “Yeah? What was that?” Tom said, though he knew. “That thing you did,” she said, her voice suddenly almost shy. “You know, with your tongue. How did you do that? What made you do it?” “I don’t know. I think it’s because he was there. He was watching. I found I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep giving you pleasure, to see how far I could take you. When he told you to give in to it, to take what I gave you, that was really hot. I guess I liked…” he paused, trying to think how to phrase what he wanted to say. “I liked that he was a witness. That he could see how amazing you are, how responsive and sexy. I wanted to show him, I guess, that my lover is the best.” “It wasn’t me—it was you. You took me farther than I’ve even been. I thought I was going to be sick at first. I mean, it was too much. But then suddenly it wasn’t. It was like opium and me a drug addict. I had to have it. I would have died, that’s what it felt like, I would have literally died if you’d stopped. But you didn’t. You kept going—you took me somewhere I’ve never been. You were amazing.” “Not me, sweetheart. Us.” As Tom said this he realized he didn’t know if he meant Olivia and him, or the dynamic of the three of them. Olivia seemed to have the same thought. “Do you think it’s because he was there? A witness, as you said?” “I don’t know. Want to find out?” Tom reached down, pulling Olivia up into his arms. Gently he pushed her to her back and positioned himself between her lovely legs, dipping his head to taste her spicy sweetness… Olivia on the other end of the cell phone pulled him back to the present. “I think it would be fun. Gives me an excuse to buy something new to wear.” “Like you need an excuse,” Tom teased. “Tell him yes then. From both of us.” Ignoring the erection thankfully hidden beneath his lab coat, Tom pushed the buzzer to indicate he was ready for the next patient.

***** Olivia was wearing black pants and a chiffon sleeveless top of shimmering gold that matched her shoes and tiny pocketbook perfectly. She looked around the club, mentally comparing her outfit with those of the women near her and decided she would do. Tom was wearing faded jeans that hugged his strong, sexy ass and legs and a white linen shirt. Mark was dressed all in black, from his leather boots to black denim pants and a long-sleeved cashmere T-shirt that fit snugly against his broad shoulders and bulging biceps.

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The club, a converted warehouse located in the Back Bay area of Boston, had an expansive interior and a plush, Asian-themed décor. The music was a mix of Euro, urban and reggae, spun by a DJ on a raised dais overlooking the large dance floor. The club pulsed, the deep bass vibrating through the floor. The dance area was crowded with the young and the beautiful gyrating to the beat. Private rooms flanked the large bar area, which contained two long bars behind which busy bartenders worked, opening out into a lounge set about with high tables outfitted with barstools. Mark had bypassed the long line at the door of the club, whispering something to the doorman, who nodded and gestured for Mark and his friends to enter. They stood at the entrance a moment, taking it all in. “This is the main club,” Mark said. “There’s another club underground. I doubt you two would want to go there though. Private invitation only.” “Which presumably you have,” Tom said, with an admiring grin. “But of course,” Mark said with a wry smile. They made their way to the bar, ordered their drinks and maneuvered to a vacant table littered with lipstick-stained glasses and crumpled napkins. In a moment a waitress appeared to clear the table and beamed at Mark. “Marlena darling,” he said, standing to kiss her cheek. “Bring us the kabob platter, won’t you?” “Anything for you, sugar,” she drawled. He leaned close to her, murmuring something as he handed her his credit card. She nodded, winked and hurried away. The loud music made it difficult to carry on much of a conversation. Mark and Tom shouted to each other about something sports-related while Olivia watched the people around her and sipped her drink. It was, it seemed to her, the usual crowd of hip people and wannabes, imitating celebrities who made clubbing a career. The waitress returned with a platter containing an assortment of kabobs arrayed in a circle, including grilled shrimp, tandoori chicken, chili lime salmon, chipotle steak and spicy sausage. She placed small plates in front of each of them. Next to Mark’s plate she set his credit card as well as a large key with the number four painted on it in gold. Mark pocketed the card and key without comment. Tom, who had immediately focused on the food, hadn’t seemed to notice. Mark, perhaps feeling Olivia’s eyes on him, looked up at her with a smile but offered no explanation. “This looks great,” Tom said, placing several kabobs onto his plate. The door to one of the VIP rooms opened and a young woman dressed, or more accurately, barely dressed, in a black leather vest and very short miniskirt stepped out. Her large breasts were almost completely exposed, the zipper of the vest pulled twothirds of the way down. She wore black stiletto high heels and a thick black collar around her throat with a silver hoop at its center. On her wrists were matching cuffs, clips dangling from them. Her long hair was dark black and very straight, her lips painted a garish red.

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“Tom, look over there!” Olivia grabbed his arm and pointed with her chin toward the woman. “What’s that about?” Mark and Tom followed Olivia’s gaze, Tom’s eyes widening, Mark’s registering a glint of amusement. “She must be from the Cellar. That’s the club I mentioned earlier. She’s one of the hardcore players from the looks of her. They don’t usually come up here.” “Looks like some kind of Dominatrix. All she lacks is the whip,” Tom said with a nervous laugh. Olivia wasn’t sure if it was just a trick of the diffused light in the room, but Tom’s eyes seemed bright, almost feverish. “Indeed,” Mark said, raising his eyebrows. “Though from the collar around her neck and those cuffs on her wrists, I’d venture to say she’s a sub, not a Domme.” Olivia felt a strange wave of something—part fear, part desire?—rush through her. For a moment she imagined herself in that getup, but quickly pushed the image away. “What are you talking about? Is there some kind of illegal S&M slave ring going on down there, or is she just part of an early Halloween contest?” “It’s not illegal,” Mark said with a slow smile. “Completely consensual. Of course she’s not a real slave. It’s a game. You know—dominance and submission. Bondage and discipline. Lots of people are into that lifestyle. There’s a certain appeal, don’t you think, to the idea of submitting sexually to another person? The trust involved, the relinquishing of control? There’s an intensity to the experience you don’t get with plain vanilla. Some people find it very freeing.” “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Tom said. “Does it?” Mark said lightly. The music, which had quieted for an interval, was again turned up full volume, making it impossible to continue their conversation without shouting. They made quick work of the delicious appetizer, with Tom eating the lion’s share. The waitress brought them fresh drinks. The woman in leather had retreated back from wherever she’d come, but she remained very much on Olivia’s mind. The words Mark had used slid through her brain—dominance, submission, bondage, discipline… She thought about their time with him—how in control he had been, how assertive, even masterful. It was definitely part of his magnetism—the way he seemed to command them, to take control. She glanced at him, flushing as she realized he was staring at her, his eyes narrowed as if he were listening in to her private thoughts. She hugged herself, keenly aware her nipples were poking prominently toward him in an invitation she couldn’t hide. The dance number ended and the music dropped several decibels, but it was still too loud for normal conversation. “Tell us about this cellar thing,” Tom said. “Why don’t we go into a private room?” Mark suggested. “We can talk better there.” He stood, taking the key from his pocket. Their drinks in hand, they followed him to one of the doors along the far side of the bar. Olivia noted the number four stenciled in gold just above the doorknob.

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Inside was a comfortably furnished room, much like a hotel room, except there was no bed. Mark shut the door behind them and though they could still hear the music, it was considerably muffled. Tom and Olivia sat together on the long, low couch. Mark sat across from them in a deep leather chair. “This is where the celebrities must come to get out of the fray,” Tom said, looking around the well-appointed room. “And anyone wishing for a bit of privacy,” Mark said. “No one will disturb us for the next hour, unless we want them to.” He pointed to a buzzer embedded in the table beside his chair. “Room service,” he grinned. Tom took a long drink from his bottle of beer and said, “So tell us about that woman we saw. And the basement club.” “You’re very curious, aren’t you?” Mark said with a sly grin. Tom looked slightly embarrassed but admitted, “I’ve always kind of wondered about that stuff. You know, whips and chains and sensual bondage.” Olivia raised her eyebrows at him in surprise. “What?” he said defensively. “It’s not like it’s illegal. I think it has the potential of being very erotic. That whole trust thing, you know…” he wavered and was silent. Mark leaned forward, hitting one knee with a fist for emphasis. “Yes, Tom. That’s it exactly. It’s about trust. D/s is most certainly not for everyone. It takes courage to submit to someone, and conversely it takes a certain strength to accept the offer of submission without abusing it.” Despite herself, Olivia shivered. Something was happening between Mark and Tom she didn’t quite understand. She touched Tom’s leg and he placed his hand over hers but continued to look at Mark, who was regarding him with dark, watching eyes. “Tom?” she said softly, leaning into him. Tom let out a breath and looked toward Olivia, as if just released from a spell. He smiled at her but turned back to Mark. “So, you were going to tell us about this club. Are all the clientele dressed like that woman?” “No, not all. Most of the people down there are just casual observers, voyeurs if you will. The Cellar is a BDSM play club. There’s no sex allowed because that’s illegal in a public club, but some of the stuff going on sure looks a lot like sex. There’s some pretty fancy bondage and torture equipment down there, but mostly it’s just for show. They have pretend slave auctions and stuff like that. Like I said, it’s really a game, at least what goes on down there is.” “You mentioned you had a private invitation…” Tom voice was exaggeratedly casual. He crossed his legs but not before Olivia saw the rising erection in his jeans. “I do. I’m friends with the man who owns it. They rent the space from the Elysium management. There’s a separate entrance in the alley for the Cellar—an unmarked door that’s kept locked. You have to have an access code that’s only good the night of your invitation. They try to build up the mystique that way, the exclusivity. I guess it works

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because the place is always packed, especially during slave auctions. Then it’s standing room only.” “Sounds like you go there a lot,” Olivia said. “One of the regulars?” Mark smiled. “Elliot Gold, that’s the owner, has given me carte blanche as long as there’s room. We were, uh, close for a while. We’ve remained friends. I’ve been there enough to know. I wouldn’t call myself a regular. I’m not one for public display.” What about in private? The words slipped into Olivia’s head but she didn’t say them out loud, not sure herself what answer she wanted from Mark. He continued. “There’s another entrance from inside Elysium. It’s behind one of the bars. If you’re sure you want to check out the Cellar, I can go see if there’s room for us.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s still pretty early so I’m betting we won’t have a problem.” “We wouldn’t have to, uh, do anything, right?” Tom said. “You mean like strip bare-ass naked, get on your knees and take your whipping like a good boy?” Mark quipped, his grin widening as the red washed through Tom’s face. Forgetting her own vaguely submissive fantasies of a few moments before, Olivia couldn’t help but stare at her boyfriend. What was going on in his head? “Hey, I’m just teasing you,” Mark said gently. “No, you don’t have to do a thing except be respectful of whatever’s going on. Remember, whatever you might see, it’s consensual. No one’s there under duress. For most of them it’s mainly a game, but they take their games seriously.” He stood. “So what about it? Want to check it out?” Tom turned to Olivia. “You want to, Livvy? Just for fun?” She could feel the yearning in his voice despite his effort to behave casually. “Sure,” she said. She held her glass aloft, recalling what Mark had said to them over champagne and caviar on his yacht. “Here’s to new experiences.” When Mark left, she turned to Tom. “You okay?” she asked. “Sure I am, what do you mean?” “You just seem, I don’t know, really flustered by all this. Embarrassed but turnedon, I guess. Do you have fantasies I didn’t know about? Are you keeping secrets from me?” “Not secrets, no. I mean, it’s not like my sexual fantasies revolve around whips and chains. I don’t know. It just seems kind of sexy. You know, the thought of submitting to someone. Someone strong and confident. Someone like…” “Like Mark,” Olivia supplied in a whisper. “Yes,” Tom admitted, holding her gaze. She examined his face, looking at him with new eyes. She loved the shape of his mouth with its gentle, dreaming lines, but she well knew the quiet firmness, even obstinacy of purpose that lurked beneath his relaxed demeanor. Mark had said it took courage to submit. An image of Mark, naked and imperious, with Tom kneeling on his knees before him, flashed before her eyes. She felt her sex

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tighten in response, her imagination placing her next to her lover on the floor before their master… “You okay, Livvy?” Tom asked, touching her cheek. “You look flushed.” “I’m okay,” she said, swallowing the last of her gin and tonic as Mark opened the door.

***** The Cellar was dark, the walls painted a rich crimson, the ceilings low, almost claustrophobic. People stood in clusters, talking quietly. Candles were placed on high shelves all around the room, casting an eerie wavery light over the space. Tom put his arm around Olivia as they stood with Mark taking in the scene. He spotted the woman they’d seen upstairs earlier, her leather vest now entirely unzipped, her large bare breasts tipped with dark, distended nipples through which silver hoops had been threaded. Her arms were over her head, her wrists cuffed to a chain hung from the ceiling. A man stood next to her, striking her breasts with a riding crop. Each stroke made a smacking sound as leather met flesh. “Oh my god,” Olivia said softly, her voice a mixture of awe, horror and…desire? Tom tightened his grip around her shoulder. Despite what they were watching, or, if he were honest, because of it, Tom felt his cock stirring hard against his fly. He resisted the impulse to reach his hand into his jeans to straighten it as it expanded. “It’s cool, don’t worry,” Mark said in an easy voice. He was standing on Olivia’s other side. “He’s barely tapping her really. It’s all for show.” After a moment he added, “Let’s freshen our drinks and find a table. Elliot said there’s going to be a demonstration in about fifteen minutes.” “A demonstration?” Tom asked, tearing his eyes from the scene before him. Pointing toward a stage along one wall, Mark elaborated. “The usual. A flogging. Proper technique. What kind of flogger to use—that sort of thing. It’s Elliot’s effort to give his club some kind of respectability.” Mark laughed. “Instead of just admitting it’s a fetish hangout.” Tom looked around the room, fascinated by the chains dangling from the ceiling with cuffs waiting to be filled, by the whipping posts and stocks, by the floggers and crops hung over the bar, and most especially by the people, several of whom, like the woman with the pierced nipples, were engaged in public scenes of BDSM play. Of course he had known such clubs existed, but it never occurred to him to seek one out. He couldn’t imagine ever letting someone do that to him in public. What was he thinking? Not in private either! He shifted on his chair, glad for the cover of darkness in the room. He couldn’t deny it—he was seriously turned-on by the scene, even though he knew most of it was playacting and theatrics. It wasn’t that he wanted to be whipped or bound with rope

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and chains. Those sorts of fantasies had occasionally passed through his mind but had never dictated his desire. They were merely passing fantasies, like making love in public or having sex with a man… He glanced at Olivia and then at Mark. He’d had sex with a man, hadn’t he? Of course, having Olivia there changed the dynamic, didn’t it? It didn’t mean he was gay! A thin man being led by a chain wrapped tightly around his balls passed so close by their table Tom could smell his cologne. His mind rejected the scenario, but his cock hardened. This was all so strange…it hardly seemed real. “Tom,” Mark said gently, inclining his head close. “Whatever’s going on in your head right now, please take it easy. It’s not a big deal. I realize it must be strange, even a little scary to recognize something of yourself where you never thought to look before. Just enjoy the evening for what it is—a voyeuristic peek into a different world. We can leave any time you want. That goes for you too of course,” he added, looking toward Olivia. Tom forced his expression into something he hoped was neutral. He hadn’t realized his reactions were so transparent, though upon reflection, he should have. He knew his emotions showed on his face. With a smile he said, “I don’t want to leave. I’m okay really. It’s just a lot to take in.” He looked to Olivia, curious how she was handling all this. She was nibbling nervously at her lower lip, her eyes over-bright. Her nipples protruded beneath the silk of her shirt. He resisted a sudden impulse to lean over and bite them. It was obvious she was turned-on too. She looked toward him and then to Mark. “I can’t believe this stuff goes on! It’s like a freak show.” Mark’s glance was sharp but his voice was soft as he said, “Is that how you see it, Olivia? Is it really? Something tells me the lady doth protest too much.” As Olivia colored, he continued. “Look over there. Look at that woman standing perfectly still while that man uses the cane. That’s not pretend—that’s real. Look at the welts he’s raising. Look at the grace she’s exhibiting, not even moving when he strikes her. You can bet that hurts—it hurts like hell.” Olivia’s eyes were wide, her hand to her mouth. “Why does she let him do it?” she breathed. “Because it pleases him,” Mark said. Tom noted the color creeping over Olivia’s cheeks and throat. He put his hand on her thigh and gave it a comforting squeeze, wondering if she was as wet as he was hard. “And,” Mark added, “because it pleases her. It’s what she needs. Not the pain per se, but the intensity of experience it affords her, as well as the deep connection forged between the two of them.” Tom didn’t really understand what Mark was saying, but the words resonated with something deep and secret within him. Olivia was staring at the couple, involuntarily flinching each time the man’s cane marked the woman’s shapely bare ass. The man struck a final savage blow and the woman responded at last with a cry, stumbling forward.

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“Tom,” Olivia gasped. “I need to go. I need some air. I have to get out of here.”

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Chapter Six “No, you don’t get it. There’s something wrong with me.” “Shh, there’s nothing wrong with you.” Tom tried to take Olivia in his arms but she pulled away, frustrated. How could she explain she wasn’t upset because the woman getting caned had been hurt, but because of her own reaction to it. Even as her mind had processed what she was seeing and had been horrified, her panties had been soaked as she took in the red, raised welts on the woman’s pale skin and heard her cries of pain. They left the Cellar quickly, both men looking worried as Mark ushered them through the outside exit and up the crumbling concrete stairs into the cooling night air. Olivia tried to brush aside their concern over her odd reaction in the club. “I’m sorry I cut things short. I—I just got a little dizzy. It was hot in there. Not enough oxygen.” Summer was ending, the barest hint of autumn whispering in the gentle breeze. Olivia took a deep breath of the fresh air. “You’ve had a long week,” Tom said kindly, putting his arm protectively around her. She leaned into him gratefully, relieved he wasn’t going to pressure her. She felt guilty for pulling them out of the club prematurely. “Please, Olivia, think nothing of it,” Mark said graciously. “We can go back any time. It’s always the same scene down there. In fact, if you ever want to go there without me, just ask for Elliot. Tell him Mark Hunter sent you and you’ll be in.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Let’s go back to my place instead. We can relax in the hot tub—unwind a bit. How about it?” Olivia knew if they went to Mark’s house they’d end up falling into bed with him. A part of her wanted to, and she sensed Tom wanted to as well, but she was too confused about her reactions in the club. She felt raw somehow, too vulnerable to play the sex kitten in a ménage just then. “I hope you won’t hate us if I say no,” Olivia said. “I’m just really tired all of a sudden.” Tom’s arm tightened around her. She knew she was letting him down too. Mark’s eyes clouded for a second as a scowl whispered across his features, but the moment passed so quickly Olivia decided she must have imagined it. He bestowed a gracious smile on her and bowed slightly in his theatrical manner. “Not at all, fair queen. You get your rest. There’s always tomorrow. We could meet for brunch at La Maison, if the two of you are so inclined.” Tom said, “How about we’ll give you a call in the morning. We’ll see how everyone’s feeling.”

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They went their separate ways, the couple taking the trolley to Tom’s apartment, which was closer than Olivia’s. Olivia was grateful Tom hadn’t pressed her to talk on the ride home. He’d waited until they were in his place, curled in his bed in the soothing dark before gently asking what was going on. After reassuring her there was nothing wrong with her, he went on. “That was some intense stuff we saw. It was bizarre watching her be caned. I mean, that wasn’t playacting. Those were real welts he was raising. It’s only natural you were upset by it. I’m sure Mark understood when you wanted to leave. It was probably a mistake to go down there. That’s my fault and I apologize.” “No, no. You don’t get it, Tom. I wasn’t upset. That’s why I’m upset now.” “I’m not following.” If she couldn’t confide in Tom, who could she tell? Olivia took a deep breath. “Okay. Here’s the thing. I wasn’t upset by her beating. I was turned-on by it. Do you hear me? It aroused me. I’m sick. There’s something wrong with me. You can’t deny it.” She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. When he began to chuckle softly she lifted onto her elbow, staring at him in the dim light from the neon sign outside his bedroom window. “What’s so funny?” she demanded. “You are, sweetheart,” Tom said, reaching for her. This time she let him fold her into his arms. “Weren’t you listening when Mark was talking about the whole thing? He said she wasn’t necessarily into the pain, remember? She was into the intensity of the experience—the heightened connection between her lover and herself when they engaged in that sort of play. The implicit trust between them, that he wouldn’t go too far. Except for that last stroke, it was like watching some kind of erotic ritualized dance. She was there because she wanted to be there. It turned me on too, if you want to know.” He kissed her hair and continued quietly, “Let’s talk about what’s really going on. We’ve both felt Mark’s magnetism, the appeal of his dominant personality. We’re both drawn to it. I don’t think it’s a coincidence Mark took us to that club, do you? Or that he just happened to mention the Cellar, and just happened to take us down there. I think he’s purposely feeling us out—gauging our reaction to that kind of scene. I think he has an ulterior motive.” “What, to make us his sex slaves?” Olivia gave a nervous laugh, hoping Tom understood she was joking. “No, I don’t think it’s anything so obvious,” Tom said seriously. “But I do think he has experience in that kind of scene, more than he lets on. I’m not exactly sure where we fit in, but I’m very curious to find out.” Mark’s sexy dark image sidled into Olivia’s mind—dressed all in black like just about everyone else in the basement club, comfortably familiar with what went on down there, despite his protestations he wasn’t a “regular”. Had he ever whipped a naked girl while others watched? She recalled his assertion that he wasn’t into public scenes and her unspoken thought at the time, wondering if he was into it privately. “Do

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you think he’s into that stuff? I mean, more than just watching people at a play club. Do you think he has,” she swallowed, lowering her voice to a whisper, “caned someone?” “I honestly don’t know. Let’s have breakfast with him tomorrow and ask.”

