“Beautiful,” I murmured, running my hand down the curve of her spine. “Cole, get the rope from Alek’s drawer.”
Cole’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at my command, but he moved to obey, rummaging in Alek’s bedside table until he produced several lengths of soft black rope.
“Wrists first,” I instructed, and Cole knelt on the bed, binding Eva’s wrists together with elegant efficiency. Alek retrieved more items from his closet—a flogger, a crop, several toys of escalating sizes.
“Color?” I asked Eva, running my fingers through her still-damp hair.
“Green,” she breathed, eyes already glazing over with need. “So green.”
What followed was hours of exquisite torture—taking her to the edge repeatedly, each of us claiming her in different ways, sometimes together, sometimes watching. Unlike our frantic coupling at the arena, this was slow and careful, a relearning of her body and her limits.
I directed much of it, finding a new confidence in the role. Alek provided the steady, firm hand she craved while Cole delivered the sharp pain and degradation that made her soar. Between the three of us, we built her up and broke her down repeatedly, each orgasm more intense than the last.
By the time we finally allowed ourselves release, Eva was floating in subspace, her body liquid and pliant, marked not just with our earlier claiming but with fresh evidence of ourpossession—rope marks around her wrists and ankles, the imprint of Alek’s hand on her ass, thin red lines from Cole’s crop across her thighs, and my bite marks refreshed along her shoulders.
The aftercare was as thorough as the scene itself. We cleaned her gently, applied salve to the marks we wanted to keep, wrapped her in soft blankets, and tucked her between us in Alek’s massive bed.
“Mine,” she breathed sleepily, one hand finding mine, the other reaching for Cole while her head rested on Alek’s chest. “All mine.”
“Yours,” I agreed, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Always.”
As she drifted off to sleep, the three of us exchanged glances over her head, a silent vow passing between us. Whatever came next, we would face it together.
The lightof dawn filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across Eva’s sleeping form. I’d been awake for an hour, just watching her breathe, cataloging the marks we’d left on her body with pride and tenderness.
Cole stirred on her other side, his eyes finding mine across the expanse of rumpled sheets. For once, there was no sarcasm in his gaze, just a raw honesty that made him look younger, more vulnerable.
“So fucking lucky,” he mouthed, careful not to wake her.
I nodded, understanding completely what he meant. Lucky that she’d come back to us. Lucky that we’d been given another chance.
I could smell coffee brewing and hear the quiet clink of pans in the kitchen. Alek was already up.
Eva’s eyes fluttered open, immediately finding mine. “Morning,” she murmured, her voice scratchy from overuse.
“Morning, beautiful,” I replied, brushing hair from her face. “How do you feel?”
She stretched cautiously, wincing slightly as she cataloged various aches. “Like I’m yours,” she said with a small smile, and the pressure in my chest relaxed.
Cole’s arm tightened around her waist. “Good,” he said gruffly. “Because you are.”
The domesticity of the moment struck me again—waking up together as if the weeks of separation had never happened. But they had, and we needed to address what came next.
“Breakfast,” Alek called from the doorway. He’d thrown on sweatpants but remained shirtless, the powerful muscles of his chest and arms on full display. “Come eat.”
I helped Eva find a shirt of mine I’d left here and Cole’s boxers, which swallowed her whole but made her look adorably rumpled. We made our way to Alek’s kitchen, where he’d prepared a feast—eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, pancakes, coffee.
“Feeding an army?” Cole quipped, but he was already loading a plate.
“Feeding my family,” Alek replied simply, the word hanging in the air between us.
Eva’s eyes widened slightly as she settled onto a stool at the kitchen island, a sweet smile brightening her face. I took the seat beside her while Cole perched on her other side. Alek remained standing, leaning against the counter as he sipped his coffee.
For a while, we ate in comfortable silence, the simple pleasure of sharing food after sharing everything else creating a bubble of contentment around us.
But reality couldn’t be held at bay forever.
“I got a call,” I said finally, setting down my fork, “from an Anarchist scout.”
