Silas handles the lunch crowd on Saturdays, so it was just Willow, Kenny, and Boone on Signal Mountain, and she had no idea where they were taking her. She’d assumed someplace with a view, but this was just woods and four-wheeler trails.
Willow mounted behind Boone first, wrapping her arms around his huge frame, squeezing so tightly she could feel every beat of his heart in her boobs.
And the fact her legs were spread wide around him and her clit against his heat… she tried to ignore that.
She’d expected to be wearing the vibrating plug and egg, but they’d produced protective riding clothes for her, complete with a sexy thong to wear under them. No bra, which might’ve been a problem if her boobs weren’t flattened against Boone’s back, because damn, the trail was rough.
Thirty minutes later, they parked and shut the bikes off, and Willow saw sky through the trees. Not above her — in front of her.
She followed the trail, careful of her footing. She was wearing her sneakers rather than hiking boots, which was fine, but the ground was eaten up from the many off-road tires that’d come through here.
And when she stepped from the forest onto a huge stone slab, her heart soared.
She’d hiked to Edwards Pointe before, along a pain-in-the-ass trail that took fucking forever, winding through gorges, up and down the side of the mountain. She’d known there was another way to get here, seen people show up on four-wheelers, but damn.
Below her was the Tennessee River Gorge, vast and green, the river a silver ribbon far below, Chattanooga off in the distance.
Willow stepped to the edge, and the world dropped away. Or maybe the sky bent down to meet the gorge.
Boone stood behind her, steady and silent. Kenny stepped almost beside her, but his toes a few inches from the edge.
This was her domain, and they’d brought her here to show her they sawallof her. Woman, hawk, fucktoy.
Every tempered whisper of wind through the trees carried the scent of the gorge, cool and green, brushing over her skin like a welcome. The hawk in her wanted to lean forward into it, spread her arms wide and dive until she found the thermals curling up from the valley.
She’d always thought of places like this as hers — remote, unreachable without a long, punishing hike or the effort of flight. A place where human concerns fell away and the sky took over.
But standing here with them, shoes planted solid on the rock, she felt something different. They hadn’t brought her to control her, or to parade her like some new conquest. They’d brought her toseeher, to show they understood that she was more than a warm body to fuck.
They understood she’d always need wind and open sky to breathe.
And that understanding slid into her heart, warm and steady. Maybe she could be their fucktoyandsomething more. Maybe the two weren’t opposites at all.
Chapter 13
Kenny adjusted his collar in the mirror, the black jacket lying clean and sharp across his shoulders. The tie felt too formal, but Silas had picked Ruth’s Chris, and he wasn’t about to show up looking like some half-assed biker on date night.
The choice had been made before Misty opened her bitch mouth, and now that he knew about James Fucking Winslow, their restaurant choice felt like a pissing contest he hadn’t meant to enter. Hell, part of him wanted to scrap it entirely, opt for Taco Bell or Sonic just to prove he wasn’t trying to compete with a damned billionaire.
He knew that was bullshit thinking though. She was with the three of them for what they could do to her body, her psyche. For the rules established by ownership, for the way they understood her need for submission and pain, her craving to beused.
And he was perfecting that with her, stripping her down to three needy holes, owning every inch of her sexuality because she offered it to him. He didn’t have totakeit, he only had to use what she handed over.
The three wolves were giving her what the rich human fuck hadn’t.
But tonight was different. It was showing her they wanted all of her, the womanandthe fucktoy. She’d need to be theirgirlfriend too, amongst all the orders and protocol. The ritual part of their life needed some humanity. She couldn’t be an object twenty-four/seven.
Submissive and owned, yes, but not an objectified fucktoy the entire time.
And bonus points for forcing her into submission in public, showing her she belongs to them all the time, twenty-four/seven, no matter the location. It would be understated in public, but the threads of control would still be there.
* * * *
Silas arrived home from the restaurant and stepped into her bathroom while she was drying her tantalizing body after a shower.
She wasn’t allowed to close her doors, much less lock them. No privacy. No way to escape. That was the point. She belonged to them, and they could walk in any time they damn well pleased. She’d asked for ownership and now she had it. No safe bubble, no bullshit boundaries.
He didn’t bother with hello — just hooked a finger in her hair, pulled her head back, and kissed her hard.