***** The food was sumptuous, complemented by the freshly squeezed orange juice and champagne. They made small talk over the meal, no one mentioning last night’s events or Olivia and Tom’s rather abrupt departure. “That was excellent,” Tom commented, waving his hand toward the buffet. “Really good,” Olivia affirmed. Since they’d first got together the week before, the pair had never been far from Mark’s mind. Each day something would remind him and he would recall the sensuous curve of Olivia’s breast, Tom’s strongly muscled thighs beneath his hands, the ardent press of her lips, the taste of his cock. Mark recalled Tom’s acquiescence, almost obedience, when they’d had sex. He’d been aware of Tom’s natural hesitation and fear in being with a man for the first time, and had been gratified by Tom’s acceptance once Mark had exerted his will. He’d been careful that first night, pressing their envelopes just slightly when it came to issues of sexual control. They’d each responded passionately, thrilling him with the potential of two submissive lovers. Yet maybe he’d jumped the gun by taking them down to the Cellar so soon. Last night had been a calculated risk, one he might come to regret. When one of the Cellar regulars had appeared in the main club, he’d observed Tom’s and Olivia’s reactions. Each had been more affected by the cuffs and collar at her wrists and throat than by her sluttish attire. When he’d taken them downstairs, Tom’s face was as full of eager curiosity and wonder as a child in a magical toy store. Olivia’s response had been more complex. It was clear from her visceral reaction to the caning her interest was more than academic. She had been excited—the flushed cheeks, bright eyes and erect nipples belying her derogatory comment about it being a freak show. Certainly there was desire at play, but also a hesitation, even a fear, that had seemed to get the better of her. Though he was burning with the desire to question them frankly about their impressions of the Cellar, the topic of D/s in general and their feelings regarding him in particular, Mark decided on a less direct approach. As the waiter cleared their places and freshened their coffee, he said, “I’m glad you enjoyed the brunch. I was hoping, if you didn’t have plans, we could go back to my place. Maybe talk through what happened last night. Where we’re going from here…” He paused, forcing a casualness he didn’t feel. Tom and Olivia exchanged glances. Olivia’s nod was barely perceptible but Mark observed it with an inward smile. Clearly they’d discussed this possibility. Tom said, “We’d like that.”

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***** “I have something I want to show you.” Mark led the way upstairs toward the small study on the second floor of the brownstone. He turned to watch them when he reached the top of the stairs. Olivia looked so pretty with her long rose-gold hair catching the late morning light and those wonderful green-gold eyes as clear as water flowing in a forest stream. Tom walked just behind her, his hand protectively on the small of her back as they moved up the stairs. He’d driven the couple to his place since they had taken the trolley to the restaurant. During the short drive they avoided any serious topic, though he was certain it was on their minds as much as his. Once inside the house, he turned to Olivia, lightly tracing the line of her jaw and throat with his finger. She stood still, the breath catching in her throat, her eyes fluttering shut. He could feel her tremble beneath his hand. Tom stood beside her, watchful, mute. After a moment Mark turned his attention to Tom, locking eyes as he slowly, deliberately licked his lips. He felt his own power as Tom’s cock rose visibly in his jeans. Yes—they both wanted him, or at least what he offered. The study was the second room Mark had taken over as his own since moving into his grandmother’s house. He knew in his heart of hearts she was never going to be well enough to return home and she had already signed the deed over to him, but he wasn’t yet ready to face that fact. The sumptuous if faded and over-cluttered décor reminded him daily of her and fed the illusion she might one day reappear in the doorway, looking like a slightly plumper version of Katherine Hepburn, her hair swept up in a chignon, her watery gray eyes smiling as she called, “Mark, darling, I simply must have a cup of tea.” He’d redecorated this room to his own masculine tastes, in oak-paneled walls and toffee-brown soft leather furniture. A large desk piled with papers and files accommodated his computer, printer, telephone and other accoutrements of his trade as a journalist. He moved toward the tall, narrow cupboard in one corner, taking a key from his pocket, which he slipped into the lock. Set along glass shelves, softly backlit by tiny lights that turned on when the door was opened, were several objects Mark called his “toys”. He refused to let the image of Lisette, bound and waiting eagerly for the stroke of soft leather, to cross his consciousness, banishing it before it fully formed. Instead he focused on Tom and Olivia, inviting them forward to inspect the cupboard’s contents. It contained two pairs of thick but soft black leather cuffs held closed by silver clips, a riding crop, a heavy flogger of braided suede, blindfolds, soft rope and several handmade rattan and bamboo canes. He stepped back, allowing the contents of the cupboard to say more than any words he might employ. Olivia and Tom stood side by side as they stared at the implements of pleasure and pain. As he expected, Olivia gasped as she saw the canes, reaching out to touch the thin curving rattan of one of them. “You can pick it up if you

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want,” Mark said. Olivia lifted the cane by the black suede-covered handle. Tom was fingering the leather cuffs. To him, Mark said, “See the slits along the sides? The cuffs can be adjusted snugly against even the smallest, most delicate wrists.” He was standing just behind them. Now was the moment that would define their relationship going forward. “Olivia,” he said, his voice dropping a register as he commanded her. “Turn around and hold up your wrists. Tom’s going to put the cuffs on you.” He waited a beat. If either of them refused, he wouldn’t press the issue—they would remain more safely on vanilla ground. If Olivia protested angrily, he would know he had misread her, misread them both, and he would apologize, close the cupboard and take them back downstairs. Instead Olivia placed the cane carefully in its spot and turned slowly, her eyes wide, her lower lip caught in her teeth as she did as she was told. Tom picked up a set of cuffs and turned toward his lover. Mark noted the faint flush on his cheeks and the bulge that had grown in his jeans. He felt his own cock rising with expectation. Carefully Tom wrapped one of the cuffs around Olivia’s upheld wrist. He released the silver clip, pressed the metal ring through a slit in the leather and reattached the clip onto the ring. He did the same with the second cuff. Olivia was breathing hard, her eyes flickering from Tom to Mark. “Take off her shirt,” Mark said to Tom, waiting to see if he would continue to obey. He did. Olivia said nothing, allowing Tom to unbutton her blouse and pull it from her shoulders. She was wearing a pale pink satin bra that set off the rich tone of her summer tan. “Now her skirt,” Mark ordered. Reaching behind her, Tom unzipped the long floral-patterned skirt and let it puddle at Olivia’s feet. “Step out of your sandals,” Mark added, and Olivia obeyed, now barefoot in only bra and panties. Instinctively she covered her body with her arms. “Hands at your sides,” Mark said softly but firmly. Olivia glanced at Tom, who nodded. Slowly she dropped her arms. The two men openly admired her long, lean form. She turned her head to the side, closing her eyes. For the moment Mark permitted this, both amused and touched by her shyness. “Take off her bra,” he said to Tom. Olivia drew in a sudden breath, but other than that remained silent. Mark was well pleased. They were both obeying him beautifully— so far. Tom reached around his lover, unclasping the hooks that held her bra in place. Gently he pulled at the satin straps, freeing her round, lovely breasts. Her dark pink nipples were erect, the areolas puckered around them. “Beautiful,” Mark breathed softly. He resisted his urge to cup and fondle her breasts, to pull at the nipples and lightly slap the flesh. Now was not the time. Instead he changed the focus. “Olivia,” he said, “put the second pair of cuffs on Tom’s wrists.” Both sets of eyes swiveled toward him and then toward each other. He watched the silent exchange as they both agreed. With slightly trembling fingers, Olivia attached the cuffs around Tom’s wrists, the clips dangling from her cuffs lightly clinking against his.

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“Take off his sandals, shirt and jeans.” She obeyed, unbuttoning and pulling the shirt from Tom’s broad, smooth chest before kneeling to unbuckle and pull off his leather sandals. She knelt up, pulling the zipper with some difficulty past the sizable bulge in his jeans and then drawing the pants down his strong, sexy legs. The two of them stood before him, only in their underwear, nipples and cock hard. Mark clamped down hard on his rising desire, forcing himself to go slowly, to give them time. “Hands behind your backs,” he said, moving behind them as they obeyed. Quickly he snapped the clasps together, binding first Tom’s and then Olivia’s wrists. In fact, if they tried, they could get the clasps open themselves. The bondage was more symbolic than anything, designed to heighten the sense of vulnerability, of submission. He stepped in front of the pair, standing side by side. Giving in a little to his desires, he cupped Olivia’s breasts, one in each hand, and lightly lifted and dropped them. Taking each nipple between forefinger and thumb, he squeezed gently, and then not-so gently, watching her wince, pleased she didn’t protest. Next he moved to Tom, who was blushing fiercely but who made no protest as Mark slid his fingers over Tom’s underwear, stroking the long, thick cock with one hand while he cupped his heavy, warm balls in the other. After a moment he let him go and walked to the couch. “You both have pleased me tremendously,” he said as he sat and faced them, dropping a hand at last to the rock-hard erection protesting beneath his trousers. “I see great potential for a very sensual, very intense exchange of power between us. Come here and kneel in front of me. I’m going to tell you what I expect of you, and what you can expect of me. If at any time any of this feels uncomfortable, you tell me. Don’t wait until afterward and don’t hesitate to be honest and open.” He waited while they both knelt before him, silently marveling that neither had said a word since entering the study. He’d expected Olivia at least to be babbling nervously, but she was silent except for the shallow breathing he knew stemmed from nervous excitement. He put a hand on each of their shoulders, gently stroking them like favored pets before settling back against the sofa, fully in command. An unbidden image of Lisette, kneeling in exactly this position before him in their Paris apartment, flashed before him, sliding like a knife into his heart. Again he willed the image away, focusing on the lovely pair before him. “For today, we’re just experimenting, feeling our way, me as much as you. Those toys I showed you,” he waved toward the still-open cupboard, “are for me more symbols than tools. I don’t use them often, and when I do, the object is to create a sensual rather than a punitive experience. Though I do consider myself sexually dominant, I’m not a sadist and I don’t get off on giving pain for its own sake. But I do appreciate the intensity of well-delivered whipping.” Olivia shuddered and Tom drew

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in his breath. They both had such sensitive, delicious potential. Mark struggled to maintain his concentration. “If and when we do use these toys, it will be at your request and with a full understanding that though I will control the scene, you will control if we stop or continue. I don’t believe in pushing a sub past his or her limits. I believe in listening, both to your words and your body. For me, it’s ultimately about intensifying the sensual experience between us. I think you both have potential as sexual submissives, but I don’t expect that to define our relationship. It’s only a part of what you are, what I envision you can become.” They both looked so serious, as if attending a lecture by a famous professor, aware they would be quizzed afterward. Mark suddenly felt pompous and a little ridiculous. With a small laugh he stood, purposely breaking the intensity of the mood. Moving behind them, he released the clasps of their cuffs and pulled the leather from their wrists. “I’ve been doing all the talking. Let’s go down and unwind in the hot tub.”

***** As the hot water frothed and bubbled over them, Olivia surreptitiously dropped her hand to her pussy, slipping two fingers into the slippery wetness. She’d felt somewhat let down when Mark had abruptly ended whatever it was that was going on up there in his study. Seeing those canes in the cupboard had made Olivia instantly cream in her panties, even as she shuddered at the thought of ever experiencing their fiery sting. Since last night she had been obsessed with visions of the young woman at the club, the red, angry welts striping her flesh. She could still hear the woman’s gasping cry just before the final, whistling blow had forced her from her calm acceptance of what surely must have been a very painful caning. It wasn’t that Olivia wanted to be caned, god no! She didn’t herself understand why her attraction was so fierce and unremitting. She tried to accept Tom’s assurances she wasn’t a sick puppy but didn’t quite succeed. Seeing the same cane, or at least one very similar, in Mark’s cupboard of “toys” had taken her breath away. She could almost feel the sting of rattan against tender flesh as she touched the thin, misleadingly flimsylooking implement. She’d sensed Tom’s keen interest beside her, noting he focused on the cuffs. Did it bother her that his interest veered alongside hers, submissive to Mark? She examined the question honestly and found she wasn’t sure. She wouldn’t have liked the idea of his submitting to her, but somehow with Mark it was a different matter. Mark seemed to command submission. How easily he had transitioned from dominant lover to Dom, ordering them about in his study as if he were a king and they his subjects. His tone and attitude had brooked no disobedience, and it hadn’t occurred to Olivia while in his thrall to protest. 58

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Nor, apparently, had it occurred to Tom. He couldn’t hide his arousal, his sexy cock jutting hard against his underwear. He was as thrilled as she was with what was going on. Tom slid closer to her, his hand reaching between her legs. She barely had time to pull her own hand away. He grinned at her as their hands brushed each other. Mark had poured them each a glass of cold Chardonnay. He sipped his, watching the pair with an indulgent smile as they snuggled and kissed. “Talk to me,” he said. “Tom, tell me your reaction to what happened in the study. Be honest. There is no right or wrong answer. Just tell me what you felt about it all.” “Well,” Tom said, taking a drink from his glass. “You know I was turned-on. I’m sure that was obvious.” He gave a sheepish grin. “It’s kind of strange because I’ve never thought of myself as submissive. I’ve never had fantasies involving scary-looking women in black corsets flicking bullwhips and calling me a filthy little worm.” He laughed. “That’s a rather banal stereotype surely,” Mark commented, laughing with him. Sobering, he added, “That sort of thing has little to do with a sensual exchange of power. That’s more about humiliation game playing. I never saw the appeal in that myself. I have a feeling your interests, what moves you, involves a relinquishing of control. You went straight for those cuffs,” he added, his lip curling in a smile. Softly he continued. “Imagine yourself bound, your wrists behind your back or high over your head, your ankles tethered to the posts of a bed, unable to move, unable to get free, completely at the mercy of your lover.” Tom swallowed and looked down. Olivia knew Mark had struck a chord. She felt herself responding to the image as well, though in her mind’s eye it was she, not Tom, bound and helpless. “And you, Olivia,” Mark said, shifting his focus to her. “Take it a step further. Imagine yourself bent naked over a sawhorse, your wrists and ankles bound to the legs with rope. You can hear the whistle of the cane just before it strikes your ass, just before you scream—” “No!” Olivia burst out involuntarily. She felt at once hot and cold, her blood rushing from her head, suffusing her nipples, engorging her sex. “No,” she insisted again, though less forcefully. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to be caned. I don’t like pain.” “No, of course you don’t,” Mark said soothingly, his gaze intense upon her. “I was just creating an image. A fantasy. I’m trying to gauge what moves you, what excites you. I understand very well that isn’t necessarily what you want to have happen to you. That’s why it’s called fantasy, you see.” He grinned, releasing her from his dark, compelling stare. She smiled back weakly and felt for Tom’s hand beneath the water. “Now answer me as truthfully as you can,” Mark continued. “As a fantasy, how does the thought of being tied down and caned affect you, Olivia? Is it something that might flash through your mind when you’re making love?”

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Olivia felt heat suffusing her cheeks. She stared down into the tumbling steamy water, the image he’d created swirling there like a vision. Something stirred deep inside her, like a fire banked that needs only a breath of air to set it blazing. She felt Tom’s hand squeeze her thigh. She felt Mark’s dark eyes watching her, daring her to deny it. With her heart beating high, slowly she nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” They climbed out of the hot tub, quickly drying themselves before moving toward Mark’s large bed. “Oh,” Tom said softly as he approached the bed. Olivia followed his gaze and saw the two pairs of leather wrist cuffs laid out neatly. When Mark had excused himself to get the wine, he must have also retrieved the cuffs from upstairs. She scanned the bed, looking, she realized, for the cane. She was confused by the rush of disappointment that moved through her in equal proportion with the real relief she also felt. Of course she didn’t want to be caned! Mark was right—it was just a fantasy. She would never permit such a thing in real life. Never. Never say never. The words slipped into her head but she ignored them, dropping her towel as she climbed into the bed and slipped beneath the soft sheets. Mark stood just behind Tom, both of them watching Olivia. She grinned at them, at once nervous and excited to be back in Mark’s bed at last. Her pussy twitched with the memory of his large cock down her throat while Tom had fucked her from behind. As she watched, Mark plucked at the towel covering the lower half of Tom’s body. The towel fell to the floor, revealing Tom’s beautiful shaft and balls to Olivia, his bare ass to Mark. Olivia was proud of her boyfriend’s strong, sexy physique. Mark dropped his own towel and moved closer behind Tom, pressing his body against him, wrapping his strong arms around him. Olivia watched mesmerized, aware of her pulsing sex and aching nipples. Tom’s eyes were on Olivia as Mark’s hand dropped to grasp his cock. “I love you,” he mouthed silently to her, and she smiled at him, knowing it was true. Mark wasn’t a threat between them, but rather a catalyst of their passion, a new, exciting dimension to their love life. As Mark stroked him, Tom’s eyes fell to the cuffs resting on the bed. Mark released him and stepped beside him, picking up the cuffs as he turned with an enigmatic smile toward Tom. Olivia held her breath, waiting to hear his command.

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Chapter Seven “Hold out your wrists.” With his heart thumping in his chest, Tom obeyed. Quickly Mark clipped the cuffs closed, though he didn’t attach them one to the other. Instead he thrust the second pair into Tom’s hand and said, “Cuff Olivia.” Tom knelt on the bed, feeling strange but excited as he tightened the black leather around his girlfriend’s wrists while Mark stood watching the two of them, his hands on his hips, his long cock jutting confidently toward them. “Hands over your head, Olivia,” Mark said. Olivia obeyed. Tom could feel her primal energy—part excitement, part trepidation. “Take that sheet off her,” Mark ordered. Tom hesitated a moment, glancing back at him. Mark lifted one eyebrow as if daring him to refuse. You want this. The unspoken words hung between them. Slowly Tom nodded and turned back toward his lover. He dragged the sheet from her body, a surge of proprietary pride coursing through him as her luscious breasts and sexy pussy came into view. She was flushed and had turned her head in that coy, sweet manner she had. “Spread your legs, Olivia,” Mark said softly. A part of Tom wanted to tell him go to hell—this was his girl! At the same time he couldn’t deny the hot surge of excitement. Mark was taking over, no longer with subtle clues and hints, but directly and overtly. Though he didn’t entirely understand his own reactions, Tom’s cock raged its approval, bobbing toward Olivia, the tip glistening with pre-cum. When Olivia didn’t at once spread her legs for the two men, Mark said in a sterner tone, “Do it for her, Tom. She hasn’t yet learned to obey.” Tom glanced back at Mark, whose straight dark brows were knitted over his deep-set eyes, a hint of a frown on his face. He turned back to Olivia, scrutinizing her, waiting for a reaction, a response, anything that indicated she wasn’t into this. Because, while he couldn’t deny his own fierce arousal, at any hint from her she didn’t like the game, it was over. She stared back at him, her eyes bright, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. She said nothing but something passed between them and Tom knew she wanted what was happening as much if not more than he did. He put his hands on her slender thighs, gently but firmly pushing them apart. Olivia resisted slightly at first but then permitted him to spread her legs and reveal her pussy. Her eyes, Tom noted, were now squeezed tight and her breathing came fast and shallow. “Have you ever shaved, Olivia?” Mark asked. “Such a pretty pussy shouldn’t be hidden.” When Olivia didn’t respond, Tom answered for her. “No, she’s never shaved her pussy. We’ve talked about it.” 61

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“Have you?” Mark said musingly. He sat on the bed beside them. Olivia started to close her legs. “Don’t,” Mark said softly. “You’re beautiful. Don’t hide from your lovers.” As he spoke, he dropped his hand to her thigh. Tom shifted so he was kneeling beside her on her other side. He put his hand on her other thigh. He could smell the intoxicating scent of her arousal. Her labia were swollen, the dark blonde pubic hair barely concealing her desire. “Perhaps later today we’ll shave her, Tom.” “Um,” Olivia said. Tom suppressed a grin. They had briefly discussed shaving early on in their relationship. Tom had been the one to bring it up, but Olivia had dismissed it out of hand, claiming she wasn’t about to get razor burn on her “delicate parts”. At the time he’d let the matter drop—it had just been a thought, not an obsession. He waited for Olivia to tell Mark in no uncertain terms she wasn’t about to get her pussy shaved. Instead she said nothing. Mark raised his eyebrows toward Tom as if expecting a response from him. An image rose in his mind of Olivia bent back over Mark’s bathroom counter, her sex covered in shaving cream, a gleaming razor sliding over the delicate skin until it was smooth… “I think that would be hot,” he said, glancing at Olivia, who remained mute, her eyes again closed. Mark only nodded, apparently ready to let the matter drop for now. “Olivia, I’m going to cuff your wrists to the headboard. If at any time you’re uncomfortable, I want you to tell us.” Olivia stiffened and then nodded. Tom watched as Mark, using the silver clips that held her cuffs closed, pulled Olivia’s arms taut. Releasing the springs of the clips, he let them close on the thin iron bars of the headboard. Olivia was breathing hard. “Kiss me,” she whispered urgently to Tom. “You okay?” he said softly as he leaned up to kiss her lips. She nodded, her chest rising and falling, the skin flushed pink. He stroked one breast, running his palm over the distended nipple at its center. “You look lovely bound like that, Olivia,” Mark said, watching the pair. “Perhaps I’ll have Tom join you in a while, or change places. But for the moment we’ll focus just on you, beautiful girl.” “Yes,” Tom said in a conscious effort to exert some control of his own as he forced the picture of himself bound to the bed from his mind. Mark glanced sharply at him and Tom felt himself coloring. To distract himself from his own confused feelings, he reached down, lightly tracing Olivia’s sex with a finger. He slid it down toward her entrance, touching the tip to the wetness he knew he’d find there. She moaned softly as he lightly teased her spread pussy. Mark watched as Tom’s fingers moved over Olivia’s sex, one disappearing inside her and reemerging shiny with her juices. Lightly Mark moved his hand along Olivia’s thigh as Tom played with her. Olivia sighed with pleasure, pressing lightly against Tom’s fingers.

