“Silas,” she whispers, but it’s not a complaint—it’s surrender.
Silas lowers his head, lips brushing her shoulder. “Clothes off.”
She lifts her arms. He peels her shirt over her head, drops it on the floor. Her bra follows. Then her bottoms. Every piece lands silently until she stands between us in nothing but a tremble, blonde hair spilling down her back, skin flushed, brown eyes hazy with submission.
Talon’s breath jerks across the room, his dark eyes going molten behind his lenses, tattoos tightening over his forearms as he grips the chair.
Penelope hears it, and her breath stutters. Her eyes shine, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Good girl.
I step in front of her, hook a finger under her chin, and drag my thumb across her lower lip.
“You disappeared on us. Silas and I were ready to tear through half the city looking for you. Until I remembered you had my car.”
“I know.”
“You scared him,” I say, tipping my head toward Talon.
Her eyes flick to him again, and something soft, hungry, and protective flickers through her expression.
“Sorry,” she says quietly.
I shake my head. “Not words. Not right now. You listen. You obey. You let us remind you where you belong.”
Silas nudges her forward gently. “Bed.”
She climbs onto it on her hands and knees then rolls to her back, thighs splayed open so we can all see her glistening pussy.
Talon makes a broken, bitten-off sound in the corner that shoots straight through all three of us.
I exhale slowly, controlling every ounce of emotion in my chest.
“Talon.”
His eyes slam up to mine.
“This is your only job right now: watch. Breathe. Don’t touch. Don’t speak unless spoken to.”
His jaw flexes. “Okay.”
Silas strips and settles beside her on the bed, he strokes his fingers along her sternum, no hurry, no rush, just firm, steady possession.
“She needs release,” Silas murmurs, looking at me. “She’s been shaking since she walked in that door.”
“She’ll get it,” I reply. “Just not yet.”
My hands find the hem of my shirt, and I pull it over my head in one slow drag. I unbutton my jeans next. Her inhale stutters when the zipper lowers, her gaze locked forward like if she looks back she’ll break.
“You walked into danger,” I say quietly, stepping out of the denim. “You carried everything alone.” I kick the jeans away and lean in, voice at her ear. “You climbed on a fitting bench and spied on a woman who kills husbands.”
“I—” she starts.
“No.” I slap her mound once, then cup it possessively, thumb dragging over her clit. “You’re listening. Not talking.”
She groans.
Talon chokes.
