“Why?” I ask suspiciously.
“Because I say so,” he says, the challenge unmistakable.
When I leave the room, I go directly to Connor. I have no idea all the things I’m saying, only that I speak rapidly, curse, and wave my arms a lot.
Connor gives me a hug and tells me to relax. This infuriates me, and I stare daggers at him.
“He’s teasing you. It’s actually a sign that he respects you. If he thought it would make you fall apart, he wouldn’t do it.”
I swear some more. “What’s wrong with you guys that this is how you run your personal lives?”
C raises a brow, but says, “Vanilla’s too plain for us. You must’ve heard the rumors.”
I wave a dismissive hand and march from the bedroom, my flaming anger driving me onward. I get the ginger and the paring knife. I stalk out of the kitchen and into the hall.
“This way,” Anvil says, blocking my path to the media room. He points at a door.
I go into the downstairs guestroom where Trick is waiting. It’s big and lovely and betrays nothing of what it’s about to be used for. Then I spot the top of a dresser where a bunch of BDSM tools are arranged. I thrust the ginger root and paring knife at Trick.
“You have to be able to perform,” Trick says casually. “So spanking you hard enough for you to feel it for days or anything that would leave marks that could be seen when you’re in your costume aren’t an option.”
“What does that leave?”
“Come here,” Anvil says, drawing me away from Trick and speaking in a low voice. “Thirty or forty minutes. Just uncomfortable. You’ve had harder workouts than this will be.”
“What is this? Good dom, bad dom?”
Anvil looks surprised and then smiles slowly. “With me the good one?”
I nod.
He bends forward so his forehead touches mine for a moment. Then he grabs a bar with cuff restraints attached and drops it on the bed. He picks me up and sets me on it. I try to move away, but he grabs my ankles one at a time and secures them to either end of the bar.
“Wait!” I shriek as he drags my arm back, making me fall forward onto the bed.
Anvil secures my left wrist in a cuff that’s next to the left ankle. He repeats the maneuver with my right wrist. My face and neck are on the bed, my butt’s up in the air, and there’s no way for me to take any other position. I’m grateful that I’m wearing lace boy shorts and a tank top because it means that despite the position, I’m covered.
Connor leans over me and strokes my hair. “Hey, you’re all right.”
I’m sure I’m wild-eyed. I’m in a panic and can’t catch my breath.
“Go, C. You don’t need to be here,” Trick says. “She’ll be fine.”
“Connor!” I rasp. “Don’t let them—let me out.”
He kisses my temple. “Calm down, Z. You’re okay.”
“Move,” Trick says, giving C’s shoulder a push.
Connor moves one step to the side, but doesn’t stop touching me. His hand in my hair lets me know he’s not abandoning me.
Trick’s voice is a whisper in my ear. “You nearly got yourself and C killed. You know what I had to do to protect you. It could’ve been avoided, and it could still come back on me. Take your medicine.”
“That’s enough,” C says, pushing Trick away. “Get out. I’ll do it myself.”
“Wait,” I whisper.
“We should do this. Zoe and I,” Trick says. “Right, Zoe?”