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Mark had cuffed her wrists close to one another on the bars and Tom saw she’d laced her fingers together. Her eyes were still closed, a small vein pulsing at her throat. He looked back down between her spread legs as Mark’s long fingers slid closer to his. He met Mark’s eyes as Mark gently pushed his hand away, taking over at Olivia’s bared sex. A small part of him was tempted to smack Mark’s hand away, but his cock overruled the impulse. If Olivia was aware it was now Mark touching her, she gave no sign, shifting wantonly against the hand that touched her. Her scent was ripe in the air. Tom watched, his cock achingly hard as Mark rubbed his girlfriend’s spread pussy with long, sure fingers. All too soon she began to breathe in short, staccato gasps, her body arching toward Mark’s hand. Tom loved to watch Olivia come—he loved how she gasped, shuddered and trembled as he led her over the edge of a powerful climax. It felt strange to watch another man drawing the same reaction from her. A swift blade of jealousy stabbed him, but before he felt its bite, he was sharply distracted by Mark’s next move. Just as he brought Olivia to the brink of release he pulled his fingers away and brought his hand down against her spread pussy with a smack. Olivia gave a startled yelp and slammed her legs together. “Ouch!” Lifting her head, she pulled against her wrist cuffs. “Hey, what the—” Tom demanded at the same time. Mark gazed at them both impassively, his dark eyes shining like wet slate in the rain. “Spread your legs, Olivia,” he said softly, steel beneath the velvet. “You smacked her!” Tom said, the reproach sharp in his voice, though he couldn’t hide his unflagging erection. “I did,” Mark admitted, a cruel smile curving his mouth. “For someone like Olivia a flash of pain can heighten pleasure immeasurably.” Someone like Olivia? What did he mean? Tom didn’t voice his questions as Mark continued in a slow, compelling voice. “I said to spread your legs, Olivia. Obey me. Show Tom you know what I’m saying. Even if you didn’t know you knew it, you do now. Spread your legs. I’m going to prove it.” Her face and throat were stained dark pink but her nipples were hard as pebbles. Slowly she complied. Tom could see her pussy was wet, the engorged labia slick with her arousal. He watched as Mark massaged her sex with a slow, deliberate stroke until she moaned, arching again toward his sure hand. And just as before, he drew back his hand and let his palm fall with a resounding smack against tender flesh. Again she slammed her legs closed, emitting a small cry Tom couldn’t decide was pain or desire, or some combination of the two. “Again,” Mark ordered. After a few beats she parted her legs again. Her breath was ragged, her nipples sharp points. Mark reached up, stroking her cheek as he crooned, “Shh, slow your breathing. You’re doing beautifully. This is what you need. What you’ve always needed.” He reached down again. As his fingers made contact with her pussy, Olivia flinched in anticipation. But instead of smacking her again, he massaged her pussy, fingers lightly swirling over her clit and sliding into her entrance. Tom

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couldn’t help himself as he took his own cock into his hand, stroking in time to Mark’s movements. Smack! Tom jumped as Olivia yelped, Mark’s hard palm catching them both by surprise. “Please…” Olivia said breathlessly. “Please what?” Mark said, his voice low and husky. Olivia didn’t answer except by arching her pelvis up toward his hand. Was she asking him to make her come? Or did she want him to strike her again? Tom realized he was barely breathing, his cock for a moment forgotten in his hand as he stared at his lover, realizing in some respects he barely knew her. Mark began the tease again, rubbing, swirling, pressing his fingers into her heat until Olivia was moaning, her body tensed and trembling in its telltale pattern of prerelease. Again without warning Mark smacked her with his palm. Instead of yelping, this time Olivia continued to moan, thrusting herself toward her tormentor as if she craved what he offered. Mark smacked her pussy again, the sound ringing over Olivia’s rapid, shallow panting. “Yes,” she cried, “Yes!” Again and again Mark brought his palm down hard against her, drawing his fingers teasingly up over her clit at the end of each smack. Olivia’s moan was constant now, a guttural, primal litany of lust and aching need. Tom stroked himself as he watched another man bring his lover to a shattering orgasm, her entire body rigid as she keened her passion. She fell back against the bed at last, her body bathed in a sheen of sweat, her arms bound and tethered to the bars of the headboard. Without waiting for Mark’s direction, Tom reached up and released the clasps that held her cuffs. She opened her eyes, staring at him without recognition for a second before a slow smile spread over her face. Her eyes seemed to sparkle with some kind of secret fire. Tom looked to Mark, who was stroking his own rigid cock, his expression difficult to read. “Hold her a while,” he said quietly. “Your turn is next.” Olivia let Tom take her into his arms. She buried her head at his shoulder, grateful for the warmth and sweetness of his sure embrace. She could feel Tom’s heart tapping nearly as fast as her own. The orgasm had left her limp. She felt as if she’d somehow melted inside—bone, muscle and organs no longer distinct beneath the sheath of flesh that held her together. The power of speech had left her. She became aware her pussy was stinging from Mark’s hard palm. Though she didn’t fully understand or even quite believe it, she knew it was that sting, coupled with his skillful, sensual touch that had brought her to such an intense orgasm. For a moment she felt such a rush of emotion, a feeling so fervent, so heartfelt it frightened her. She wanted to kneel at Mark’s feet, to cover them with kisses, to whisper her thanks and her eternal devotion, to beg him to do it again… No! Mentally she shook her head. This was crazy thinking. She was in love with Tom! She was in love with the man who cradled her in his arms, his thick, hard cock

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even now pressing against her thigh. Forcing her strange feelings aside, she reached for Tom, pulling his head down to hers. She kissed him hard, channeling her confused desires toward him. He kissed her back, reaching around to cup her ass as he pulled her close. She felt the cold metal of the clips on the cuffs still secured around his wrists. Her cuffs had fallen from her wrists when he’d unclipped them from the bars. Mark’s last words to Tom drifted into her head—Your turn is next. She pulled away from Tom, shifting to look at Mark. He was stretched out beside them, leaning up on his elbow, his expression hard to read. His dark eyes were hooded by half-closed lids, focused on the naked lovers. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as their eyes met. He lifted his hand to his face and drew his fingers slowly beneath his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled. Olivia felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment, aware her scent must be ripe upon them. She glanced at Tom, who was also watching Mark, a similar flush on his cheeks. She felt him tense beside her, but his cock remained as rigid as steel. Mark shifted his gaze from Olivia to Tom. She could sense the unspoken challenge between them, a silent exchange as one man exerted his will over the other. “Olivia,” Mark said in his low gravelly voice, his eyes still trained on Tom. “Take your cuffs from the headboard and put them on Tom’s ankles.” Olivia waited a beat in case Tom objected. Her pussy, only a moment before completely sated, clicked back on at the mental image of Tom bound by wrist and ankle as the sexy man beside them had his way with her lover… Tom moved slightly away from Olivia and lay on his back, his cock pointing toward his chest. Unable to resist, she stroked the firm flesh, wrapping her fingers around the hard shaft. Tom moaned softly, his cock twitching against her fingers. “Olivia,” Mark said sharply. “Do as you’re told.” Olivia dropped Tom’s cock and pulled herself up, reaching for the cuffs that had fallen to the pillows. Scooting down to his ankles, she wrapped the soft leather around them, pressing the metal loops through the slits and closing the clips over them. Tom lay passive as she did this, his cock fully erect against his flat stomach. Mark, meanwhile, had left the bed and returned with four black silk scarves. “Move to the center of the bed,” he said to Tom. Olivia noted his cock was erect as well. Her pussy tightened as she imagined its thrust inside her. Would Tom permit Mark to fuck her? Would she permit it? Yes, yes, yes. She bit her lip, for a split second afraid she’d spoken aloud. She watched as Mark tied the ends of the scarves into slipknots over the metal loops on all four of Tom’s cuffs. Unlike Olivia’s restraints, which he had clipped close together at the center bars of the headboard, Mark attached Tom’s wrists far to each side, pulling the scarves tight. He attached Tom’s ankles in a similar fashion, tying the scarves to the legs of the bed frame. When he was done, Tom’s body was stretched taut, his arms and legs spread in an X against the mattress.

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“Test the restraints,” Mark said to him. “Pull at them, see if you can get free.” Tom moved his legs and arms a little. “No,” Mark said, “Really try. Don’t worry if you tear the scarves. I don’t care about them. I want to see how securely you’re bound.” Tom pulled hard, his biceps bulging as he jerked against the wrist restraints. His eyes widened, something like fear passing over his features. Mark smiled, his eyes flashing. “You see,” he said softly, leaning close to Tom. “You’re really tied down. This isn’t a game anymore, is it? You can’t get free. I can do what I want to you now. You’re at my mercy.” Olivia held her breath, riveted to what was going on before her. Tom was breathing hard through his nose, his lips pressed together, his chest rising and falling. Olivia understood exactly what he was experiencing. Somehow Mark had homed in on Tom’s precise sensual vulnerability, just as he had with her. How had he known she would respond so intensely when he’d told her to spread her legs, to keep them spread while he smacked her tender labia? She quivered with the memory of his hand—of the sting of his hard palm transmuting to pleasure as his fingers slid teasingly over her clit. What had he said? For someone like Olivia a flash of pain can heighten pleasure immeasurably. How had he known this about her when she hadn’t known it herself? For Tom, it appeared the thrill lay in the bondage, in being tied down and helpless, unable to escape…escape what? What did Mark have in mind? For though he’d said this was no longer a game, of course it was. Olivia knew a word from Tom was all that was needed and Mark would immediately release him. She looked at her lover, at his flushed skin, his parted lips, his rigid cock, and she knew Tom would not ask to be set free. He wanted this as much as she’d wanted what Mark had done to her. “Suck his cock,” Mark said to Olivia. “Impress me with your skill.” His voice held a cool challenge. Olivia rose to the bait, confident of her own talent in that regard. She knelt beside Tom, leaning over him, her long hair swishing over his body like a curtain. Curling her fingers around the base of Tom’s shaft, she licked a circle around the fat head. “No hands,” Mark said. “Put your hands behind your back.” Olivia liked using her hands. She knew exactly how to please Tom. He loved it when she gripped the base of his shaft with one hand and his balls with the other. She would slide her mouth down to meet her hand, and ride her hand up as she pulled back. Tom needed this extra stimulation. Mark didn’t know her lover as she did. Or else he was purposely putting her at a disadvantage. Nevertheless, she obeyed him, her pussy tingling as she clasped her hands behind her back. Focusing on Tom, she licked slowly down his shaft, savoring the clean taste of his skin. She closed her mouth over the head of his cock and lowered her head, taking him as far as she could. Using her lips to create suction, she moved up and down, her tongue gliding along the fat, pulsing vein that ran along the underside of his cock. Tom moaned. She could feel him pulling at his wrist cuffs. If his hands had been free, she

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knew he would have reached down to touch her head as she suckled him, lightly gripping handfuls of her hair. “Yes,” he said, breathing through the “s”. Olivia could feel the slight tremor go through his body and she knew he was near to orgasm. She bobbed faster over his shaft, forgetting Mark’s admonition as she brought her hands around to grip the base of his cock and cup his tightening balls. “No hands!” Mark’s voice was rough, startling her. Reluctantly she released Mark’s cock and balls. Suddenly she felt Mark’s hands pulling her arms behind her, gripping her wrists tight in one hand as he thrust her head down over Tom’s shaft with the other. She started to gag and tried to pull back, but he held her in place. “Relax your throat,” he said. “Show me your skill.” For a moment she struggled, trying to catch her breath, trying to pull from his grasp. He leaned up over her, his mouth just beside her ear. His voice was sensual and low. “Do this for me, Olivia. Show me your obedience. Relax and accept his cock. You can do it.” Olivia felt giddy, almost faint. Somehow sucking her lover’s cock had become about Mark. Tom was an object at that moment, as was she—objects who existed solely to please the man who commanded them. Her heart was thudding against her ribs, her breath rasping in her throat as she tried to handle Tom’s cock impaling her. She closed her eyes, willing her throat to open, willing herself to accept his cock, aware she desperately wanted to please Mark. His grip loosened slightly on her wrists but still he held her fast. She was keenly aware of his naked body just behind hers. Her pussy was throbbing and she realized her thighs were wet with her juices. With a soft moan she pressed her thighs together, aching for a cock inside her. Mark’s hand remained on the back of her head, a gentle but firm reminder of her task. Tom gasped with pleasure as she lowered her head, taking him farther and deeper than she had ever been able to before. “Don’t come until I tell you,” Mark commanded. Tom’s only answer was his ragged breathing. Olivia licked, kissed and suckled his cock as if her life depended on it. She would show Mark her “skill” and then some. She would drive Tom over the edge with or without Mark’s permission. Mark pressed her head more firmly, forcing her down until the head of Tom’s cock touched the back of her throat. To her own amazement she didn’t gag. She couldn’t breathe but she didn’t care. Mark held her head in place. She honestly felt at that precise moment it wouldn’t matter if she passed out—there was no place she would rather be. She realized Mark’s hand was no longer pressing against her head. She could do as she wished. Though he was no longer directly controlling her, she continued to take Tom deep in her throat, milking his shaft with her lips and tongue as she slowly lifted and lowered her head. Tom shuddered, thrusting up to meet her mouth. The headboard rattled as he jerked hard in his restraints.

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“You can come now,” Mark finally said, addressing Tom. Olivia knew he was on the edge, but she also knew one couldn’t just orgasm on command. To her astonishment, Tom proved her wrong. Just as the words left Mark’s mouth she felt Tom stiffen and shudder, his seed spurting down her throat as he groaned. Olivia brought her hands from behind her back to stroke and hold her lover as he spasmed in the aftermath of his orgasm. He was still bound securely, his body taut against the bed. His head was back, his eyes closed, his breathing still ragged but slowing. Olivia draped her body over his, covering his face in kisses. Her pussy was on fire, her nipples tender against Tom’s hard chest. Mark moved beside her, unclipping the cuffs that held Tom’s wrists and ankles. When Tom’s hands were free, he wrapped them around Olivia. “That was something else,” he said, the awe evident in his voice. “Olivia, you were spectacular.” “It wasn’t me,” she said, but didn’t quite have the courage to articulate what she meant. The residual feeling of near-worship she harbored for the man who had brought out her most secret desires was too close to something like love. It frightened her. And thus she didn’t say aloud what she was thinking, what she had meant when she said it wasn’t she. No, she knew it wasn’t her presence, or her actions that were responsible for the strong reaction that had been wrested from Tom. It was Mark—the way he bound Tom to the bed. Tom, who was easily the stronger of the two men, had willingly permitted himself to be cuffed and bound by another man. More than willing, he had thrilled to it. They both had thrilled to the way Mark commanded them, controlled them, as if he owned them, as if they were his sexual property… Olivia shivered despite the warm arms still wrapped around her. Mark, lying beside them, reached over and pulled Olivia gently from Tom’s arms. Tom let her go and she rolled to the mattress between them. Tom reached over her, idly playing with her left nipple, a goofy smile on his face. Mark, on her right, dropped his hand to her mons. Lightly he pulled at the pubic hair. “There are so many different levels of sensuality involved in shaving a woman’s sex,” Mark said softly. He was staring at the ceiling, his cock still hard. He of the three was the only one yet to orgasm. Olivia would have gladly sucked his cock. Her pussy twitched beneath his hand as she glanced at the long, thick shaft and her mouth actually watered. She wanted to feel his cock inside her but wasn’t sure how Tom would react. It would have to come from him first, she decided—let it be Tom’s idea. She swallowed, trying to focus on Mark’s words, trying to assess her feelings regarding being shaved. It wasn’t that she was opposed per se. In fact, she’d seen pictures of shaved women on the Internet and thought they looked sexy. But she knew razor burn could cause bumps and irritation, and once she started to shave, it would be one more area of daily grooming in an already busy life. Somehow, as Mark talked, these heretofore insurmountable reasons for not shaving seemed to evaporate. “First is the obvious aspect of stripping your lover bare,” he said, his voice low, almost hypnotic. “A woman’s sex with its sensual curves fully revealed is offered more completely, as it should be.” His fingers dropped lower, lightly resting against her 68

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hooded clit. Olivia resisted the urge to spread her legs, to arch up to his fingers and grind against them. “Then there’s the symbolic aspect—nothing held back, no modesty shielding you from your lover.” His fingers slipped into her cleft. Involuntarily she squirmed and shivered. “And then, when it comes to what Olivia needs…” She stiffened, her breath catching as she waited for the words. She knew at that moment she would do anything this man wanted—she would shave her head if it pleased him. What was going on? How had she fallen so utterly under his control? Did Tom feel the same way? Could their relationship handle this level of intensity with another person? Mark, obviously unaware of her inner turmoil, continued in his sensual, throaty voice. “When a woman is shaved, sensation is heightened against bare flesh. One feels things more keenly. Both the pleasure and,” his voice lowered to a whisper, “the pain.”

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Chapter Eight Mark grated Gouda cheese onto thick slices of sourdough bread. These he placed into a heavy pan greased with melted butter. While the sandwiches grilled he uncorked a fresh bottle of Chardonnay and filled three glasses. Tom and Olivia came to the kitchen as he was pouring. “That smells fantastic,” Tom said, licking his lips. He was wearing a pair of dark blue silk pajama bottoms Mark had pulled out for him that matched Mark’s black pair. Olivia was dressed in his bathrobe, the sleeves rolled several times at her wrists. He’d purposely given them a moment alone, laying out the pajamas, aware they might instead choose to dress and end the afternoon’s play. With his usual inner reserve, he told himself it didn’t matter to him either way. They were certainly a pleasant, erotic diversion for a Sunday afternoon, but if they chose to leave, he had work to do. He wasn’t prepared for the sudden leap of joy when he saw they’d chosen to stay as evidenced by their choice of apparel. Keeping his happiness well-controlled, he focused on the food, sliding the grilled sandwiches onto three plates and joining the pair in the nook. “You’re going to make me fat with all this rich food,” Olivia remarked as she lifted the thick sandwich to her mouth. They ate quietly for a few minutes, other than the pair’s compliments on the food. Tom was the first to say something of substance. “Mark, we were talking in the bedroom just now. Whatever’s going on between us, it’s just so…so…” “Intense,” Olivia finished for him. Tom nodded, picking up the thread of his thoughts again. “Yes. When we decided to try this ménage, neither of us imagined this was going to happen. This whole bondage thing, the way you…just…” “Took control,” Olivia finished softly. “Yes. We’re both really turned-on by it,” Tom said. “We want to explore more with you. If you want to, that is.” They both looked expectantly at him. Mark nodded. Olivia and Tom weren’t the first people he’d met who had submissive and masochistic leanings yet had never connected with that aspect of themselves. If one knew how to listen, the clues to what made people tick were always there. Even when he and Olivia had first met, he’d sensed the submissive potential in her, but he’d been too preoccupied with Lawrence to give her the attention she’d deserved. That sort of hardwiring didn’t change, at least not in Mark’s experience. Thus he wasn’t surprised at her strong reaction to witnessing the caning, or her explosive

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response when he’d lightly smacked her pussy. Tom had been more of an unknown quantity. Here Mark had to tread more carefully on several levels. He was well acquainted with turf issues and the masculine pride and possessiveness that could introduce the discordant note of jealousy into what should have been fun. So far Tom’s behavior gave Mark reasonable confidence in his willingness to “share” the lovely Olivia. He’d pressed Tom’s bi-curious envelope that first night and been pleasantly surprised at Tom’s receptiveness to his masculine touch. What an unexpected delight to also discover Tom’s submissive leanings and penchant for bondage. As he watched the handsome young man finishing off his sandwich, Mark marveled at how people could go their entire lives unaware of basic aspects of their own sexuality. At least, he thought with an inward smile, neither of them seemed inclined now to deny or resist their impulses. On the contrary, they were as enthusiastic as puppies with a new toy, ready to explore, eager to be led. “You’re both so receptive,” he said aloud. “There’s a whole world waiting for us, if we choose to explore it. D/s—dominance and submission—has enormous erotic potential. There are literally no limits, except those we impose on ourselves. I’ll take you as far as you want to go, but we have to be careful. Communication is paramount in this sort of relationship as is trust. If you want me to lead you, you both have to be willing to trust me and let me guide you. I sense your strong commitment to each other, which is also important. The last thing in the world I want to do is come between the two of you.” “Couldn’t happen,” Tom said confidently, putting his arm around Olivia’s shoulder. Olivia nodded and looked down at the table, but not before Mark saw her eyes flicker. Watch out, a tiny voice whispered inside his head. Olivia looked up, training those large green-gold eyes on him. “What about you, Mark? Have you ever been in love? Did D/s figure into it?” “Olivia,” Tom said softly, a hint of reproach in his tone. “No, that’s okay. She can ask.” He paused, the image of Lisette rising from the place he tried to keep her in the back of his heart. Petite, lovely Lisette with her dark, curling hair and clear gray eyes almost too large for her face. The small rosebud of a mouth that opened so willingly to receive his cock as she knelt naked and bound before him, the picture of submissive grace… Lisette, who had left him when he’d been unwilling, unable to take the final step to commitment. He’d missed her desperately, but when he’d tried to win her back, she’d refused to see him. “You will never change, cher,” she had said in her charming French accent. “I want a real man, not a lover who keeps his heart carefully packed away. You claim to be a Dom, but where is your courage in the end? True courage is the courage to commit, to give of your heart, even knowing it might be broken.” When he’d heard she was engaged only a few months after she’d walked out on him, he’d done his usual fleeing routine, heading back to the job offer awaiting him in

