“Hey, what the hell, man?” Cal called from the back seat as I screeched to a halt beside the forest-lined road.
I didn’t answer.
Just flipped the child lock and climbed out to rip open his passenger door and pullthe human I had found first…
The human I’d actively resisted for three years…
The human I’d been bereft without for the longest seven months of my fucking life—off my third maul’s cock.
“Hey, you can’t?—”
The rest of Cal’s words were lost as I slammed the door shut in his face, locking him and his twin in the back seat.
Rage blazing, I set her on her feet in front of me and looked her up and down—dressed in nothing but a thin T-shirt, with Gideon’s and Cal’s cum coating both of her thighs.
Then I said, “Run.”
forest for the bears
. . .
1summer ago
July 24, 5:23 a.m.
Mr. Good Time: Hey, sweetiebird. Checking in. How are you after last night’s scene?
July 24, 6:47 a.m.
sweetiebird: Oh, wow, so good. I’ve liked everything we’ve done together, but I think that was my favorite one yet. I want to do a rabbit hole deep dive on the physiology behind why it was so effective. And maybe find a few dark romance novels that feature it until I can see you again. What did you call it again?
Mr. Good Time: Primal play.
Mr. Good Time: I’m glad you liked it. Here are a few of my favorites…
this summer
Mr. Good Time once told me there was a reason he always chose the penthouse at The Tourmaline: Vancouver to host our scenes. Actually, a few…
It was discreet, with employees trained not to blink twice—or even check ID—when I gave them the code name: sweetiebird.
It had a private elevator that opened straight into the suite, tucked at the end of a secret hallway with no cameras. If you didn’t want to be seen, you wouldn’t be.
Even though Mr. Good Time liked to make threats about killing anyone who responded to my safe calls during our CNC play, the penthouse was fully soundproof.
