And before Silas left, he’d unlocked her closet with a soft click that felt monumental — until she walked him downstairs, and he removed her collar and cuffs at the front door. Her heart hurt when the weight and feel of them were gone, an actual, physical pain. Silas kissed her forehead and assured her, “They’ll go back on when you return, little fuckhole.”
And then he’d stolen her breath with a kiss, one hand around her throat, the other holding her head. All tongue and lips, spreading her mouth wide, possessing her. A quick nip to her lip, and he was gone.
She stood in the doorway to her closet after he left, staring at clothes that had once defined her. Fashionable pantsuits, designer jeans, clubwear. They felt like artifacts from someone else’s life. The woman who’d worn these had been searching for something, hungry for a submission she couldn’t name. The woman staring at them now had worn steel at her throat up until three minutes earlier, and knew exactly who she belonged to even with it off.
Willow found herself alone in the house without the plug and egg. Nine days stretched ahead of her — nine days of making her own choices, controlling her own body, sleeping in a bed without strong arms holding her down. The freedom should have felt liberating, but the silence pressed against her. No constant hum of vibration, no weight reminding her who owned her with every breath.
Chapter 18
Her last night in Birmingham, Willow had worked seven Saturday night until seven Sunday morning, slept until 12:45 so she’d be gone by the one o’clock checkout she’d negotiated, then drove home in two hours and fifty-two minutes.
Home. Damn, that sounded good. Her chest ached with relief when she pulled off the highway and through the gate, the weight of nine days of adrenaline and sorrow finally starting to ease off her shoulders.
She’d driven her SUV rather than her car, which was safer in her apartment parking lot than in the hotel and hospital lots in Birmingham, but she’d have made better time in her car.
When shefinallypulled into her parking spot, she needed Silas’s cooking, sex with her men, and then twelve to fifteen hours of sleep.
Her three men were waiting for her on the porch, Kenny holding her collar, the other two each holding two cuffs. No ceremony this time — they all went to work at the same time, Kenny at her neck, Silas at her wrists, and Boone at her ankles.
She was theirs again before she stepped into the house.
They walked her upstairs, stripped her in the hallway, slow and careful, like they knew how close she was to unraveling. Boone sat in a new armless chair in her bedroom, and Kennytalked her through bending over his lap, voice low and firm, like the edge of a rope pulling her back to herself.
And Boone laid into her right off, way past warm-up level to start, and then harder and harder, his strokes like drumbeats against her soul. He moved from his hand to a paddle, and it landed again and again until her muscles quivered and her breath came ragged. Tears spilled from her eyes, but he didn’t let up. He spanked her through them. Past them.
She cried everything out, the grandfather with a brain injury from a simple fall who’d died while his family had held his hands and gave him their tearful goodbyes, knowing the staff wasn’t likely to stop the bleeding and swelling. The young boy who’d come in from a catastrophic car wreck that’d killed both his parents. He would live, but she doubted the surgeon had been able to save his leg, and when he woke, someone would have to tell him he was an orphan. So many stories, so much heartbreak. She was pretty good at leaving most of it on the job, but some people just pulled at her heartstrings.
The paddle beat it all out of her, let her cry it out. Not just the tears, but the grief, the helplessness, the fury at the randomness of it all. Boone spanked her until there were no more tears, until the last sob left her chest hollow, until she collapsed against his thigh, panting, used up.
Then he pulled her into his lap, his strong arms supporting her, embracing her while her body trembled with aftershocks. Silas brought pulled pork, his homemade mac-n-cheese, fried potatoes, and when she’d cleaned her plate, warm apple pie with vanilla fucking ice cream.
Kenny slid into bed with her, held her until she fell asleep, and then she figured he left her alone to avoid disturbing her rest, which was how she found herself when she woke the next morning.
She took inventory, a low throb in her thighs. Her calves hurt. Her ass ached. The soles of her feet screamed the loudest — she’d been on them twelve hours at a time, nine nights in a row. She reminded herself she’d made nearly 20k in those nine days. Before taxes, which meant the damned government would get a huge portion, but whatever.
Her fingers curled around the cool microfiber sheet and then slid across the plush comforter — not one of those scratchy decorative sets, but something meant to cocoon and cradle. She didn’t wake straight in bed, so she looked up at the bed’s wrought-iron headboard, all steel curves and tight, controlled chaos, a dozen points they could cuff her to without warning. An Alaska king, plenty big enough for three wolves to simultaneously fuck the hawk who belonged to them.
That they hadn’t last night surprised her.
They could’ve. Theywould’ve, a week ago. But they’d seen that she needed sleep more than she needed three cocks pounding her, and they’d given it to her. They’d also given her the catharsis of tears followed by comfort food.
Her chest clenched with something that felt suspiciously like love, but she didn’t poke it. Just let it sit there while she breathed in the scent of home, the feel of her bed. Her sheets. Her pillows.
Her home. Their bed.
And then, because her bladder wasn’t going to wait, she groaned and slid off the bed, wincing the second the bottoms of her feet took her weight.
When she came out of the bathroom, Silas was sitting on the chair Boone had spanked her on the night before.
“The chair’s new, Sir,” she noted, and loved hearing her own voice use that word again.Sir.
He nodded. “Yes, your special spanking chair. How are you feeling this morning?”
“Hungry and tired, Sir.”
“I’m off work today, and I’ll be driving you to the spa at noon, where you’ll get a massage, a facial, and a mani-pedi.”
She glanced at the clock. Nearly ten. She’d slept sixteen hours. Nice.