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the States, back to Cambridge, back to the self-imposed loneliness Olivia and Tom would now help him stave off. He realized they were both watching him, waiting for a response. “Her name was Lisette.” He was startled at the stab of pain in his chest saying her name aloud caused. He said it again, forcing himself to push past this sentimental nonsense. “Lisette Martine, a woman I knew in Paris…” He trailed off, furious at the tears that had sprung unbidden into his eyes. He grabbed the bottle and poured himself another glass of wine. “You miss her,” Olivia said quietly. “Yes,” Mark said, not ready to say more. “Tom, would you like another sandwich?” “He can have mine,” Olivia said, putting her half-eaten sandwich on Tom’s plate. “If I eat all this, I’ll explode.” With a grin, Tom took a large bite from Olivia’s sandwich while Olivia smiled indulgently at him. Relieved the topic of Lisette had been skirted, Mark turned the focus back on Olivia. “Have you thought over the idea of being shaved, Olivia? Such a beautiful pussy shouldn’t be hidden.” “Oh!” Olivia bit her lip, a rosy flush creeping over her cheeks. Mark was charmed by her unusual mixture of sexual abandon and shy hesitation. Yet he decided not to press the issue. He’d learned over the years of his dabbling in D/s it was far better to plant a seed and let it grow. A willing, eager sub was far more desirable, at least in Mark’s mind. “She’s agreed to try,” Tom offered. “Olivia?” Mark asked. He wanted to hear it from her. “Yes,” she said, somewhat breathlessly. “Yes, I’m—I’m willing.” The small meal finished, they moved together back to Mark’s bedroom and into the master bath beyond. Mark took a large, thick towel from the shelf and spread it on the counter next to one of the sinks. He put a stopper in the drain of the green glass bowl and turned on the hot water. He added some baby oil into the water and turned his attention to Olivia. “Take off the robe,” he said, his cock nudging beneath his pajama bottoms at the prospect of shaving this lovely young woman. He’d become quite skilled with an oldfashioned straight-edged razor back in France, but decided that would be a bit too much Olivia’s first time out. Instead he took a new disposable razor and a tube of French shaving cream designed “especially for the bikini area”, or so it said in French. Lisette had preferred this cream to keep her sex smooth and accessible. Mark shook the thought away, refusing to dwell on the past a moment longer. Olivia stood naked and uncertain, her arms wrapped around her torso. To Tom, Mark said, “Help her onto the counter.” Mark dropped a washcloth into the hot water and turned off the faucet. He waited until Olivia was settled on the towel and said, “Scoot forward to the edge of the counter and spread your legs.” He watched as she edged forward until she was in the proper position. 72

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He took a pair of barber scissors from a cup on the shelf and handed it to Tom. “Trim her as close as you can. Be careful with those—they’re very sharp.” Tom took the scissors in one hand and lightly gripped a tuft of Olivia’s dark blonde pubic hair between thumb and forefinger. He looked at Olivia, as if asking her permission. Mark frowned but let it pass. If Olivia were his, he wouldn’t have permitted such an exchange, silent or otherwise, but of course she was not. Olivia nodded slightly, giving Tom tacit permission to continue. Tom cut away as much of the soft curls as he could, dropping the wisps of hair into the small garbage can Mark had placed by the counter. Olivia sat very still throughout, staring down at the silver scissors flashing over her sex. When Tom was done, Mark reached into the hot oily water and withdrew the washcloth. He wrung it out and placed it carefully over Olivia’s mons. He spread his hand over it, lightly pressing against her clit as he rubbed the hot cloth against her. Olivia closed her eyes and let her head fall back slightly. Her nipples tightened perceptively as he teased her. Tom stood very near, his cock tenting his pajama bottoms. Mark removed the cloth, dropping it next to the sink. He squirted a small mound of the shaving cream onto his fingers and rubbed it over Olivia’s spread pussy. “The key is to go slowly, making sure to keep the skin well lubricated at all times,” he said to Tom. “Like so.” He drew the razor’s blades gently over the pubic area above Olivia’s pussy, stopping often to rinse the razor in the hot water. Tom, close beside him stared, fascinated as Mark denuded his lover. With sure fingers he ran the sharp blades over Olivia’s sex, carefully following the delicate curve of her labia until they were as smooth as the mons above. Olivia was breathing hard, her fingers clenched on the edge of the counter, the knuckles white. Her pussy gave her away, engorging and spreading like the petals of a flower as the touch of the sharp blade and Mark’s fingers aroused her. Mark’s cock throbbed. He loved nothing better than to plunge himself into a freshly shaved pussy. He dropped the razor into the sink, ran fresh, hot water over the washcloth and used it to wipe away the remains of the shaving cream from Olivia’s now-bare pussy. Despite herself, Olivia let out a small moan. “Jesus,” Tom said, his voice reverent. “It’s beautiful. You’re so fucking hot, Olivia.” “She is that,” Mark said, dropping his hand to his cock so hard beneath the silk of his pajamas. God, he wanted her. He glanced at Tom, feeling his way as he said, “Kneel in front of her, Tom. Worship that beautiful pussy.” Eagerly Tom knelt until his face was level with her sex. Putting a hand on either thigh, he leaned forward and licked the smooth flesh. Olivia sighed with pleasure. Standing behind Tom, Mark gripped his wrists and pulled his hands behind his back. Tom took a sharp breath but otherwise didn’t resist him. “Don’t move,” Mark ordered. “I’ll be right back.” A moment later he returned with a pair of the leather cuffs. He placed them on Tom’s wrists and clipped them together. A shudder ran through Tom’s body. Mark knelt just behind him and pulled the elastic at Tom’s waist, drawing the pajamas down to his knees. Reaching around his body, he found what he was 73

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looking for. As he expected, Tom’s shaft was stiff, its tip gooey with pre-cum. He wrapped his fingers around it and gently pumped him. Tom’s groan was muffled against his girlfriend’s pussy. Leaning close, Mark whispered, “I’m going to fuck Olivia, Tom.” Olivia, panting and moaning above them, didn’t hear him. He waited a beat. This, perhaps more than anything he’d yet done, would be a test of Tom’s willingness to submit to him. Tom pulled back, turning his head toward Mark. Olivia whimpered slightly as his attentions were withdrawn. He hadn’t protested. Taking his cue from this, Mark continued. “You’re going to watch with your hands cuffed behind you, naked on your knees beside us.” The color suffused Tom’s face like blood on a white handkerchief. Mark held his breath, waiting to see if he’d gone too far. But instead of outrage, Tom nodded slowly, his eyes bright, his lips wet with Olivia’s juices. Mark stood and pulled open a drawer. He removed a condom and tore open its packaging. Olivia had opened her eyes and was watching them. She stared at Tom, kneeling, bound and exposed on the floor at her feet. Her eyes were drawn back to Mark’s cock, longer than Tom’s, though not quite as thick. Mark smiled as she licked her lips, the gesture probably unconscious. Her bare pussy glistened from Tom’s kisses. It was swollen and suffused with blood, ready to receive him at last. He tapped Tom’s shoulder and nodded. Still flushed, Tom moved back, his cock jutting out straight, his hands cuffed behind him. Mark positioned himself in front of Olivia and leaned down to kiss her. He licked along her lips and lightly inserted the tip of his tongue into her mouth. Her hands came up and she pulled his head down, slipping her own tongue into his mouth. He pulled back, teasing her as he nibbled her full lower lip and danced his tongue just inside her mouth. His cock was touching her smooth labia. He reached down, drawing his fingers over the silky, wet flesh before slipping two of them inside her. Her vaginal muscles clamped down on his fingers with a fevered heat. He kissed her hard, claiming her mouth with his, wrapping his arms around her so her soft breasts mashed against his chest. After a moment he let her go, pulling back slightly to position his cock at her slick entrance. Olivia wriggled toward him, obviously eager for him to enter her. After holding back for so long, Mark found his self-control deserting him. With one smooth thrust, he plunged himself into her silky heat, grabbing her hips to hold her in place. While her lover knelt submissively beside him, he fucked Olivia, using her body without regard for her pleasure. All too soon he felt his balls tighten as his body prepared to let go. With a cry he thrust deep into her. Olivia’s own cry echoed his as her nails raked his back. She began to convulse against him, delicious, shuddering spasms that milked his cock as he came. As he came back to himself, he looked down at Tom, who was staring at them with burning eyes, his arms bound, his cock unflagging. Mark pulled himself carefully from

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Olivia and disposed of the used condom. Gently he lifted her in his arms and set her beside Tom on the bath rug. “Service him,” he ordered. “You may use your hands.” Both Tom and Olivia froze for an instant. Again Mark waited for one or the other to refuse, to take insult, to leave. Olivia was the first one to move. She knelt before her bound lover, still flushed and breathless from her orgasm. Mark stood back, admiring her shapely ass and noticing for the first time the dimples, one just above each cheek. He watched as she took Tom’s shaft in her hands and stroked him. Tom closed his eyes, moaning softly as her mouth closed over the head of his cock. Mark stroked his cock as he leaned against the counter watching the couple, refusing to allow the image of Lisette to darken his pleasure. He moved behind Tom, holding him up as Olivia licked, sucked and stroked his thick cock. It took all Mark’s self-control not to join in the play. It only took a few minutes for Tom to ejaculate into his willing lover’s mouth. He sagged back against Mark’s legs, his arms still bound behind him. Mark moved back and unclipped the cuffs, pulling them from Tom’s wrists. Next he helped Olivia to her feet. She turned to the mirror that lined the wall over the counter and stared at her shaved pudendum. Tom and Mark stood on either side of her, admiring the hint of labia peeping demurely between her legs. Olivia, seeing their stares, turned her head, burying her face in Tom’s neck. He turned toward her, wrapping her in his strong arms. Mark stood beside them, feeling suddenly very alone.

***** “Are the numbers ready for the meeting?” Olivia jumped a little, her boss’s voice startling her out of her reverie. “Yes, just about,” she answered, smiling brightly up at George. “I’ll bring them right down to your office so you can review the reports. Just give me a second.” When he poked his head into her office, she’d been staring at her keyboard, daydreaming about the weekend, seeing herself standing naked in front of the mirror between her two lovers…her two lovers? No, Tom was her lover! Mark was just…what was he? Your master. She shook the words away. He was a play partner, that’s what he was. A sexy, exciting play partner who had infused her relationship with Tom with a thrilling overlay of erotic tension. When they’d left him Sunday evening, they’d stayed up late, cuddled together in Tom’s bed, talking over every aspect of the wild weekend. “I don’t feel at all jealous, do you?” Tom had asked, snuggling close to Olivia in the bed. “He’s not a threat to me because I’m so secure in our love. Nothing could come between us. He’s really more of an extension of our lovemaking, that’s how I think of it, don’t you?”

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Tom, in his usual open fashion, talked freely about his newly discovered bisexual feelings and the effect D/s had on his outlook. “I don’t know if I could be with a guy without that aspect,” he said. “I mean, I never considered myself gay or even bi before. But something about Mark, about the way he commands us. It’s as if he sets something free inside me. Whatever limits or restrictions society imposes on us, on me as a straight man, seem to be lifted when we’re with him. I find I just want to please him.” He paused, reaching over to stroke Olivia’s breast, drawing a ring around her rising nipple with his finger as he collected his thoughts. “It’s more than that though. I don’t entirely understand it myself. The cuffs, the restraints. When he had me cuffed, kneeling on the bathroom floor…” Olivia stiffened, afraid of what he would say next. Though he claimed no jealousy, how could he help it? After all, Mark had fucked her while Tom watched, bound and naked beneath them. Olivia could pretend it was only an extension of their lovemaking, as Tom claimed, but in her heart of hearts she knew it was more than that, at least for her. It had been fiercely erotic for Olivia to sit on the counter with her legs spread while Mark shaved her pussy bare. Each stroke of the blade, his fingers following along the flesh to make sure it was smooth, stoked a flame deep inside her. She was dripping with lust by the time he’d finished and literally ached to feel his cock inside her. Tom’s tongue had assuaged that lust for a moment, its touch especially intimate against her newly shaved skin, but still she burned for Mark. She realized his intent when she saw he’d slipped a condom over his shaft and she held her breath, waiting for Tom’s reaction. Tom not only hadn’t protested, his cock had pointed toward them like a bird dog’s tail, his body rigid with barely contained desire. To her astonishment, she began to orgasm almost the instant Mark’s cock had penetrated her. At first knowing Tom was at their feet had heightened the thrill, but after a few moments of blinding pleasure, she forgot about Tom, her focus entirely on the man kissing her mouth, pulling her close, his perfect cock filling her completely. At the peak of her orgasm she nearly cried Mark’s name. When he’d pulled away from her, she’d held herself under tight control, afraid to label the confusion of feelings nearly overwhelming her. Tom continued. “It’s as if we both belonged to him. I don’t know how else to put it. Watching him kiss you, take you—I felt honored in a strange way that he was making love to my woman, to you. Does this even make sense?” Olivia assured him it did and said she had similar feelings. She wasn’t lying, at least not overtly. She had been deeply aroused watching Mark suck Tom’s cock that first night, and she thrilled to Mark’s command of her lover almost as much as she thrilled to his command of her. But for her there was something more personal, she realized. It wasn’t just about the three of them, it had become about the two of them as well, about Mark and her. Was it because she’d never fully let go of him from all those years ago? Was a part of her trying to pick up where they’d left off, even though she was now with Tom? But 76

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what of Mark? Had he ever given a second thought to the college girl he’d left without a goodbye? What was he getting out of all this? Again the bitter sting of jealousy pierced her psyche. Was he just using his past connection with her to get at Tom, to have sex with him, to “corrupt” his innocence and steal him away? The intercom on her office phone buzzed. Looking down, she saw it was George. “Coming!” she said brightly. Grabbing the reports from her printer, she hurried out of her office, her face already arranged by habit into the bland, pleasant expression of her work persona.

***** Tom looked at his watch. 6:20. Olivia had said she’d be late that night—some big project with a deadline. Their one-year anniversary was coming up in a few weeks. Tom clicked through the pages he’d bookmarked on the computer, trying to decide which diamond ring to buy. Maybe once they were engaged Olivia would agree to give up her apartment. It was smaller and less conveniently located to their jobs than his. He’d broached the subject in a casual way a few times before, but she’d had various reasons—he didn’t want to think of them as excuses—for why she needed to keep her place. Things would work out as they were supposed to, he mused, letting the matter go. He clicked through the links of the online jewelry store, moving from rings to bracelets. The cuffs Mark had used slid into his mind. He touched his wrists, suddenly yearning for the grip of leather against them. Something about being restrained—the moment he felt the leather tighten around his wrists and ankles it was as if he’d been put under a spell. While bound, he had eagerly obeyed Mark’s every command, his cock throbbing, his blood on fire. It was almost as if his personality changed when he gave over control to the masterful man. It wasn’t that he was weak-willed or easily controlled by another. To the contrary, up to that point in his life, sexual or otherwise, Tom had always been sure of himself. Before he’d met Mark, he would have laughed and shrugged it off if someone had told him he was bisexual and not only that, submissive. Was he bisexual? He’d never had romantic feelings for another man, but he couldn’t deny enjoying Mark’s attentions. He found Mark compelling and certainly attractive, but it wasn’t his physical attributes that drew Tom. He’d been around naked men all his life in locker rooms and barely noticed. No, female beauty was definitely what made Tom’s heart quicken and his cock harden. Olivia’s naked form slipped into his mind. He loved the rounded curve of her ass as she bent forward on hands and knees, eager to receive him from behind. He loved the way her breasts swayed as he thrust into her. He loved her newly shaved pussy—the way he could see the dark pink folds swell and moisten when she spread her legs for him. He loved to lick along the smooth folds, seeking the hard nubbin with his tongue.

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Would he be willing or able to suck another man’s cock? Yes, if it were Mark’s. The words whispered in his head and he knew they were true. Not because he particularly wanted to be with a man, but because of the way Mark seemed to take command of the situation and of Tom himself. When he was bound and under Mark’s spell, he honestly didn’t think he would refuse Mark anything. Did that mean he was submissive? He didn’t feel submissive. In fact, no small part of his arousal came from watching Olivia’s reaction when Mark exerted his sexy control. While Mark clearly dominated them both, Tom had no desire to be alone with him. Any experience in D/s would have to include Olivia, first and always. It was Thursday evening. They hadn’t seen or heard from Mark since the past Sunday. It seemed a pattern had already been established between them—he called them toward the end of the week and extended a casual invitation. It was better that way, Tom knew. Seeing him more often than that would have been too much. Olivia and he were far too busy during the week for the intensity a get-together with Mark always seemed to engender. Mark too, surely, had a busy life. No doubt he saw other people as well. Who knew, perhaps in another week or two the thrill would fade— Mark would turn out to be a jerk, or they would simply lose interest. Tom realized as he thought this he fervently hoped that didn’t happen, at least no time soon. His fantasies of their future with Mark went beyond the somewhat careful play they’d enjoyed so far. Rope, chain, cuffs, blindfold…these figured heavily in Tom’s secret dreams, dreams he’d only begun to realize. He knew Olivia was more interested in exploring the masochistic aspect of D/s. And while he didn’t personally wish to be spanked or whipped, it had been very intense to witness Olivia’s strong sexual reaction to Mark’s introduction to erotic pain. Several times as they snuggled in bed after lovemaking she’d tried to explain the heightened feelings Mark’s palm against her pussy had caused—not pain precisely, but a kind of melding of sensation that transcended both pleasure and pain. Tom wondered what it would be like to dominate her himself. Would she allow him to order her to her knees, to worship his cock, to accept a whipping… Not a whipping, he thought, erasing the image. Instead he replaced it with one of Olivia draping herself sensually over his lap, allowing him to smack and fondle her gorgeous ass, to redden it until she begged for mercy… Yes, that fantasy was far more to his liking. He stroked his cock, wondering if he dared tried to Dom his beautiful girl on his own. Would she respond as ardently to him as she had to Mark? Oddly, this new obsession with their ménage partner didn’t threaten what he had with Olivia, at least not in his mind. He hadn’t been lying to Mark when he said nothing could come between Olivia and him. On the contrary, this strange adventure they were sharing had brought them even closer. It had opened new lines of communication and sexual honesty between them. It had revealed to each of them new aspects of their personalities, of their potential for sensual experience and their secret desires. That could only be a good thing, right? 78

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Chapter Nine As the weekend approached they talked more openly and more specifically about any limits they might have with regard to sexual play with Mark. Tom admitted to Olivia the wild interplay of feelings he’d experienced watching another man fuck his girlfriend. Because of the cuffs, because it was Mark, because of the submissive headspace he’d found himself in, he hadn’t been jealous or angry—he’d been turnedon. When Olivia continued to worry aloud Mark had gone too far, Tom said, “If I hadn’t wanted it, I would have said so, Livvy. He didn’t do anything we didn’t both want. Mark has said over and over—communication and trust are key. I think as long as we keep talking and keep an honest dialog with Mark about all this, we’ll be fine. If you’re trying to say you were the one who felt uncomfortable, who felt he went too far—” “No!” Olivia burst out. Ducking her head, she added more softly, “No, not at all. I mean, like you said, it’s Mark. It’s not like I was having an affair or something. It was the three of us—the whole dynamic—that was so erotic.” Tom felt a whisper of disquiet but he brushed it aside, distracted by Olivia’s next question. “What if he wanted to fuck you? You know, anally? Would you permit it?” Tom pondered the question, resisting his initial immediate impulse to say no. He’d never had anal sex with a woman, not because he thought it was dirty or dangerous, but because it had never especially interested him or his partners. He tried to imagine what it would be like—to have a man penetrate his ass, to use him in such an intimate way. Though his gut tightened with apprehension at the thought, his cock responded, interest or at least curiosity making it twitch. Into his mind’s eye flowed the image of himself bound with rope and leather, Mark naked and splendid behind him. He shifted in his chair, aware Olivia was watching him, aware she was waiting for an answer. “My first instinct is to say no. But I honestly don’t know,” he finally said. “I’m coming to realize the limits I thought I had no longer apply when it comes to our ménage with Mark.” Deciding to turn the tables, he added, “How would you feel? If he wanted to, uh, take me in that way? Or for that matter, take you?” “Me?” Olivia flushed and took a breath. “I’m not into anal,” she said as if that settled it. Tom knew she knew better. He knew she, like him, didn’t know her limits when it came to Mark and D/s. The disquiet he felt deepened, but at the same time so did the thrill. Mark was dangerous, Tom suddenly knew. The power he had to energize and revitalize Tom’s relationship with Olivia was the same power that could destroy it. He thought about how easily Olivia had agreed to be shaved, despite her refusal when

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Tom had suggested it. He thought about his own staunch assertion to her the night they met Mark that he wasn’t bisexual, and how easily Mark had disproved that, or at the very least, made him question his sexual orientation. To test his theory, he asserted, “If Mark decides you’re into it, you’ll be into it.” He waited for Olivia to deny it. She didn’t. Tom’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Mark.” He tried to keep his voice casual but his pulse at once began to tap faster. He flipped open the phone as Olivia leaned forward. They were just finishing their dinner and had purposely made no plans for that Friday evening “just in case”. “Tom, It’s Mark. Sorry to be calling so last minute. My editor wanted some fact checking on a deadline article or I would have been home earlier.” He paused. “I was wondering, if the two of you weren’t busy… Perhaps we three could get together? I was thinking we could just stay in, at my place, unless you’d rather go out.” “No, in is fine,” Tom said, grinning at Olivia. “He wants us to come over,” he mouthed toward her. She nodded, her eyes lighting up. “We were just finishing dinner. We could be there in a half-hour.” They moved to the bedroom to change. “Wear something sexy,” Tom said as he watched Olivia step out of her narrow skirt and hang it with the tailored jacket she’d taken off as soon as she’d come home. “Wear that black bra and panties set I like. They show off your gorgeous breasts and ass.” “Is that an order, sir?” Olivia said with a saucy toss of her long hair. He was standing close beside her, reaching into his side of the closet for a fresh shirt. On an impulse he grabbed her, pulling her hard to him. “It could be, if you want it to be,” he said, feeling a new kind of power as she melted against him with a sigh.

