Heat gathered low, pressure building, clit pounding in time with her heartbeat. Her pussy clenched uselessly, begging for friction, empty and desperate.
She was dizzy from it — the pain, the force, the way he took and took and didn’t give her a single word of softness, and he never did in the mornings, that was the whole point of the routine, but it wasmorethis morning.
Was the idea of turning her into a mute, speechless creature for twelve hours really winding him this tight?
Later, when she tried to talk to Silas about it while he ate his breakfast — her nipples raw and throbbing because he’d put office binder clips on them for a full minute before adding half-ounce weights, one by one, over and over until the tension ripped them off, along with several layers of skin — he’d given her a long, expressionless stare. A guilt-inducing condemnation that told her he knew her game.
He shook his head and said, “No discussion about it, naughty tongue-whore. You have the facts. You decide.”
Then, more casually, he’d added, “Add tamarind paste to your grocery list today, and make sure you get the right brand of chili paste. If there isn’t a rooster, I’m squirting it up your ass and coating your motherfucking clit with it. Also, real limes. No damned bottles.
She hadn’t been able to ask Boone at breakfast, not with Kenny sitting right there, but she’d hoped for some feedback from Silas.
Some sign. A look. Atouch.
But if Kenny told them not to talk to her about it, they wouldn’t. End of story.
It was her decision.
Kenny’s lunch instructions were only for what he wanted to eat, and nothing about packing something for her, too.
Which meant she’d have to ask for permission to speak before she could ask him to put his plan into motion.
She’d have to ask to be silenced, caged, and objectified to the extreme without an escape clause.
But how could she decide anything else? The chance of a lifetime, take it or leave it. A fantasy she’d whispered inside the darkest recesses of her mind for years. A dream so impossible she’d never expected to taste it, and now it was real.
And terrifying.
Her pulse spiked just thinking about being stripped of her voice, bound and used, no words, no escape, no safeword.
And the shock collar on her leg to ensure her compliance, to give her no choice other than immediate obedience… it should’ve made her walk away, but it made her look forward to being turned into the creature Kenny had promised.
Besides all that though, if she didn’t do it, she’d regret it forever. She would always wonder what it would’ve been like.Whether she could’ve taken it. Whether they’d have broken her — or if she’d have found some unholy freedom in the breaking.
So yeah, her mind was made up no matter the terror in her gut. She was going to go to her knees and tell him how badly she wanted to be their mute pet for twelve hours.
Not because she was sure she’d survive the ordeal, but because she’d never forgive herself if she let the opportunity slip by.
Chapter 14
Later that night, seven hours after she’d not only asked, but begged to be turned into a creature while kneeling naked in Kenny’s office, the living room glowed with firelight and the soft, steady twinkle of white Christmas lights.
The three had strung them across the mantle, wound them around garlands of pine, fir, and cedar. A towering tree stood sentinel in the corner, already anchored and waiting, its dark green branches stretching wide and proud. The room smelled like forest and winter, the weight of ancient rituals brought into their space to be honored, not just decorated.
Willow moved through the room barefoot, her red dress loose and soft against her calves, the hem swaying with every step as she checked the drinks. Kenny’s glass was low, so she took it without a word, refilled it with mulled wine still steaming in the slow cooker on the kitchen island, and brought it back with a smile. His fingers brushed hers when he took it, rough pads lingering just long enough to warm more than her skin.
The background Christmas music changed from slow to slightly faster, and she twirled across the room, making her dress billow out.
Boone had already brought in the storage bins full of ornaments and garland, his presence quiet and grounding asalways. He’d stripped off his flannel shirt after hanging the last garland above the windows, so now he stood in just a black tee and jeans.
Silas brought in a tray of apple fritters in one hand, wings in the other. “Glazed in cranberry with a hint of ghost pepper,” he said. “Christmas Buffalo wings.”
She laughed and moved to snag a wing for herself, but Boone beat her to it. The glaze was sticky and sweet, the heat slow to rise, and she moaned in approval as it built on her tongue. “These are dangerous.”
“Good,” Boone said, his voice low and pleased. He took another for himself, then another before licking the sauce from his fingers in a slow sweep that made her pulse jump.
The lights for the tree were next. They worked together, untangling and testing them, wrapping them around and through the branches. Kenny directed from the back, guiding the lines for even spacing. Silas draped the lights with a decorator’s eye while she fed him the cord that kept trying to tangle all over again.
