“You told me it would be tasteful,” Kenny muttered.
“My taste, not yours,” Silas said cheerfully.
She laughed harder, and Boone gave her a look that could only be described asfondly exasperated.
Silas selected a matching set of red-tipped clamps from the box and walked over like he was stringing tinsel, all casual smile and holiday cheer. “Can’t decorate the tree without trimming the most important branches.”
She arched her back as he leaned in, warmth curling deep as he rolled her nipple between his fingers before clipping it withprecision. A kiss to the crown of her breast at her breathy gasp. Then the other side.
A chain linked them together, silver and delicate, and he pulled it out from the center while ordering, “Lean back a little, painwhore.”
She did, and he gave her a sadistic grin. “Perfect. Centerpiece ornament installed.”
Kenny gave a mock sigh of exasperation but didn’t intervene. Boone just chuckled and handed Silas the next ornament like he was passing down garland at a family gathering.
The scene should’ve been absurd — dildos on pine branches, clamps on her tits, colored lights flashing like some dive bar.
But it was perfect. Laughing, relaxed, and entirely themselves.
Because this, too, was love.
The four fell into a rhythm, tossing jabs and plugs (both verbal and literal), until the tree was a sinful explosion of kink and Christmas — red and black and silver in a sea of white-dusted green, the blinking lights turning it from lewd to ludicrous and right back again.
And then Boone stepped forward with the topper.
He didn’t need a ladder. Just reached up and slid the inverted flogger into place like he was setting a crown, red and black plastic falls splaying up and back down like a fountain of pain and promise. The stiff tails shimmered under the colored lights, catching blue and green and gold as they moved with the air, a silent echo of every time those same strands had kissed her skin.
It was the flogger Kenny used on her thighs when she forgot to keep her knees apart, the one Silas favored for stinging her nipples before clamping them. Boone had used the handle once to tap out a rhythm against her clit that had made her shake.
Silas stepped back, gave it a nod of approval, then turned to her with something sparkly in hand.
“Now you,” he said.
She knew better than to resist, so she lifted her chin and met his gaze.
He decorated her like the tree, dangling little red balls from the chain between the nipple clamps, then a shiny silver clamp on her clit with a red bow tied on it. Her thighs trembled at the tug when he let it go, dragging down. Pulling. She bit her lip to keep from gasping.
Kenny walked around her slowly, studying the result like a man evaluating architecture. “Good craftsmanship,” he said. “Strong centerpiece. Balanced.”
“Could use a few more sparkles,” Silas muttered.
Boone flicked her nipples and the bells jingled.
She didn’t try to hide her blush. Didn’t try to fight the smile. This wasn’t the elegant magic of the downstairs tree, it was messier. Wilder.
She looked back to the tree again, all the tiny floggers and leather whips, itsy-bitsy St. Andrew’s crosses, way too many black dildos and plugs in every size and multiple shapes. Stainless steel plugs sparkled, bound in classic red bows. Strings of silver nipple clamps stretched from branch to branch, connecting sections like perverse garland, each one joined by a dainty silver chain that caught the colored lights and made them dance.
All the red, black, silver, and glass things they could scrounge from the playroom cabinets. Each jam-packed with memories.
This was her home, filled with trust and love. Wolves and a hawk.
And this ridiculous, kinky, glorious mess of a tree was hers. Theirs.
“Medallion,” Kenny said, and the men stripped and climbed into her bed.
When she was on the tan medallion, inspection pose pushing the nipple clamps and ornaments front and center, Kenny said, “Training night with all three of us, little fucktoy. Permission to join us on the bed.”
Her heart stuttered. Not from fear, but from need.