***** “I think you’re both ready to move to the next level, wouldn’t you agree?” “I guess that depends what the next level entails,” Olivia quipped, affecting a bravado she didn’t feel. She was wearing the sexy undergarments Tom had told her to wear, and over it a low-cut silk pale green blouse and low-slung blue jeans. “Are you sure you’re an accountant, not an attorney?” Mark answered with a laugh. He was wearing his usual black, tonight a T-shirt that hugged his broad chest and shoulders and loose black linen pants. His feet were bare. Tom, in the dark blue linen shirt Olivia chose for him and jeans that clung to his sexy ass and legs in a perfect fit, leaned forward, balancing his beer bottle on his knee. “The next level…” he repeated, his blue eyes bright. Mark smiled a slow, sexy smile and nodded. “Tonight I want to challenge you both, to press the envelope.” He stood and walked toward the closet near the front door of the house. Taking out a large duffel bag, he brought it over and set it on the coffee table in front of Tom. “This is for you, Tom. Open it.”

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Tom set down his beer and unzipped the bag. His eyes widened and a flush crept over his cheeks. “What?” Olivia said, scooting closer to see. “Place the items on the table so we can all see them,” Mark said. Tom withdrew a package of rope, two pairs of leather wrist and ankle cuffs, a packet of clips, some lengths of thin, sturdy chain and a pair of metal handcuffs. Olivia could feel sexual tension emanating from Tom like live wires, catching them all in its current. She glanced at his crotch, not surprised to see the bulge there. “For you, Olivia, I have this.” She looked, but he was only holding up his hand, his palm facing her. “Your hand?” she asked, for a second confused before she realized what he meant. “Yes. Stand up. Take off everything but your panties. Then lay across my lap.” He looked toward Tom, for the moment ignoring Olivia, who sat rooted to the spot. “You, Tom. Take off your T-shirt and jeans, put the cuffs on your wrists and ankles and kneel at my feet.” “Right here?” Tom looked around the cluttered, elegant old living room, a question in his eyes. Heavy drapes hung over the windows, but they weren’t drawn. Anyone passing by could see into the house if they came too close. “Right here,” Mark said in a voice that didn’t brook argument. With a swallow Tom stood. He unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall from his body. He pulled at the metal buttons of his fly and kicked out of his shoes as he pulled down his jeans. His cock was visibly outlined, pressing hard against his underwear. Olivia hadn’t moved. Mark turned his dark gaze toward her and said quietly, “Olivia. If you want what I offer, the first thing you must learn is to obey. That means when I tell you to do something, you do it. If that’s too difficult for you, perhaps we’ve already come to the end of our sensual journey together.” Olivia jumped up. She knew he planned to spank her. The thought at once thrilled and terrified her. Her ass tingled as if it could already feel the smack of his hard hand against it. Her pussy sparked in sympathy, recalling the sweet sting of his palm. She glanced nervously at Tom. He was busy attaching the leather cuffs at his ankles, apparently only too eager to obey Mark’s orders. With Mark’s eyes burning holes in her skin, she removed her clothing and bra and stepped out of her sandals. Mark gave a small whistle of appreciation. “Very nice,” he said, his voice husky and low. Olivia felt at once embarrassed and pleased. She glanced at Tom, whose expression was difficult for her to read as he knelt beside the huge velvet sofa upon which Mark sat, waiting for her. “Olivia,” Mark said, his voice making her jump. “Clip Tom’s cuffs behind him, both the wrists and the ankles.” As he spoke he reached for the packet of rope. Taking a small knife from his pocket, he cut away the plastic and deftly cut several lengths from

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the coil. Olivia cuffed Tom, whose erect cock was pointing straight up, the head poking above the elastic waistband of his underwear. She stepped back as Mark moved behind him and began to wrap a length of rope around his arms from wrist to elbow. Unlike the clips, Tom would not be able to free himself of the rope. He was truly bound. Olivia could see Tom was both agitated and excited by what was happening. He was breathing hard, though trying to control his reaction by pressing his lips together. Once Mark was satisfied with the rope, he sat again on the couch, returning his focus to Olivia. “Your turn, little girl,” he said, patting his lap. Olivia’s heart gave a jump and then settled to a fast, hard beat. “But first, take off your panties. I want to inspect you.” Olivia felt her cheeks burn. She glanced at Tom with a beseeching look, but he only nodded slightly, as if to say, “Do it.” After the sensual shaving the weekend before, Olivia had groomed herself each morning in the shower, running her fingers over her sex to make sure it was smooth, vividly recalling Mark’s sensual touch each time she did so. Knowing she was shaved beneath her pantyhose and sensible work suits had kept her aroused all day, fueling her desire at night. Yet, even though she was reasonably comfortable with her body and her pussy, “inspection” sounded intimidating. It implied she might somehow fail to pass the inspection, and then what? At the same time, the whole scene had so aroused Olivia she knew she was wet, which could also prove embarrassing during the “inspection”. “Olivia,” Mark said, his voice edged with steel. She realized she was standing frozen to the spot. As he raked her body with his eyes, she slowly pulled down her panties and stepped out of them. Tom was also watching her, his lips parted, his package bulging. “Come closer,” Mark said softly. Olivia walked directly in front of him and stood, her pussy tingling, her cheeks burning. “Spread your legs.” He tapped her inner thigh. Olivia shifted until she was standing in an “at ease” position, her bare pussy level with Mark’s chest. He reached up and touched her outer labia with his finger, drawing the tip over her flesh. He cupped her mons in his hand and then slid down so his fingers brushed her clit and slipped into the wetness of her cleft. She could feel Tom’s eyes on them. She closed her own eyes and bit her lower lip to keep from moaning aloud as Mark stroked her to a fever pitch. “You’ll do,” he announced, abruptly withdrawing his hand from her now-sopping pussy. “Lie across my lap. I assume this is the first spanking you’ve ever had?” Mutely Olivia nodded. “Watch and learn, Tom,” Mark said with a grin toward her bound and kneeling boyfriend. “Women like Olivia needed to be spanked hard and often.” “Hey!” Olivia sputtered indignantly. What the hell did he mean, “Women like Olivia”? She was a modern woman! How dare he tell Tom she needed to be spanked often and hard! What the hell was that about? Even as the protests ricocheted through her head the words died on her lips. She knew he was right. In her bones, she knew it, though she had yet to feel even the first smack of his palm.

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Tom didn’t race to her defense as he certainly would have in a different situation. Instead he only watched her, his eyes fiercely shining, his tongue poking between parted lips. Quietly he said with an authority Olivia had never heard in his voice before, “Do what he says, Olivia. Now.” She looked from her lover to Mark and back again. They were both watching her, Tom’s expression intense, Mark’s amused. She could have said no, she could have pulled her clothes back on and told them she wasn’t about to lie over Mark’s lap and endure being treated like an errant child. But it wasn’t about that, was it? This had nothing to do with punishment for bad behavior. It had everything to do with sensual yearnings Olivia until recently barely knew she harbored. It was about the secret cavern of desire Mark had uncovered, a hidden place inside Olivia she could no longer deny or resist. Hoping her movements didn’t betray how nervous she was, Olivia carefully draped herself over Mark’s lap, not sure what to do with her hands. She was glad for the chance to hide her face in the thick, soft cushions of the sofa. Mark’s hands moved over her back and ass, smoothing the flesh, lightly kneading and massaging the muscle beneath. Slowly Olivia began to relax beneath his fingers. She didn’t resist when he gently pressed his hand between her thighs, parting them enough to slide his fingers between her legs. He rubbed lightly over her wet pussy, drawing the juices along the crevice and up to the puckered entrance of her ass. Olivia flinched at this unaccustomed touch and instinctively closed her legs. Tom’s comment earlier that evening regarding anal sex flowered in her mind—If Mark decides you’re into it, you’ll be into it. She was distracted as he began lightly to slap her ass cheeks, alternating between them. She jumped, a gasp escaping her lips. “Relax,” Mark said, his voice soothing. “Relax your body. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly.” Olivia tried to obey. Her breath came out more as a shudder. Her heart was pounding against Mark’s thigh. She could feel his erection through the thin fabric of his pants bulging against her stomach. Mark stroked her flesh again. “Breathe,” he said gently. Then he smacked her hard. The sound resounded in the silence, accompanied by her gasp and a sharp intake of breath from Tom. Mark smacked her other cheek. “Beautiful,” he said. He smacked her again, a succession of sharp, stinging blows. Olivia squirmed, the heat rising through her flesh. Though it hurt, each stroke seemed to work its way directly to her pussy. As with the pussy smacking the week before, she felt desire boiling inside her, threatening to spill over into unbridled lust. She tensed, her body poised and waiting for more, longing for more. She heard rather than saw Tom moving closer, scooting forward on his knees. She felt him bend over her, his lips lightly grazing her back. “You okay, Livvy?” The concern was evident in his voice. She nodded, her face averted. “She’s better than okay,” Mark remarked, his tone sardonic. As he spoke, he slipped his hand between her legs and pressed a finger inside her. Olivia felt the heat of

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embarrassed chagrin, aware she was soaked. Mark removed his hand and drew a wet line on her back. “She needs this, Tom. Trust me, I would never take Olivia or you where you shouldn’t go.” Tom remained close as Mark resumed the spanking. As her skin burned and the nerve endings became overstimulated, each blow seemed to sting more than the last. Finally she could no longer keep still. She began to squirm against Mark’s thighs, her breath rapid and shallow, the blood of her pulse roaring in her ears. He pressed a hand firmly against her lower back to hold her still. “I can’t! I can’t!” she panted, reaching back to cover her tender ass from the steady rain of blows. Mark smacked her hands until she pulled them away. “You can. You are. You’re perfect,” Mark said, his voice masterful with certainty. The sound of Olivia’s whimpering and labored breathing filled the room. He smacked her four more times, each stroke harder than the last. Her ass was hot and stinging when Mark removed his hand from her back and let her lift herself from his lap. She sat gingerly, even the soft velvet of the sofa chafing her stinging flesh. “Show Tom,” Mark said, lightly stroking her thigh. She looked at Tom. He smiled at her and nodded. She wondered if his arms weren’t tired or sore, bound as they were. His cock, she noted, was fully erect in its cotton prison. Olivia stood and turned so she was facing away from Tom. “Oh,” Tom said softly. “It’s so red. Livvy, baby, does it hurt?” She reached back, touching her ass. The skin was hot to the touch. It stung, but somehow her brain wasn’t processing the sensation as pain. She wanted to see how red her cheeks were. A curious sense of pride swelled through her at the thought. She’d taken a real spanking! She turned toward Tom and nodded, unable to stop the smile that stole over her face. “It hurts so good,” Mark said with a small laugh. He stood and touched Olivia’s arm. “Want to see? I know you do. Go into the bedroom and have a look at your luscious cherry red ass. I’m going to untie Tom and we’ll meet you there in a minute. Wait for us in the bed.” It didn’t occur to Olivia to question Mark. He gave the orders and they obeyed. She grabbed her clothes and hurried to the bedroom, eager to see her cherry red ass, wondering what he had in store for them next.

***** Once the knots were untied and the cuffs unclipped, Tom brought his arms together over his chest, massaging the life back into them. Mark had not removed the cuffs from his wrists and ankles. Their very presence kept Tom’s cock hard. Partially released from Mark’s sensual spell by Olivia’s absence and the removal of the ropes, Tom felt self-conscious standing there in his underwear while Mark, fully clothed, regarded him. “How’re you feeling?” Mark asked him. Tom looked up at the taller man, trying to sort his thoughts and feelings into something he could express aloud. 84

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The time they spent with Mark always seemed to have a sense of the surreal about it. Dr. Tom Dylan, respected veterinarian and straight, vanilla All-American-type boyfriend nearly engaged to an accountant girlfriend his mother had referred to as “wholesome”, seemed to disappear when the cuffs and rope came out. Or not disappear precisely, but step back to allow a secret, sensual aspect of his personality to come sharply to the fore, to take over his persona as he knelt eagerly at another man’s feet, his cock raging while that man gave his nearly naked girlfriend what had looked like a very hard spanking. “I’m feeling—I don’t know exactly. Turned-on certainly. Surprised at myself. I don’t feel jealous when you’re doing such intimate things to and with my girlfriend.” “I think that’s because you understand this isn’t about her and me, or even you and me. It’s about the fiery potential of D/s. It transcends the people involved in it, at least that’s been my experience. And Tom,” Mark placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder, his expression earnest, “when love enters the mix, the potential is unlimited.” “You were in love with Lisette. And she was your…sub?” Tom saw the pain flash over Mark’s features and regretted his remark. Mark seemed to quickly regain control, and when he looked back at Tom, his face was composed, even serene. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Someday maybe I’ll tell you more. For now I can offer you this. If Olivia is the one, the one for you, Tom, the one you can’t imagine ever being without, be there for her. Give her what she needs. Love her with all your heart.” “Oh, I do,” Tom breathed, meaning it. He thought about the engagement rings he’d examined earlier in the week and almost added he planned to marry her, but he kept his counsel. What if she refused him? What if she wanted someone different? Someone more like…Mark? In the oddly disconcerting way he had, Mark seemed to respond to his unspoken words. “Then give her what she needs, Tom. You saw how she responded to the spanking and to the pussy smacking the other day. How she thrilled even though it frightened her to watch that woman being caned at the club. With women like her, Tom, you can’t open the Pandora’s Box of BDSM and then expect to snap it shut. She has the mark of a true sensual masochist. I won’t go so far as to say she’s submissive, at least not yet and certainly not to me. But to the right man, to someone who not only gives her what she craves, but loves her with all his heart…” He left the thought hanging. Tom understood, or thought he did. Mark was suggesting he “Dom” Olivia, make D/s a part of their lifestyle, or at least their sexual play. Tom’s cock hardened as he imagined Olivia lying, not over Mark’s lap, but over his own as his hand came down hard on her beautiful shapely ass. “I’ve got you thinking. That’s good,” Mark laughed. “Let’s not leave the lovely Olivia waiting any longer.” Olivia was waiting for them in the bed, the sheets pulled demurely over her breasts, her dark blonde hair spread over the pillows like a fan. She half sat as they entered and the sheets fell from one breast, its rosy nipple pointing invitingly toward them. Tom

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shucked his underwear and climbed into the bed beside her as Mark quickly stripped. He lay down on her other side and pulled at the sheet, dragging it from Olivia’s naked body. Tom, lying on his side, pulled her into his arms. As he kissed her, Mark leaned into her from the other side, his long, hard body pressed firmly against hers. “Beautiful girl,” he murmured, his voice deep. Olivia pulled gently away from Tom and turned toward Mark, who took her into his arms and kissed her while Tom watched. He felt a sudden impulse to jerk her from Mark’s arms, but instead, he pressed his body against hers. Her ass was still warm. It felt good against his cock. He nestled it between her ass cheeks and rubbed. Olivia moaned against Mark’s mouth and wriggled against him, spreading her legs so his cock slipped lower. Her shaved pussy was slick and it was easy to maneuver the head of his cock to her entrance. He reached around her and his hands made contact with Mark’s strong back. Instead of recoiling, in his lust, Tom stroked Mark’s skin, his fingers moving along the rippling muscle as he pressed his shaft into Olivia’s heat. Olivia moaned, pushing back as her pussy muscles gripped his cock like a hot satin glove. Tom almost forgot Mark’s presence as he thrust deep inside his lover, thoughts clicking off as pleasure took over, consuming him. The sensual scent of her arousal mingled with the manly musk of Mark’s body and his own. Olivia was sandwiched between them. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she began to chant in little gasps, her body trembling. He realized Mark’s hand was at her sex, rubbing her to a climax while he fucked her from behind. She bucked against Mark’s fingers, crying out as her pussy clamped tight around Tom’s cock. As her tremors subsided, Tom held her, moving slowly inside her, suddenly aware Mark was no longer on her other side. He felt Mark climb into bed behind him. He tensed, half expecting to feel Mark’s long cock snake against his ass, not sure how he’d respond. Instead Mark reached for his arms, pulling them from around Olivia. “Hey,” he said in protest. Olivia rolled from him, turning to watch them. “Hey, what,” Mark responded. “You didn’t think you’d get off so easy, did you?” He gripped Tom’s arms behind his back. Tom felt a mantle of desire settle over him, weighing him down, rendering him compliant. “Sit up at the head of the bed,” Mark instructed. Tom obeyed, allowing Mark to cuff each wrist high on the bars of the headboard. Mark knelt beside him and gripped his shaft, roughly pumping it as Olivia watched with wide eyes. Tom felt a strange mixture of revulsion and desire. He pulled at the restraints and let his head fall back, closing his eyes. The voice of protest, the one screaming he wasn’t gay died to a whimper as Mark’s skillful, if rough, touch made him hard as steel. “Straddle him,” he heard Mark say in a voice that brooked no refusal. He lifted his head as Olivia’s soft, sweet body moved over his. She knelt with one knee on either side

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of his thighs. Carefully she lowered herself over his cock. Mark knelt just behind her, his cock in his hand, his eyes black as night. It didn’t take long for Olivia’s sensual movements to bring Tom to the edge of release. He jerked against the cuffs, forgetting for an instant he was bound as he tried to take her into his arms. “Make him come,” Mark ordered. Olivia leaned forward, gripping Tom’s head as her supple tongue teased his mouth. He forgot Mark as he shuddered and lifted his hips to bury himself as deep as he could in Olivia’s willing body. He could feel his heart pounding, thudding against Olivia as he erupted deep inside her. He opened his eyes and saw Mark rolling a condom over his cock. Without asking, without discussion, he pulled Olivia from Tom’s cock and positioned her on her hands and knees. Tom watched as Mark knelt behind his girlfriend and guided his shaft into her pussy. Mark thrust hard against her, making her grunt as she fell forward against Tom’s chest. Tom could only watch, his wrists extended and cuffed over his head against the bars, as his lover, on her hands and knees between his legs, was fucked by another man. Mark used her roughly, thrusting hard against her, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Tom watched him, fascinated, jealous, angry, aroused. Olivia’s head was down, her hair flying against his chest, her head sometimes bumping him as Mark forced her forward with each thrust. Of all the emotions at play inside him, arousal remained at the forefront. His beautiful girl was being used by a tall, handsome near-stranger while he was tethered to the bed, a willing accomplice in his own bondage. After only a few minutes Mark came, his savage thrusts forcing a cry from Olivia. He pulled out quickly and fell beside them on the bed, his face averted. Olivia collapsed against Tom, resting her head on his thigh. He could feel her heart pattering against his leg. He wanted to scoop her into his arms. “Uncuff me,” he said to her. She glanced at Mark, who was lying on his back, his arm thrown over his face, his flagging cock still sheathed in the sticky condom. Reaching up, she released the clips that held Tom captive. He scooted down to lie beside her and take her into his arms. Mark lay still and silent beside them. All at once Tom could feel Mark’s loneliness like a pall settling over the room. Olivia must have felt it too. Wordlessly she pulled away from Tom and climbed over Mark, settling on his other side. She draped her arm lightly over his chest. Tom, moving closer, also brought his arm over Mark’s body. Mark lay between them, his eyes closed, so still he might have been sleeping, only a single tear on his cheek giving him away.

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Chapter Ten Tom pulled Olivia into his arms and kissed her. “I’ll call you when I know what train I’m coming back on. Two days will pass before you know it.” Since Tom and she had begun seeing only each other, they’d rarely spent a night apart. He’d even suggested she come with him to the veterinarian conference he was attending in New York City that Wednesday and Thursday, but the firm’s auditors were going to be at her office all week and she couldn’t afford to miss a day. She drove from the train station. It was only six o’clock and the evening stretched ahead of her. She could get a head start on laundry, or pay some bills…or call Mark… No, she couldn’t do that. It was understood what they shared with Mark was about the three of them, wasn’t it? Besides, they always let him be the one to make contact. Of course she had his number, but what would he make of it if she called out of the blue? She drove along in silence toward her apartment, her mind whirring. A little devil perched on her shoulder, whispering… It wasn’t as if Tom and she were married. She was still her own woman, wasn’t she? She didn’t need his permission to visit a friend, did she? But Mark was more than a friend, wasn’t he? No one could have made love to her the way he had with such shattering intensity and not have strong feelings for her, could he? And the way she felt when he commanded her in that deep, sexy voice of his— Tom had never made her feel like that! Should she talk to him? Feel him out without Tom there to prevent a free exchange? Surely there was no harm in talking! She wasn’t planning to have sex with him without Tom, for heaven’s sake! Mark…his craggy, handsome face filled her mind, those dark eyes reaching past her secrets, into her heart. He wanted her to come to him! She knew it in her bones. Suddenly she knew what she hadn’t allowed herself to admit. Mark was falling in love with her! And she with him! If they were falling in love, should they nip it in the bud? Or decide where to go from here? She thought of Tom, so steadfast and true to her. Guilt seeped into the confused tumult of her thoughts. Tom would never go behind her back to see Mark. Would he? Yet he was wildly taken with Mark too, she knew he was. Maybe they could both be Mark’s lovers. Live-in submissive sex slaves to one man. No, that sort of arrangement would never work. Three was fine for play, but no way could it work out in real life. She would have to choose between them. While the mental battle ensured, she missed the turn that would take her to her apartment and realized she was heading for Mark’s place.

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***** It took Mark a moment to realize someone was at the door, so absorbed was he in typing his article about suspected corruption at City Hall. He hit the save button on his computer and hurried down the stairs to see who was there. He was surprised to see Olivia through the peephole, standing on the stoop. He didn’t see Tom, but assumed he must be parking the car. His feelings were mixed as he pulled open the door. Until now he had always been the one to initiate contact, and this suited him. While he enjoyed seeing them very much, he liked to keep his life somewhat compartmentalized. The workweek was devoted to his job, and play was for the weekend. “Olivia. What a pleasant surprise.” “Hi, Mark,” she said shyly. “I’m—I’m sorry I came by without calling. I just—I needed to talk to you.” “Where’s Tom?” Mark asked, craning his head to see if Tom was coming up the sidewalk. “Oh, he, uh, he isn’t here. He’s out of town actually. A conference. He’ll be back Thursday evening.” Mark raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he stepped back and gestured her inside. He could see she was agitated. He waited, refusing to jump to any conclusions. “Would you like something to drink? Cola or a glass of wine?” “Wine would be good, if you have some open.” “Of course. Would you like white or red?” “Some of that Chardonnay would be fine. Really, only if it’s no trouble.” “No trouble at all,” he said with a smile. She was wound tighter than a drum. He felt unease spread into his mind like spilled ink, but he only smiled at her and moved toward the kitchen. She sat at the table as he took the wine bottle from the refrigerator and poured them each a glass. He waited until she had taken a sip before he said gently, “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit, Olivia? Is everything okay? Is Tom okay?” “He’s—he’s fine. I’m the problem.” She gave a small laugh and glanced up at him with those lovely green eyes. “What’s the matter? Has something happened?” She drained her glass and set it down just a trifle too hard against the tabletop. Mark refilled her wine and sat back, waiting. “Don’t you know?” Olivia asked, her expression imploring. Mark studied her face, not sure what she was getting at. He’d been involved in relatively long-term relationships with two other couples in the past. One had simply fizzled out after a few months. The other had lasted much longer until the boyfriend had decided the girlfriend and Mark were engaged in a secret, torrid love affair. His

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jealousy had corroded the relationship to the point Mark was glad to get away from them both. Since then he’d hesitated to play with couples for precisely the reason that misplaced jealousy could sour the game. Yet with Olivia and Tom he’d thought he’d chosen wisely. Until now. He gazed at Olivia a while longer. Was she jealous of what she perceived Tom and Mark shared? That didn’t make sense. If anything, the connection between Olivia and Mark had been more intense, more personal than what went on between him and her boyfriend… Olivia was watching him. Slowly she brought her hand over the table and put it over his, squeezing gently. “Mark,” she said, her voice low. “We have to figure out what to do. You and I…” The coin dropped at last. “You and I?” he echoed stupidly, though he knew now what she meant. “Yes,” she breathed, her wide eyes capturing his. “I’m in love with you. I can’t deny it anymore. I still love Tom, but what you and I have, it’s so special, so intense. I’ve never experienced anything like what you offer, Mark. I let you get away once. I can’t lose you again.” For an instant he cupped the tiny flame her compliment lit within him. Then he blew it out. Slowly he shook his head. “You’re not in love with me, Olivia. You just crave what I offer. You’re in love with your newfound discovery of submission and the way it makes you feel.” She started to protest but he silenced her with a shake of his head. “No, listen to me. I’ve watched you, Olivia. I’ve watched you blossom under the potential of a D/s relationship, but that relationship isn’t with me. What I offer isn’t unique. All I’ve done is connect to the part of you that is the flip side of me. We share a predilection, if you will, that I’ve tapped into, that’s all. “If you’ll forgive my crudeness, stop thinking with your cunt and look into your heart.” As Olivia flushed, he continued. “Then you’ll know who you’re really in love with. I’ve sensed in Tom a certain natural dominance. It’s something you might overlook because of his gentle nature and easygoing ways. But he has the potential to give you everything I have, and far more. Answer me honestly, Olivia. Do you love Tom?” “I do, yes. I do,” she said softly, tears spilling down her cheeks. “He loves you with all his heart. I only have to look at the two of you to know this. As I told Tom, when love enters the D/s equation, the combination is far more potent than what we’ve been able to share in our ménage. Give him a chance to be what you need. You’ll be rewarded tenfold.” “But why? Don’t you love me, Mark? I know you do!”

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Gently Mark touched Olivia’s tearstained cheek. “Not in the way you think you want. I’m sorry, Olivia, but my heart still belongs to another. Ironically, it’s you and Tom who have helped me figure that out.”

***** “C’est toi? Comment ça va?” It took a moment for Mark to process who was calling him at three o’clock in the morning. Barely aware he was speaking in French, Mark demanded sleepily, “Jacques, why in god’s name are you calling me at this hour? Has someone died?” “This is how you greet an old friend! What do you mean ‘this hour’? It’s nine o’clock in the morning, you lazybones!” “It’s three o’clock in the morning on this side of the Atlantic, you idiot,” Mark said, affection coloring his words. Jacques was a reporter for the Paris newspaper Le Monde, and one of Mark’s best friends. In fact, it was Jacques who had introduced him to Lisette. Lisette! “Is something wrong? Is Lisette okay?” He held his breath, now fully awake. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. Apologies for the middle of the night. I always forget about that.” “It’s okay. I’m awake now. What’s going on?” “Lisette with her usual flair for the dramatic walked out on her own wedding!” “What?” “Yes! You know she hooked up with that guy Jean Luc on the rebound from your dumping her—” “My dumping her! She left me!” “Only after you refused to put on the thousand-kilo ball and chain of marriage.” Jacques laughed. He used to joke the main reason he was gay was to avoid the dreaded institution of holy matrimony. Mark had been hurt and angry when Lisette had left him. Though he loved her with all his heart, he resented what he felt were her efforts to coerce him into marriage, an institution he regarded with suspicion. After a few weeks of missing her, he’d tried to see her again, sending her roses and love letters. She’d ignored him, sending messages through Jacques she needed time alone to reassess her life. When she’d hooked up with another man, instead of trying to win her back, he’d taken his usual course and flown the coop, this time halfway around the world. “Why are you telling me this now? Lisette made it clear she wants nothing to do with me.” “I wouldn’t be so sure, my friend. You just didn’t try hard enough,” Jacques retorted. “Lisette’s a romantic like you, don’t you know that? She needed you to prove your devotion in no uncertain terms. She was afraid you only wanted her back for the sex, though to hear her tell it,” Jacques lowered his voice conspiratorially, “sex with the 91

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amazing Mark Hunter is just this side of heaven. I don’t know why you continue to waste yourself on women!” He laughed ruefully. Mark and Jacques had never been more than friends, though if Jacques had had his way, that wouldn’t have been the case. “I think she’s finally seen the error of her ways.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially as he added, “If you were still interested, she just might take you back.” Mark batted down the little thing with feathers flapping in his heart and tried to focus. “So let me get this straight. She’s no longer engaged? She left him at the altar? Literally standing at the altar?” “Well, no. It wasn’t quite so dramatic as that, but you know me, I like a good story. In fact, she broke it off several weeks before the actual ceremony. I don’t think she ever loved him. When I took her out to console her over several glasses of Pastis, it wasn’t his name on her lips, but yours.” “Ma petite Lisette…” Mark said softly, the image of his lovely girl rising from her compartment in his heart and spilling into his mind. While being with Olivia and Tom these past several weekends had been a delightful diversion, it had also become an increasing source of pain, highlighting as it did how alone Mark really was. Olivia’s touching if misguided visit the night before had convinced Mark it was no longer prudent to take the couple further into a D/s relationship with him as their master. They were ready to explore on their own. He’d talked with Olivia for another hour, gently helping her to see where her heart truly lay. When she’d gone, he’d felt even more lonely than before, if that were possible. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He glanced at the clock and turned on the lamp. Jacques’ call had awakened all his pent-up yearning for Lisette. Oh, to hold her in his arms again, to press her sweet, yielding body against his… Did he dare return to try again, this time ready at last to truly give of himself? What if she refused him? He recalled the late nights spent with Jacques when she’d first left him, drinking far too much in dim, smoky Parisian bars as he lamented the loss of his lover. How easily, it seemed to him then, she had fallen into the arms of another, forgetting to return Mark’s heart in the process. It had been four months since he’d left Paris, assuring Jacques and himself he was ready to move on. During that time he realized he’d changed. The loss of Lisette and the witnessing firsthand of the love Olivia and Tom shared had broken through his carefully crafted reserve. He wasn’t sure what to expect if he just showed up at Lisette’s door, but he knew he had to find out.

***** Mark sipped his drink as he frowned down at the Atlantic Ocean, seeing nothing. He’d gone back and forth in his mind over whether to contact Lisette and tell her he was coming. In the end he decided just to appear—no pressure, just passing through…

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He didn’t want to give her the chance to refuse him, at least not over the phone or through an email. He had to see her face again, even if just for a final goodbye. His editor hadn’t been thrilled when only a few months into his new job Mark had informed him he had to take a brief leave of absence to “attend to some urgent business in Paris”. Mark, independently wealthy, didn’t need his job with the newspaper, but he enjoyed it, and hoped it would still be waiting for him upon his return. He’d called Tom to let him know he had to go out of town. He was vague about his intentions, embarrassed to admit he was returning to once again beg the love of his life to accept him. Tom had been understanding and gracious. Mark wondered if Olivia had confided in him about her visit. Based on Tom’s easy conversation, he doubted it. If necessary, he would deal with that situation when he returned. Now his mind was on other things. He told Jacques he was coming, but begged him not to tell Lisette. “The two of you, I swear,” Jacques laughed indulgently. “Always making me promise not to tell the other this, that or the other thing. I hope you don’t expect me to go along and do your talking for you, calling up to her balcony while you hide in the bushes feeding me lines.” “She still lives on Rue de Valois?” “She does. When she moved in with Jean Luc, she kept her place. I guess on some level she knew it wasn’t going to work out. When she broke off the engagement, he was furious. He threw all of her things out onto the street. She had bruises on her arms shaped like a man’s fingers. I wanted to go smash his face in but she wouldn’t let me. She said it was better just to forget him completely. I’ve been keeping my eye on him though. If he tries to go near her, or bothers her in any way, he’ll have me to deal with.” Rage over that asshole Jean Luc’s behavior toward his darling Lisette nearly made Mark race to the airport the moment he hung up from Jacques. He forced himself to calm down. Lisette was a strong woman who could take care of herself, and Jacques was a good friend who happened to work out at the gym four times per week. Mark didn’t want to show up in Paris like some kind of avenging cowboy. He just wanted to see her again. For so long he’d kept his thoughts about Lisette carefully controlled, tamped down, tied up and gagged at the back of his mind. Becoming involved with Olivia and Tom had begun to worry the knots that kept his lost love relegated to the back of his heart. Jacques’ phone call had cut clean through the ropes and there was no going back. The flight attendant, who at Logan Airport had spoken in flawless English, now told the passengers in perfect French they would be landing in thirty minutes. Mark went to the small bathroom to wash his face and shave, knowing he wouldn’t have the patience to even check into a hotel before rushing to see her. With only a carry-on bag, he moved quickly through customs. Taking only the time to exchange some dollars for Euros, soon he was out on the streets of Paris, barely registering the familiar sights of the place he’d called home for five years. Hurriedly he

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hailed a taxi and gave Lisette’s address. It was only four o’clock in the afternoon and she wouldn’t be home from her job as a librarian at the Bibliothèque Nationale de France until six. No matter, he would buy a cup of coffee and a sandwich at the corner bistro and wait on her stoop. He refused to entertain the thought she might not come straight home, or might come home with someone else. Though he knew he was being melodramatic, he felt a certain sense of destiny, of fate. Pumped with adrenaline at the thought of seeing her in only two hours after all these months, he barely acknowledged the fatigue and jet lag he knew would assail him later. Instead he sat on the side of the second of six steps leading up to her old apartment house and sipped the strong, excellent coffee he hadn’t realized he missed. He opened the French newspaper he’d purchased and stared at the pages, trying to force himself to read for a while before abandoning the pretense of concentration. For the first time in a long time he felt the aching desire for a cigarette, a habit he’d given up years before. He sipped his coffee and took a bite of the delicious crusty baguette liberally smeared with creamy Brie. He glanced at his watch, still set to Eastern Standard Time and mentally added six hours. He still had an hour to wait. Restlessly he grabbed his overnight bag and the unread paper and strode down the street. He came upon a woman pushing a cart heavy with fresh-cut flowers. “I’ll take a bunch,” he said, pulling out some money. “Make it two. Put them together.” He allowed the woman to select several dozen of the brightly colored flowers, which she expertly wrapped in green tissue paper and tied with a yellow ribbon. The woman handed him the huge bouquet and tucked the bills he gave her into her ample bosom. “This should make her forgive whatever you did,” she said with a sly smile, revealing several missing teeth. He glanced sharply at her before realizing she was teasing him. “I hope so,” he answered. He returned to the stoop and set the flowers carefully atop his overnight bag. Again he tried to read, thinking how his byline used to appear in this very paper on a regular basis. Somehow time oozed forward. When he saw her round the corner, her dark hair flying, her arms filled with books as always, his heart seized. He pressed his hand against his chest, unaware he’d stopped breathing. As she came closer and he saw the flash of recognition in her large, clear gray eyes, he stood, the unread newspaper falling from his lap.

***** Olivia met Tom at the train station Thursday evening, the joy at seeing him again tainted by guilt. As he caught her in his arms and kissed her, she wondered if Mark had called him and told him the stupid thing she had done. If he had, Tom gave no 94

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indication. No, Mark was too much the gentleman, she realized with relief, to tattle on her. It was up to her to tell Tom or not. She’d spent the past two days in a funk, falsely bright with Tom on the phone, too humiliated to contact Mark again. Yet despite her chagrin, she had to admit what Mark had said made sense. Though she realized she didn’t entirely want to let go of the fairytale notion of Mark swooping back into her life and carrying her off on his huge, white D/s steed of passion, it was also a relief, in a way, to let go of that particular fantasy. For during the hours of honest introspection she’d spent over the past two days, she’d come to realize he was right—it wasn’t Mark per se she was in love with but what he offered. The questions was, where did she go from here? As they drove, Tom’s phone rang and he fished in his pocket, pulled it out and answered. When he turned to her and said, “Mark,” she caught her breath, gripping the steering wheel in tense anticipation. Had Mark decided to take the decision from her? Was he going to tell Tom what had happened? Had she ruined everything, not only between the three of them, but between Tom and herself? She held her breath as Tom listened, nodded and finally said, “Of course we understand. I hope everything’s all right… Don’t worry, we’ll still be here when you get back.” “What? What did he say?” “He has to go to Paris. Some urgent business. He was vague. It was pretty clear he didn’t want to say just exactly the nature of his business. He’ll be back in a week or two.” Olivia almost laughed. It was just too ridiculous for words! Would Mark really react so strongly to her overtures that he once again had to leave the country? She shook her head. No, she was being egocentric. He didn’t need to run from her. He’d already made his position abundantly, painfully clear. She glanced over at Tom, who seemed to be waiting for her reaction. “I hope it’s nothing serious,” she offered lamely. “I hope not. He’ll be back soon. We can carry on without him, hmm?” He smiled, tracing his finger along her thigh. “I’ve missed you, Livvy. It’s good to be home.” Olivia’s heart skipped a beat as an overwhelming feeling of love and affection for Tom swept over her. Though it had been humiliating to accept Mark’s rejection, she knew he was right. She didn’t belong with him. She belonged with Tom. She knew then she owed it to him to be honest, to tell him what happened while he was away. As she pulled into a parking spot in front of Tom’s apartment building she turned to him. “Tom, we have to talk.” Tom had sensed Olivia was agitated during the drive home from the train station. He’d observed her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel during his brief

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conversation with Mark, though at the time he’d chalked it up to concentrating on maneuvering through the maze of horrible Boston traffic. He was tired and had been looking forward to a hot shower and collapsing into bed after a long two days away from home, but he could see she had something important to say. His thoughts veered at once to Mark, his gut gripping for some sort of confession. With a mental shake of his head, he refused to indulge in paranoid speculation as they walked together from the car to his apartment. Olivia loved him, he loved her. They could work through whatever it was she had to talk to him about. Olivia sat on Tom’s living room couch, perching on the edge as if ready for flight. She looked so anxious his heart melted for her. Whatever she had to say clearly wasn’t easy for her. “Come here,” he said, holding out his arms, trying to quell his rising disquiet. “Let’s go lie down. We do our best talking in bed.” She followed him into the bedroom and they lay down together on top of the quilt. “It’s good to be home,” Tom said fervently. He pulled Olivia into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Now tell me what’s bothering you, Livvy. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out together.” “Oh, Tom, I love you,” Olivia said, nestling her face against his chest. Some of the tension he realized had coiled in him since the drive home eased slightly at this assertion. “I love you too. So come on. What’s going on?” “I—I went to see Mark while you were gone.” At once Tom’s mind filled with an image of Olivia, naked and bound, kneeling before Mark, his cock down her throat. Jealousy and anger rose in his gut like poison. With superhuman effort, he forced the image away. He wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Let her talk, let her tell him. “Okay,” he said carefully, waiting. “I’ve—I’ve been confused. You know, confused about what I’m feeling with all this D/s stuff. I mean, it’s not like I have to tell you, right? We’ve both discovered something about ourselves since we’ve been with Mark. What he offers, it’s so intense. I feel so alive since we’ve been with him!” “I understand. But why are you confused? This is all good, no?” Her voice lowered and he had to lean closer to hear her. “I thought I was falling in love with Mark.” “Olivia.” Tom felt as if she’d dumped a bucket of ice water over his heart. As he struggled to recover, his logical, calm side noted her use of the past tense. Did she still think so? “I was such an idiot, Tom!” Olivia hurried on. “I went over to his house and told him—I told him,” she took a deep breath, as if steeling herself to continue. “I told him I thought I was falling in love with him! That I still loved you, of course, but I was so

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confused!” Tom didn’t know what to say. He held her tight, glad she couldn’t see his face as he waited on the edge of an abyss for her to save or destroy his world. “He was very gallant as he explained to me I was confusing love for what he offered with love for him. He said what I really want is the D/s experience, not him per se. He said I loved you and he knew you loved me with all your heart.” “I do love you with all my heart,” Tom said quietly, feeling at once furious and grateful to Mark. “But if you feel your place is with him…” “No! I knew he was right. Really. I knew it before I went there. I think I was looking to him to confirm it, or explain it, or something. But what I did was wrong, Tom. I went behind your back. I didn’t trust you enough, or myself either, I guess, to talk this through with you first. I think I ruined everything, Tom. I’m so sorry.” She began to cry, soft mewling sounds against his chest. Tom held her, grinning with relief despite himself as he stroked her soft hair. Yes, it hurt to hear she had thought, even for a moment, that she was in love with another man. Yet in a way he could hardly blame her. He’d experienced firsthand Mark’s compelling charisma. He’d let another man do things to him, and to Olivia for that matter, he never would have believed possible before Mark had stepped so authoritatively into their world. “Shh, don’t cry,” he crooned. “I understand. I do. I think I was half in love with him myself!” He laughed a little. Olivia looked up at him with tearstained cheeks. “You were?” “Yeah. In the same way you were, I think. We’ve talked about it before, we just haven’t used that word—love. He’s right too, you know. It’s not Mark we’re in love with, but the powerful potential of a loving exchange of power. Watching him dominate you, Olivia, I have to say, it’s tapped into something in myself, something I don’t know if I would have allowed to surface before he taught us it was okay. I’ve been thinking about it a lot too. I think I’m ready to take the next step—to broaden our D/s relationship without Mark standing over us.” “I think I ruined that anyway,” Olivia said, her expression baleful. “He probably took off for Europe just to get away from me!” She gave a sad little laugh. “No, no. You didn’t ruin anything, sweetheart. He’s aware of the power of what he offered. He didn’t run from us. He was running to something—that’s the impression I got anyway. And even if we don’t hook up with him again sexually, it doesn’t matter. We have each other, you see.” He stroked her hair, sliding his hand down to her throat. He caressed it, his fingers curling around her neck, tapping into something primal in himself as he gently squeezed. His cock rose as he felt Olivia tense, her breath quickening. His hand still on her throat, he reached with his other beneath her top, slipping it into the cup of her bra. Her nipples, as he’d expected, stiffened beneath his fingers and she gave a little guttural moan. “You belong to me,” he said, feeling a new kind of power rise inside him like a sharp, bright light. “I intend to keep you.” 97

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Chapter Eleven Lisette slowed as she approached the stoop, her large gray eyes fixed on Mark as if he had returned from the dead. She stopped several feet before the stairs, the color seeping from her face. “Mark?” she said faintly, giving the “r” a rolling French lilt. “Lisette,” he answered. Fumbling, he reached for the flowers and thrust them toward her like a sword. She remained where she was, clutching her books to her chest like a shield. Time hung suspended between them as the sickening realization of his terrible mistake struck him like a punch in the gut. She wasn’t glad to see him! Jacques had been wrong! Whatever she’d said to him after too many glasses of anise liqueur must no longer hold true in the cold light of sober day. What a fool he’d been to hop on the first jet for Europe, thinking she’d welcome him back with open arms. Silently he cursed himself as tears of humiliation sprang to his eyes. Blinking them away, he held himself still, hoping his face gave no sign of his racing thoughts. Slowly he lowered the hand that held the bouquet. He walked down the steps and stood facing her. He would simply kiss each of her soft, lovely cheeks in the European style. He wouldn’t embarrass them both by taking her into his arms and kissing her mouth, though his lips burned for the touch of hers. He leaned down in greeting and the books slid from Lisette’s arms, tumbling to the sidewalk. “Oh!” she cried as they both bent to retrieve them. His hand brushed hers as they each reached for the same book. Unable to help himself, he grabbed the hand and held it to his lips, kissing her palm, closing his eyes as he inhaled her unique halfforgotten scent of roses and fresh rain. “Mark,” she said again in barely a whisper, her voice pleading though he wasn’t sure for what. He realized her hand was trembling. He clutched it in his own and helped her to her feet. “How have you been, Lisette?” She looked up at him as the color slowly returned to her cheeks. The silence stretched between them. “I’ve missed you,” he added softly. “More than you can imagine.” “I’ve missed you too, cher.” He leaned toward her, desperate to taste her lips. She stepped back and bent to pick up the books, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright but her body language clear as she hugged her books protectively to her chest. Accepting it for the moment, Mark said lightly, “Can we go inside? I’ve been waiting since four. I could really use a bathroom.”

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Lisette laughed, her cupid’s bow mouth lifting at the corners. “I’ll take pity on you then. Come inside.” Mark grabbed his bag and the bouquet, refusing to think past the moment, his cock rising despite himself as he watched her sexy ass sway beneath her skirt as she mounted the stairs in front of him. While he used the toilet and washed his face, she had put the flowers into a blue glass vase, which he could see through the kitchen door resting on the old wooden kitchen table. He took that as a good sign. He looked in wonder at Lisette sitting beside him after six long months apart. He’d half forgotten the porcelain radiance of her skin, as if she carried some kind of secret light inside her. She was so lovely, her delicate beauty captivating him as it always had. There was a strength in her jaw and mouth that belied her innocent expression. Mark was well acquainted with her strong will. Dominating a strong submissive was far more satisfying than controlling a timid, trembling flower. He looked around the place, so familiar but also different. The large photograph that had hung prominently over the fireplace mantle of the two of them grinning widely beneath straw hats, taken at a beach during their first year together, was gone, replaced by a framed poster of Klimt’s The Kiss. The old metal desk where Mark had kept his computer and piles of papers was gone as well, a large potted plant in its stead. Lisette was sitting upright, her hands clasped tight in her lap, her wide, gray eyes trained on his knee. Usually a talkative woman, her silence unnerved him. He longed to pull her to him, to bury his head in her thick, curling hair and kiss the curve where her neck met shoulder. He could see the outline of her dark nipples against her blouse. She rarely wore a bra, her small breasts high and firm. He closed his eyes, willing away a sudden intense desire to rip her blouse open in a spray of buttons and take one of her nipples into his mouth. Instead he lightly touched her arm. Her gaze shifted to his hand but she didn’t pull away. “I heard about your wedding plans going awry. I’m sorry,” he offered, trying to sound sincere. “Are you?” she said, suddenly looking into his face. He held her gaze, drinking in her features, his parched heart responding like a desert flower when she graced him with a small smile. “No.” He grinned. “From what Jacques told me, the guy sounds like a stone-cold asshole. Pardon my English.” Lisette cocked her head. “But you’re speaking in French.” “Sorry, a stupid joke, lost in the translation. Seriously, Jacques told me what a jerk he was when you broke off the engagement. How he threw your clothing out the window and bruised your arms.” He stroked the soft skin on the inside of her arm, furious at the thought of someone hurting her. “Yes,” she said, looking away. “Jacques doesn’t know everything. I was ashamed…” “Lisette! Did that bastard hurt you! I’ll kill him!” 99

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“Shh, it’s okay. You don’t need to be my knight in shining armor. It’s over now. He won’t bother me again. I heard he’s already dating someone new.” She grinned wanly. “I knew he wasn’t right for me, even from the beginning. I think I was just reacting. I missed you so much. I was such a fool to send you away.” “Lisette,” Mark said, reaching for her hand. She let him take it. “I missed you too. With every fiber of my being, every facet of my heart. I should have come back sooner. I should have fought harder for you.” “But you’re here now.” She touched his face with wonder in her expression. Impulsively he turned toward her finger, kissing the tip before she withdrew her hand. “Even now, I’m waiting for this daydream to shatter. If you knew how many times—” She cut herself off and took a breath. “Seeing you there on my stoop nearly gave me a heart attack.” She laughed with chagrin. “I’ve imagined such a scene a hundred times— that I’ll come home to find you waiting for me. To find you’ve forgiven me.” “Forgiven you! Please, Lisette, there’s nothing to forgive.” “Of course there is. I pushed you against a wall. I gave you an ultimatum and sent you away when you couldn’t agree. I understand now, I was trying to capture you, to bind you to my heart, to have certainty. But life isn’t like that. A piece of paper from the justice of the peace isn’t going to keep you with me. I didn’t understand it was a matter of trust and faith in each other, faith in ourselves, to do what was right for us. Love doesn’t come all neatly packaged with a deed of ownership.” She turned to face him, taking his other hand in hers. She clasped them tightly as she continued. “It’s ironic, given the nature of our relationship, but I wanted to own you. I’ve learned so much in the months you were gone, and since I became involved with Jean Luc. He was very possessive, in a way you never were. At first I took it as a testament of his love for me. I compared his intense behaviors to yours and decided he loved me more than you had because he couldn’t bear to be without me, and always had to know where I was and what I was doing at any time. He would send flowers to my office several times a week, wait for me at the end of the day, insist I fall asleep in his arms. “At first I thought I’d found my true love at last. But as the weeks turned into months, his compulsion to be with me every moment became suffocating. He would follow me if I said I was meeting a girlfriend for drinks, for example, to make sure that’s where I was really going. He began to accuse me of being less devoted to him than he was to me, and wanted me to prove my love by spending every moment with him. He even talked of me quitting my job so I could be home for him. He started showing an angry side I hadn’t seen at first. I began to be afraid of him.” Mark shook his head, anger rising in his gut like acid. “The bastard,” he said softly. “The bully. If I had known—” Lisette nodded, shame washing over her features. “He found my diary, Mark. The one I used to keep—for you.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. Mark remembered that diary. When they’d begun to explore a D/s relationship together, she’d kept a

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written account of her feelings and experiences as a submissive, which she had shared from time to time with Mark. The entries were Lisette’s effort to process what she was experiencing—to reconcile her strong, feminist leanings with the powerful, sublime feelings she experienced when bound and on her knees, her ass offered up to the kiss of Mark’s whip, or tied spread-eagle to the bed, her head hanging over the side, her master’s cock gliding sensually into her open mouth… The entries were deeply personal explorations of her submissive and masochistic feelings and Mark had only read particular entries she’d chosen to share with him. He would never have taken the liberty of reading the diary without her permission—it would be like spying on her dreams while she lay helplessly asleep. His hatred of Jean Luc, a man he’d never met, increased tenfold. “It was only a month before the wedding, and things were already pretty rocky between us. I think I would have broken it off anyway, but what happened over the next week clinched it for me. After having read my diary, Jean Luc decided he would try to Dom me. He said that’s what was lacking our relationship. I—I agreed to go along. I missed terribly what you and I shared, and though in my heart of hearts I knew he wasn’t a Dom, I thought perhaps it would bring something back to our relationship, or more accurately, bring something to it that had always been missing.” Her voice cracked and tears filled her eyes. “You don’t have tell me,” Mark said. He reached for her and she moved into his arms. She curled herself into him and he held her. “It’s over. I’m here.” I’ve come back for you. This he didn’t quite dare say aloud, not yet sure she was ready for him or any man. Keeping her face tucked against his chest, she said, “I do. I want to. I haven’t told anyone. No one would have understood, except you. I’m so ashamed I let it happen! I knew better, Mark! I knew from my time with you erotic submission is based on love, not fear. That it’s something freely given and to be cherished.” He held her tighter, a part of him not wanting to hear what she had to say. “It wasn’t like that with him. He was rough. He—he hurt me, but not in a good way.” She grinned up weakly at him. He smiled back at her, understanding perfectly. “It wasn’t sexy. Not like with us. Sometimes I think he just used it as a way to punish me for perceived infidelities or whatever. He started claiming I had to submit to whatever he wanted, I was his sex slave and had no rights or opinions of my own. Once he—he,” her voice became nearly inaudible, “he chained me to the bed and left me there the entire day without food or water. As a punishment, he said, for not sucking his cock properly.” “Jesus,” Mark said softly. Rage was pumping through his blood, priming his fists, readying his feet to run, to find that bastard and pummel him into jelly. “I’ll kill him.” “No, no. Leave him be. I want nothing to do with him,” Lisette said, her voice imploring. “I want to forget him.” She pulled away from Mark and said, “In an odd way, he made me understand what I’d done to you.” “To me! You didn’t do anything to me!”

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“I did. I tried to control you, to demand things of you, such as marriage, you weren’t able or ready to give. What he was doing was of course far more extreme, but along the same continuum. It was about control, not love.” “Lisette, my darling, my sweet angel girl. I’m so, so sorry you went through that. I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you.” “I love you, Mark. And I understand at last, that’s enough. Our love is enough.” She lifted her small face, closing her eyes for a kiss. Mark pulled her to him, touching her lips with his, tenderly at first, and then with more passion, his cock pressing hard against her as he wrapped her tightly in his arms. He stood, easily lifting the slight woman. He carried to her to the bedroom, to what had once been their bedroom, and set her on the bed. His fingers trembled as he pulled her clothing from her, desperate for her soft, lovely body. He was barely aware of taking off his things, his eyes trained on her beautiful form, his body aching for hers. Carefully he lay over her, taking her face in his hands as he shifted himself between her legs. Forcing himself to go slow, but unable to wait another moment, he pressed his shaft into her warm heat. She was wet and ready for him. As he entered her, she cried his name, her arms and legs wrapping around him to pull him closer. They made love as if they only had five minutes left to live, each clinging to the other as they toppled together into shared ecstasy. They both came quickly, slaking an immediate, desperate thirst for one another. After a moment Lisette pulled away and Mark let her go. He knew he would spend the rest of the evening and into the night making love to her. He knew he would never let her go again, as long as she would have him. The tight coil of pain he’d been carrying inside him at the loss of Lisette sprung open, relief and joy flooding through him like tears. For the first time in months, perhaps for the first time ever, he felt safe. As Lisette stroked his face, he closed his eyes, unable to hold off for another moment the fatigue suddenly overwhelming him. When he awoke, Lisette lay beside him, her eyes open. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but from the stillness around him he sensed it must be the middle of the night. Lisette, hearing him stir, raised herself in the bed, and lay on an elbow, looking down at him. The moonlight slid over her, making her a thing of silver and shadow, lighting the lovely lines of temple and cheekbone, throat and breast. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. She answered by scooting down to his groin, taking his length into her mouth where it instantly hardened. Pressing him to his back, she straddled him, lowering herself over his cock as she leaned forward to kiss his mouth. “So are you.”

***** “Stand up, Olivia.” Tom spoke quietly but with authority.

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“What?” Olivia said. Their eyes locked and Tom noted with satisfaction Olivia’s wide-eyed response, her lips parting as she processed his command. “You heard me. Stand up and take off your jeans and panties. I want to inspect you.” It was Saturday night, two days after Olivia’s confession and Tom’s decision to begin actively taking control of their fledgling D/s relationship. They’d been watching a DVD neither was paying much attention to. He waited, silently willing her to obey. Slowly she stood, pulling at the zipper of her fly. He watched with a swelling cock as she slid out of her pants and pulled down her panties. “Closer. Spread your legs.” Tom felt the thrill of power surge through him like a shot of strong whiskey. Though secure and confident as a lover, until they’d met Mark, he would never have dreamed of commanding Olivia or anyone else. Until he’d seen the process in action between Mark and Olivia, he hadn’t considered or understood the potential force of an erotic exchange of power. Olivia moved directly in front of him, spreading her legs and revealing her sexy, shaven pussy, the inner labia pouting invitingly at the cleft. Tom reached out and touched the soft folds, drawing his fingers over the smooth skin. He lightly pinched the flesh of her plump outer labia and then slid his finger between them. Olivia shuddered and closed her eyes. “I know what you need, my love. What you long for.” He brought his hand around behind her and, cupping his palm, smacked her hard across her left cheek. Olivia’s eyes flew open and she gasped. “Tom!” “Lie over my lap. Now.” Tom heart was rapping against his ribs. Now was the test—not only of Olivia’s willingness to accept him in the role of Dom, but of himself. His fingers itched to feel the soft flesh of her ass, to smack it, to redden it with his palm. It was no longer only about Olivia. He wanted it too, so bad he could taste it. He waited, refusing to entertain the thought she might refuse him. Olivia swallowed hard, looking at him as if she didn’t know him. Slowly she draped herself over his lap. Her hipbone slid over his cock and he held her still a moment, enjoying the friction. “You have the most perfect ass,” he said, rubbing his hands greedily over the round globes. Olivia sighed against his thigh. He shifted, moving her so her legs hung over either side of his right leg, her naked little pussy spread against his knee. He could feel its heat through the material of his pants. He placed one hand firmly on the small of her back as he’d seen Mark do. He felt her stiffen in anticipation. The sound of his hand against her ass snapped in the air, followed by a breathy cry. Tom’s cock pulsed beneath Olivia’s bare body. He smacked her again. She moaned and rubbed her pussy against him. He struck her harder, again and again, fascinated as her skin flushed from pale pink to darker pink to red. She moaned and whimpered beneath him, steadily grinding her pussy against his leg. Encouraged by her ardent response, he

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continued to smack her luscious ass, moving from one cheek to the other, mesmerized by the sensual jiggle of flesh each time he struck it anew. Her ass was burning hot and Tom suddenly worried he’d gone too far. He stroked the fiery flesh and Olivia moaned softly. Lifting her from his lap, he laid her back against the sofa. Her face was flushed, her hair wild, her nipples stiff points. Slipping to the floor beside the sofa, he gently spread her legs and lowered his head to taste the sweet nectar of her pussy. His tongue had barely made contact when Olivia gasped and reached down, pulling him against her. She began to buck against his tongue, moaning and crying his name. Her body shuddered and stiffened and she came hard against him, her fingers locked in his hair, her head thrown back. Her fingers went limp in his hair, her body slackening down into the cushions, her head lolling to the side. Gently Tom disengaged himself and lifted her legs, sliding beneath them to sit on the sofa beside the spent woman. He stroked the soft skin of her thigh, admiring the feminine curves of her body and hungrily eyeing the swollen, sticky sex between her legs. Slowly her eyes fluttered open and she focused on him. She reached out a hand and stroked his arm. “Tom,” she said softly. “Tom.” “Yeah, baby?” “That was amazing.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” They sat quietly for a while. Tom’s cock remained painfully erect but he didn’t want to rush whatever new thing it was they were discovering together. He honestly hadn’t expected the degree of his own intense response as he’d made his lover squirm and moan beneath his hard hand. Each cry had spurred him on, resonating with something inside him he’d only just begun to know existed. “Hey, Tom?” Olivia said. “What?” “Remember Mark said if we ever wanted to go to the Cellar on our own, we just had to tell his friend Mark sent us?” “Yeah. What was the guy’s name? Eugene? Something with an E.” “Elliot. It was Elliot.” “So what are you saying? You practically ran out of that place. Now you’re saying you want to go back?” He grinned at her. Olivia pulled her legs from his lap and sat up. “I’ve learned so much since then. About D/s, about myself.” She touched his arm shyly. “About us.” “If we go, this time you have to dress the part. I want you to wear something sexy and slinky. Oh, and no panties.”

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“Tom!” “Yes?” He cocked an eyebrow, silently daring her to defy him. His cock was raging and he couldn’t help but drop his hand to it, stroking it as he stared her down. “Okay,” she said, a saucy grin appearing on her face. “If I get to do something first.” “What’s that?” “Wait here a second. I’ll show you.” Olivia ran from the room, her sexy, reddened ass bouncing as she ran. She returned a moment later with one of her silk scarves. “I want to suck your gorgeous cock,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “But only if I get to tie your wrists behind you. Is it a deal?” No negotiation necessary, Tom stood, shucking his pants and underwear as fast as he could. Olivia moved behind him, wrapping the long scarf tightly around his wrists and continuing up his arms, binding them to the elbow. Though he didn’t experience the same degree of intensity Mark’s bondage had engendered in him, for whatever reason he still thrilled to the feel of being bound. His cock jutted toward Olivia like an arrow as she knelt in front of him. Her long, soft hair swished against his thighs as she took his length deep into her throat. He tested his restraints and realized she had tied him very tight. The realization only made his cock harder. For a moment he wondered what Mark was doing just then, and if he was possibly having as much fun as they were. Then he forgot to think as Olivia worked her magic, her lips, tongue, fingers and throat rendering him speechless with pleasure.

***** Tom shouldered his way to the long, gleaming bar near the table they’d shared with Mark only a few weeks before. Olivia, dressed in heels and a black dress with a sexy slit up the right thigh, stayed close behind him. “Excuse me,” he said, when he had the bartender’s attention. “Is Elliot here? Elliot Gold?” The bartender glanced up at Tom, cocking an eyebrow. “Nope, he’s not here tonight. Can I help you with something?” His eye strayed to Olivia, dropping down to her cleavage. The dress was cut low and Olivia felt herself blushing. Usually she wore a shawl over it but Tom had nixed that idea and secretly she’d been pleased he had. She leaned against him, pressing her thighs together, keenly aware of her lack of underwear. Tom put his arm around her. “I remember you two. You were here with Mark Hunter.” The waitress who had served them sidled up beside Tom. “I’m Marlena.” “Hi, that’s right, we’re friends of Mark.” “They were just asking for Mr. Gold,” the bartender said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 105

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“Oh, Elliot’s not here today,” the waitress said. “But Mark told me to look out for you. He said you might be coming back on your own.” “He did?” Olivia said, surprised. “Yes. He already obtained prior approval with Elliot for you two. You’re clear if you want to go down to the Cellar.” She reached into the pocket of the small apron at her waist and pulled out a pad. Scribbling something on it, she tore off the top page and handed it to Tom. “Just give them that code at the door. That plus the cover will get you in.” She smiled knowingly from Tom to Olivia and added, “Have fun!” Tom pushed the buzzer next to the unmarked metal door of the Cellar. After a moment a panel in its center was pulled back, and a gruff voice demanded, “Yeah?” reminding Olivia of old movies about speakeasies in the Twenties. “We’d like to come inside,” Tom said. He read off the string of numbers and letters on the piece of paper. They could hear a bolt slide back and the door opened. In the dim light Olivia could make out a short man wearing a black leather vest over a sizable paunch. Gray hair curled in tufts over his bare chest. “That’s fifty dollars,” he said to Tom, who handed him the money. He waved them in. “You been here before?” “Yes,” Tom answered. “Then you know the rules. No exchange of bodily fluids. Pretty much anything else goes. You’re in luck tonight—Sergio Giovanni is here. You know, the cane maker. He’s brought his new collection and he’s going to try some of them out on some lucky slave.” He leered at Olivia in what approximated a smile. She clutched Tom’s arm, her mouth suddenly dry. They entered the club, their eyes adjusting to the dim, wavering candlelight. It was less crowded than before, perhaps because the hour was earlier. They moved to the bar and ordered drinks. As they waited for their order to be filled, Olivia looked around the room, her eyes stopping on a man strapped into a wooden frame shaped like an X, his wrists and ankles secured by straps, stretching his nearly naked body taut. He was wearing a leather loin cloth, his back to the room. “Tom,” she whispered, pointing discreetly. Tom’s eyes followed her finger and she felt his sharp intake of breath. Was he imagining himself tethered there, naked for all to see? “Do you wish that was you?” she said softly. Tom shook his head. “No. No way. I like bondage, yes. But not a public scene, never. Not my style.” He stroked her cheek, his eyes catching hers as he added, “What about you, Livvy? Would you permit yourself to be strapped down like that in front of all these people while you waited for the bite of the cane against your ass?” He cupped her ass as he spoke, giving it a gentle squeeze. “No!” Olivia said, though she couldn’t take her eyes off the man. A woman approached, her long hair dyed an unnatural black, high-heeled boots up to her thighs, a very tight black leather miniskirt barely covering her ample bottom. In her hand she held a riding crop.

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She approached the man and rubbed her body against his back, grinding her pelvis against his bare ass. She stepped back after a moment and said in a stage voice, “Slave Brian has been very naughty. He needs to be punished.” Olivia held her breath as the woman struck his ass with the crop, making a loud smacking sound. Several people drew closer to watch the show. “What do you say!” the woman demanded. “Thank you, Mistress!” the man shouted, as if addressing his Army sergeant at boot camp. “Please may I have another!” She struck him again, a series of rapid strokes that quickly reddened his ass. Olivia turned away. “Want to sit down?” Tom asked. Olivia followed Tom to a table near a small stage set in the center of the room. “I don’t really know why I wanted to come back here. These scenes seem, I don’t know, tawdry. They cheapen what D/s has to offer, it seems to me. As if they were making fun of it. Turning it into a game.” “Remember, Mark told us this scene isn’t really about D/s. Not the romance of it surely. He said it was a place people come to play. To act out fantasies perhaps, or make a show. We can accept it as such. Recognize it for what it is and have fun with it.” Olivia nodded. She missed Mark, she realized, but not with the ache she would if she were in love with him. She’d made her choice, she realized happily, looking at Tom with a smile. She shifted against the chair, her bare ass still slightly tender from his unexpected but very exciting spanking. When he’d told her to lie over his knee, her body had known at once what he wanted. Her mind, still getting used to this emerging side of Tom, had taken a moment longer to catch up. She had expected him to be tentative, giving her perhaps a playful slap or two. She hadn’t been ready for his hand, which came down as hard as Mark’s had, perhaps harder, the sting zipping through her nerve endings, metamorphosing almost instantly from pain to a sensation that took her breath away. When he kissed her pussy while the fire of submissive lust was still burning through her, she had come nearly on contact, the spanking some kind of perfect foreplay. Afterward, tying Tom’s wrists behind him before worshipping his cock had been her way of thanking him. She was delighted to discover his penchant for bondage didn’t detract from his ability to Dom her. She had thrilled when he’d told her not to wear any panties, his voice as masterful and compelling as Mark’s had ever been. “Look, someone’s going onto the stage.” Tom pulled her from her thoughts, nodding toward the small stage. A man of medium height with olive skin and a head of silver hair was climbing the few stairs on the side of the stage, a large carrying case in his hands. A folding table had already been set up and onto this he began to place an assortment of canes ranging in length and thickness, their handles wrapped in soft suede dyed in rich blues, reds and blacks. A slender dark-skinned woman followed him onto the stage. A spotlight was turned on, illuminating the pair. A murmur flowed over the room and people began to

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move toward the stage, filling the tables and standing in groups around them. The man stepped over to a microphone set up at the front of the stage. “Good evening. As most of you know, I’m Sergio Giovanni, and I’m delighted to have been invited here this evening,” the man said in a thick Italian accent. There was a scattering of applause. He continued with a smile. “I’ve brought my newest collection of rattan and bamboo canes, all of which are for sale. After the demonstration, if you’re interested in purchasing a cane, or just coming up to check them out, please feel free to do so. “But first my lovely assistant is going to help me in a demonstration of proper technique. Canes are not for novices. You should never use one on a person unless you have practiced beforehand. A pillow or couch is a good substitute while you’re learning. I recommend rattan for sensual play. Bamboo is better for actual punishment. In either case, you must remember to wield it lightly, not like a heavy flogger you might be used to using.” The room was silent as he lifted a medium-length cane and swished it through the air. “Rattan is a very light material and inexperienced users are liable to choose their canes on the slender side, reasoning this will make the stroke easier to bear. In fact the reverse is true. Slim wandlike canes are more liable to cut the skin. Thicker canes, like this one, are less liable to cut. In any event, when handled properly, no cane should break the skin.” Olivia realized she was holding her breath as she listened to the man speak. His voice was deep and compelling. Her bottom actually tingled at the thought of feeling the sharp bite of the cane in his hand. Not that she wanted that! A spanking was one thing, but a cane… Beneath the table Tom put his hand on her thigh, his fingers lightly stroking her bare skin. He was watching the stage, a small, enigmatic smile on his face. “Marta,” Sergio said, his voice suddenly sharp. “Assume the position.” Marta, who had been facing the audience, her hands clasped demurely in front of her, reached back and unzipped the short dress she was wearing. A murmur of approval swept the room as she stood naked and shaved, her dark skin glowing beneath the spotlight, which glinted against the gold hoops that pierced her nipples. Her expression serene, Marta turned slowly until her back was to the audience. Spreading her legs, she slowly bent forward with the grace of a ballet dancer, not stopping until she had grasped her ankles. Her high rounded ass was pointing provocatively toward the audience. Tom’s hand slid higher on Olivia’s thigh, moving beneath the skirt of her dress. The man began to speak again, talking about wrist position, stance and how to deliver a series of even strokes, but Olivia wasn’t listening. Her eyes were locked on the cane, flexing and whistling near the offered flesh of the woman standing so passive and calm before him.

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Tom’s fingers inched up, grazing Olivia’s pussy. “Spread your legs,” he said quietly into her ear. Momentarily distracted by his words, Olivia started to protest. “Tom! We’re in a public place! I—” “Olivia. Do what I tell you. No one will see.” The same quiet authority he’d exhibited at home that evening was evident in his voice and his bearing. Olivia’s protest died on her lips. With a nervous glance around, she spread her legs, allowing Tom better access to her sex. She realized she needn’t worry about others seeing what was happening beneath their small table as all eyes were riveted to the stage. Tom’s fingers grazed her pussy, the tips touching her clit and sliding down. Olivia shivered, stifling the moan that rose to her lips. The man drew back his arm and with a flick of his wrist set the cane in motion. It whistled and thwacked as it connected with the fleshiest part of Marta’s ass, the sound reverberating in the room. Olivia flinched but Marta didn’t move a muscle. Olivia realized she’d clenched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Tom stroked her pussy, pressing a finger inside her. “You’re wet,” he informed her. “Soaked.” The man struck the woman’s ass again and Olivia felt as if he were striking her. She was dizzy, her heart smashing against her ribs, her breath shallow at the back of her throat. She couldn’t take her eyes off the woman’s ass where red welts began to appear a few seconds after each cruel stroke of the cane. The lines were remarkably uniform, rising in even stripes until she was marked from thigh to hip. Tom continued to fondle and tease her pussy, almost but not quite distracting her from the scene on the stage. Throughout the demonstration Marta hadn’t moved, continuing to clasp her ankles, her legs a straight, inverted V, her dark hair hanging to the floor. Olivia was close enough to the stage to hear her muted gasp each time the cane struck her ass. She couldn’t help but gasp along in yearning sympathy. After ten strokes Sergio put down the cane and leaned over the woman, whispering something in her ear. Marta stood and turned to face him. Gracefully she sank to her knees, dropping her head to kiss the tops of his boots. Olivia stared, at once repelled and fascinated. The room erupted into enthusiastic applause. Tom withdrew his hand and kissed his fingertips. “I want you so bad right now,” he said, his voice husky. “Shall I buy you a cane, Olivia? Shall I make you kiss my feet after? Are you ready for that?” He was smiling, but his eyes were bright, the dilated pupils ringed in brilliant blue. There was something in his face she hadn’t seen before, a kind of power she’d seen on Mark’s face when he ordered her to spread her legs for his razor, or lie over his knee for her first spanking. She opened her mouth to answer but no sound came. The thought of a cane marking her, raising a welt on her skin, at once terrified and aroused her. She shook her head, though her pussy twitched with an aching desire she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Tom only smiled, leaning forward to kiss her lightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll decide when you’re ready, Livvy. Just leave it to me.”

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Olivia nodded, swallowing. Something in his eyes claimed her as surely as any command. Taking her hand, he placed it on his crotch. His cock was hard, bulging in his jeans. “Let’s go home,” he said.

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Chapter Twelve Olivia was aware all eyes were on her as she walked down the aisle toward the man she hoped to spend the rest of her life with. She focused on Tom, so handsome in his black tuxedo, smiling broadly at her as she approached on the arm of her father. As she passed the aisle where Mark and his wife sat, she felt his dark, smoldering eyes upon her and she glanced reflexively toward him. He smiled and she smiled back. It had been seven months since Tom and Olivia had begun to seriously explore the delicious potential of a loving D/s relationship on their own, and Olivia had never been happier or more fulfilled. Their relationship had grown and deepened, moving from girlfriend and boyfriend to something more complex and more deeply satisfying for them both. As Tom’s confidence level grew, he began to exert more control over their sexual lives, dictating the pace and intensity of their D/s exploration. Olivia thrilled to his newfound masterful control, falling more deeply in love with him each day. To the casual observer, little had changed between them. They still shared all life and household decisions, partners in every respect. Tom didn’t want a passive slave girl who existed to do his bidding, nor could Olivia have squashed herself into, what for her, would have been an artificial role. Tom had proposed to her on their one-year anniversary and Olivia had accepted. In a gesture both symbolic and practical, she had given up her apartment to move in with the man she knew with certainty was the one for her. Though they still went from time to time to the Cellar and other BDSM clubs, neither favored the overt symbols of a Master-slave relationship such as collars, slave contracts, permanent marks of ownership or other ways to demonstrate to each other or the world at large their sexual choice. They agreed that sort of thing smacked of game playing, and while satisfying for some, struck them both as a little silly. But when he gave her that look—his blue eyes intense upon her, the lips of his sensual mouth parting, she would feel her insides melting in buttery anticipation. Most of their erotic D/s play was confined to home, but it could happen anywhere—at the mall, at a club, even once at her office when she’d had to go in on a Sunday to catch up on some work. Tom had secretly followed her, using her spare office key to let himself in. They sometimes enjoyed role playing at home—the errant schoolgirl, the stranger accosting her in the alley and having his way—just fun sexual games, though at their core, Tom’s dominance and her submission remained key. That day he took a risk, moving the play to a potentially public arena, though no one else was in the building at the time.

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He went into her boss’s office and, using the intercom, nearly scared Olivia out of her wits when he buzzed her and said in a stern voice, “Ms. James. My office. Now.” After a startled second, she’d realized it was Tom pretending to be her boss. Stifling an excited giggle, she went down the hall to George’s corner office. Tom sat behind the desk, tapping a riding crop against his hand. He’d amassed a growing collection of crops, floggers, paddles and cuff over the months. “Sir?” Olivia said breathlessly, trying to hide her grin. “You’re late with the Crawford file. I warned you what would happen if you were late again, didn’t I?” “Y-Yes, sir,” Olivia offered in her best scared underling voice. “I can explain,” she went on, warming to the role as he came around from behind the desk. “No!” he said sternly. “No explanation, no excuses. Assume the position over my desk immediately. Ten strokes for being late and ten more for making excuses. Don’t make a sound—we don’t want to disturb the other employees.” Olivia scurried over to George’s massive oak desk, all thoughts of finishing her real project forgotten as she unzipped her jeans and pulled them to her knees before draping herself over the corner of the desk. She could feel her panties growing damp at the prospect of a cropping. Tom stroked her ass, murmuring his approval. Remembering his role, he yanked her panties down and smacked her ass with the riding crop several times in succession. Olivia yelped and covered her reddening cheeks with her hand. Tom smacked her hands away and said, “Naughty girl. Now we must start again.” The “punishment” had ended with a thorough fucking on George’s desk. Tom had been forced to cover Olivia’s mouth with his hand to keep her quiet as she shrieked in ecstasy. Olivia had blushed the next day when George called her into his office for something, his hand resting on the spot where Tom had used her so deliciously the day before. Mark had returned from Europe two weeks after he left, bringing Lisette with him. The change in him was remarkable, his expression full of a kind of wondrous joy each time he looked at Lisette, who would smile back at him with the same love light shining from her eyes. “I’ve asked her to marry me,” he confided with a broad smile when the four of them met for dinner, “but she says she needs more time.” “He is teasing me,” Lisette laughed, speaking with a delightful French accent that enchanted Olivia. “Isn’t it lovely?” Lisette held out her small hand, showing off a beautifully cut diamond set in a platinum filigree band on her ring finger. She was petite and vivacious, her dark curling hair framing a narrow face with haunting gray eyes. It was understood between them the ménage à trois was a thing of the past. Olivia probed her feelings for Mark as they all sat together, searching for any remaining longing, but found none. While she still found him sexy and compelling, the D/s she experienced with Tom was more deeply satisfying with love at its core.

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She continued from time to time to bind Tom’s wrists with the leather cuffs he purchased for them both, but only with his express permission and under his direction. Sometimes he would playfully reprimand her for doing so, the punishment deliciously exceeding the crime. For the first time in her life, she was truly comfortable and happy in her skin. When she looked in the mirror, she no longer saw the phantom Olivia, the fat girl she had once been, pretending to be slender. She saw her real body, its lithe lines and feminine curves, and it pleased her. She had continued to keep her sex shaven smooth, always ready for Tom’s impromptu “inspections”, which instantly rendered her soaking wet. He liked for her to wear sexy panties and stockings with garters beneath her conservative suits. Sometimes he would call her during lunch and instruct her to pleasure herself at her desk while he listened. The thrill of knowing someone might overhear her stifled cries of pleasure made her orgasms all the more intense. Several friends had remarked she seemed to be glowing with some kind of sexy secret. She would laugh and say it was love, and in fact it was. Beyond mere sexual satisfaction, their relationship had evolved into a deeper, more intimate connection than Olivia had believed existed outside fairy tales and romance novels. Interestingly, her deep satisfaction with their love life extended into her professional life. Colleagues commented on a certain newfound confidence in her bearing. She was more at ease giving presentations to the board and making recommendations to her boss. When it came time for her performance review, she received a substantial raise. Instead of dreading the additional responsibilities that came with the money, as she would have before, she felt a serene certainty she could do anything she set her mind to. Tom squeezed her hand as they stood before the minister, smiling down at her. He’d given her a gift that morning, a gift she couldn’t stop thinking about, even as she dressed in the elegant cream-colored satin wedding gown that had been her mother’s, with her sister and friends hovering helpfully around her. It had been on the kitchen table when she came out for coffee, a narrow oblong box about three feet long with a red ribbon tied into a bow around it. At first she thought it was a wedding present from someone who couldn’t attend the festivities. She picked up the small card next to it and read Tom’s neat, small writing, “To my darling Olivia. You’re ready.” Ready for what? Curious, she pulled off the ribbon and opened the box, taking a step back when she saw what lay inside it. A rattan cane with a handle wrapped in crimson suede lay tucked in tissue paper. Gingerly she touched the handle and ran her finger along the smooth, supple rod. As they’d moved deeper into the BDSM aspects of D/s, Tom had bought the crop and the flogger and introduced Olivia to their sensual sting. She loved when he used them on her, especially the flogger, its hot leather kiss never failing to drop a mantle of submissive desire over her that rendered her completely in his thrall.

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She’d witnessed more canings at the Cellar, her ass never failing to tingle in anticipatory sympathy as she watched, her pussy heating, her nipples aching. Yet she knew she would never have the courage to submit to a caning herself—to the burning cut of the rod, the rising welts, the fiery pain bursting through her nerve endings… Carefully she lifted the cane from its tissue bed, noting with surprise the heavy heft of the handle. She flicked it in the air and winced at the sound. She did it again, imagining its bite against tender flesh. “Oh,” she whispered. “I see you found your gift,” Tom said, appearing suddenly behind her. “Tom! You startled me!” Olivia whipped around, reflexively hiding the cane behind her back. “Do you like it?” he said with that slow sexy smile he reserved for their D/s play. She brought the cane around in front of her and looked down at it. “Is it for me?” she asked stupidly. “Of course. You’re ready now, my love. This afternoon you will become my wife. Tonight as our honeymoon begins you’ll feel the sting of my cane at last. You want that, don’t you?” As he spoke he pulled her into his arms, his fingers curling lightly around her throat, not to choke her, but to help her remember who was in control. As it always did, the dominant gesture made Olivia’s insides melt. She leaned heavily against him with a languorous sigh. “Answer me, Olivia. You want this, don’t you?” “Yes,” she breathed, meaning it with all her heart. “Yes.”

***** The ceremony was beautiful, the reception an exhausting blur. Just after midnight Tom and Olivia finally collapsed in their upscale Boston hotel room, a wedding gift from Tom’s brother. In the morning they were booked on a flight to the Virgin Islands to spend a two-week honeymoon in paradise. “How’re you doing, Mrs. Dylan?” Tom said, taking her hand and touching the thick gold band that nestled against the diamond engagement ring he’d given her the night he’d proposed. “Exhausted,” replied Olivia, turning to smile at him. He was wearing only his boxers, his hair wet from the shower, his wedding ring gleaming dully on his ring finger. “And happier than I ever dreamed I could be.” “Me too,” he said with a wide grin. “You’re everything I ever wanted and more.” He reached down by the side of the bed and lifted the box he’d presented her with that morning. “You haven’t forgotten surely?” he said, his eyes hooding. “Oh Tom. It’s so late. Maybe in the morning—” Tom silenced her with a finger to her lips. “No. Remember, you don’t decide. I do. This will be your first submissive act as my wife. I’m going to mark you, Olivia. It’s time. Show me your obedience and grace. Take off that sexy negligee and lie flat on 114

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your stomach, arms over your head. Don’t worry about making noise—this place is soundproofed.” Olivia’s heart began to thump like a bumblebee hitting a windowpane. She could see in his face he was determined. His very insistence thrilled her. If he’d backed down and let her sleep, she would have been disappointed. With trembling hands she pulled the nightgown from her body and lay obediently on her stomach, stretching her arms over her head. She couldn’t suppress the gasp when she felt him attaching the now much-used leather cuffs on her wrists. He clipped them together and, using a length of chain, secured them to the headboard. “Tom! I’m not sure…” “Shh, darling. It’s okay. I’m sure for both of us. All you have to do is accept. Take what’s given to you as you were born to do.” “Tom…” Olivia sighed breathlessly, his words weaving a submissive spell over her that at once calmed and thrilled her. She closed her eyes, surrendering at last to what was going to happen, whether she wanted it or not. “I’ll begin lightly,” Tom said, stroking the rattan against her ass. “We’ll gauge together what you can tolerate.” He leaned down and gently smoothed her hair away from her face. Softly he kissed her cheek. “I love you, darling. With all my heart. This is my gift to you.” She knew as he said it, it was true. As frightened as she might be at the thought of the welts the cane could produce on delicate skin, at the same time she was longing for its fiery kiss. From that first night when they’d seen the serene young woman being publicly caned at the Cellar, long before she’d honestly connected with her own masochistic, submissive desires, she had held that image in her psyche like a beacon. For her the cane had come to represent a bright, if dangerous, light at the end of a tunnel she had been steadily walking toward since that night. The cane had come to represent the essence of her submission. If she could submit with grace to its sensual bite, she would finally realize her full sensual potential. “Thank you,” she whispered in response. When the cane struck her, she gasped, though its flick was little more than a tap. After a moment he struck her again, slightly harder. “Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice sexy with control. She obeyed, sighing with pleasure as his blunt fingers probed her already-wet pussy. The hand was withdrawn and she heard the slice of the cane in the air the split second before it landed on her ass. This time she screamed as the pain registered in a blazing line across her flesh. At once Tom’s hand was there, caressing the spot he’d struck, soothing away the sting. “That was good,” he said. “Very good. I’m proud of you. But we aren’t done yet.” He struck her again, three rapid blows that crisscrossed over her flesh leaving welts of fire that transmuted instantly into desire. She was breathing hard, pulling against her cuffs as if she could escape. She twisted as the next stroke came down, causing the rod to catch her hip, the result far more

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painful against bone than against her bottom. She screamed, wrenching at her cuffs, desperate to touch and soothe the welt she was sure he’d raised. Tom said, “You mustn’t jerk like that, Livvy. You need to stay still so the cane falls where it’s aimed.” Gently he pressed her flat against the bed. She was breathing so hard she found it difficult to draw enough air to speak. “Please! Tom, I can’t! It hurts! You have to stop.” “You can, sweetheart. You’re doing so well. Only five more and then you’re done. Stay still and accept what you know you need.” As he spoke, he massaged her pussy, sliding his thumb over her clit until she moaned in spite of herself, pressing wantonly against it. Tom laughed softly and said, “That’s it, baby. That’s it.” He withdrew his hand and she tensed as the cane whooshed through the air and struck her ass. She squeezed her eyes shut, silently counting as the rod seared her flesh four more times. She let out her breath and sagged against the bed, tears trickling down her cheeks though she hadn’t realized she was crying. Quickly Tom released her cuffs and lay down beside her. She could feel his cock hard against her leg as he stroked her welted ass. “You should see, Livvy. It’s beautiful. You are so fucking sexy. I can’t believe you’re mine.” He kissed her cheeks, licking away the tears. Olivia felt pride well up inside her, rising like a tidal wave that threatened to sweep her away. She had done it! She’d submitted to a caning without falling apart. “I want to see!” she said excitedly, squirming away from Tom and rolling from the bed. She hurried over to the mirror and turned around, craning back to see her ass. It was crisscrossed with dark red welts. With something akin to awe she reached back and traced one of the raised ridges with her fingertip. “Oh my god, Tom. Look what you did to me.” She was at once horrified and thrilled. “You took that for me, my beautiful girl,” he said, moving in front of her to take her into his arms. “Don’t worry. Those lines will have faded by the morning. But the fact of your perfect submission to me will never fade. I’m so proud of you.” “I wonder what Mark would think if he could see us now,” Olivia said, grinning up at her husband. “I wonder,” Tom grinned back. “Maybe we’ll have to invite him and Lisette over for a demonstration once we get back from the islands.” “Tom, no!” Olivia said, laughing. But as she was drifting to sleep that night in Tom’s arms, her last thought slipping into dreams was…why not?

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About the Author Claire Thompson has written numerous novels and short stories, all exploring aspects of Dominance & submission. Ms. Thompson’s gentler novels seek not only to tell a story, but to come to grips with, and ultimately exalt in the true beauty and spirituality of a loving exchange of power. Her darker works press the envelope of what is erotic and what can be a sometimes dangerous slide into the world of sadomasochism. She writes about the timeless themes of sexuality and romance, with twists and curves to examine the ‘darker’ side of the human psyche. Ultimately Claire’s work deals with the human condition, and our constant search for love and intensity of experience. Claire welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Tell Us What You Think We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at [email protected].

Also by Claire Thompson A Lover’s Call Bird In a Cage with J.W. McKenna Blind Faith Cast a Lover’s Spell Closely Held Secrets Club de Sade Continuum of Longing Crimson Ties Dare To Dominate Face of Submission Golden Boy Golden Man Island of Temptation Jewel Thief Masked Submission Odd Man Out Outcast Pleasure Planet anthology Sacred Blood Sacred Circle Secret Diaries The Perfect Cover The Seduction of Colette Two Masters for Alex Slave Castle Slave Gamble Turning Tricks

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