Hanging On 2: Surreal Neal [Awakenings 6] (Siren Publishing Menage and More) (26 page)

Drew put his arm around my waist, splaying his hand over my hip, and pulled me closer. “We’re here to tour the facility, and you’re going to model some of the amenities for us.”

I didn’t know what that meant until we got to the first room. The playhouse wasn’t technically open to the public until six in the evening. No doubt they’d cut back the hours because they couldn’t afford to pay monitors. I mentioned this to Sophia, but she merely shook her head.

“If it’s always open, it loses some of the mystique. Keeping the hours limited makes it a feature, a special night.” She inserted a key into the lock and opened the door. We went inside, and she locked everything back up. “Take off those shorts.”

Drew took a double ring from a zippered pocket on his cargo shorts. I recognized the device. One ring would nestle against the base of my dick. It was a cock ring. The other would require my dick being bent in half to slip through again. It would be uncomfortable when I wasn’t aroused and blissfully painful when I was.

I shed my jockey shorts. Drew tucked them into his pocket, regarding me with a sexy twist to his lips. He handed me the double ring. “Put this on.”

“Yes, Chef.”

The device had a quick-release button, and for that I was grateful. Having one of these permanently stuck did not appeal to me.

Mistress watched, no doubt noting how I handled myself. When I finished, she checked the fit, running her fingertip over my flaccid, bent member. I trembled as blood tried to rush to my cock. It throbbed.

She glanced up at me. “Comfortable?”

“No, Mistress.”

“What’s your color?”

“Green,” I assured her.

“Great,” Chef said. “Let’s have a look around.”

We wandered through a few rooms—two different dungeon setups, a doctor’s office, and a room full of pillows.

Mistress observed the pillows with a puzzled frown.

I spoke up. “A harem scenario, I think.”

She nodded. “Hmm. This can’t be sanitary.” She picked up a pillow. It had water stains on it, the kind silk gets when it has been cleaned the wrong way. “Ugh. Drew, we are definitely shutting it down if we buy this place. Anywhere people are going to have sex needs to be a place that can be sanitized and cleaned.”

We wandered the building, which I realized was an old plantation house. Whoever had remodeled it hadn’t bothered to try to make it fit with the ancient Greek theme. Considering that it was a place full of themed rooms, I guess it wasn’t meant to fit in. They could have at least matched up the architecture. No matter. Once Mistress took it over, she would make everything work.

We wandered for a while longer. None of the rooms had anything out of the ordinary—as far as BDSM was concerned—that I could find. Finally, Mistress stopped at one. She stared at an hourglass-shaped bench that curved up a few inches at each end and tapped her fingernail against her bottom lip.

“I’ve always wanted to try one of those.”

Head tilted to the side, Chef stared at it. “What is it?”

“A low-maintenance lover.”

We both gave her a dry look.

“You attach a dildo or vibrator to it—depends on the model—and ride until you can’t move anymore.”

Chef opened a cupboard to the left of the door. “Looks like vibrators.” He opened one of the packages and wiped it down with the disinfecting wipes that were also in the cupboard. Then he tossed the wipes to me. “Clean that thing for your Mistress.”

“Drew,” she protested, “I don’t have to do it here.”

He hooked his arm around her waist. “Oh, honey, you can’t tease me like that. I want to watch, and so does Neal.”

I wiped the surface extra vigorously. Yes, I did want to watch her masturbate on the device. I wanted to kneel at her feet and take care of her when she finished. Then I wanted to lick her clean and fuck her until we were all drained.

“It’s nice and clean, Mistress.”

Chef slid the attachment into place and unrolled a condom over it. “It’s ready, Sophie.”

Mistress stood between us, looking at the machine. Impulsively, I leaned down and kissed the curve of her neck. She sighed and tilted her head to give me better access. I took advantage of it.

On the other side, Chef took possession of her mouth. His hand disappeared up her dress. I stroked up and down her arms and licked a path down her spine. She shivered and moved her hips against Chef’s hand.

We primed her, taking her to the point where she moaned out loud. Then Chef guided her onto the device. The hourglass shape made it conform to her body. She sank down on the vibrator. Chef reached under the machine and turned on the power.

As she tested out her rhythm, Chef led me to a padded spanking bench. I knelt on the lower level and rested my upper body on the higher level. I didn’t know if he would spank me or not, and he didn’t do or say anything to give me a clue. He buckled cuffs around my wrists and calves.

My cock throbbed against the restriction of the double ring, sending pleasurable bouts of pain through my balls and up my spine. The bench put me in the perfect position to watch Mistress. Her mouth opened in the O shape she got when she was really enjoying herself. She undulated against the vibrator, moving her hips in a sinfully delectable motion.

“She’s so hot.” Chef murmured in my ear. His body was bent over mine, owning my personal space and crowding me against the bench. He nipped my lobe and licked the place on my neck that made me tremble. “I could watch her fuck that thing all day.”

I gulped and nodded. She was definitely hot and giving off so much heat that I was being scorched.

Chef ground his cock against my ass. “Maybe not watch.”

I heard his zipper unknitting, and I exhaled an unsteady breath. He rubbed lubricant into me, and then I felt the familiar pressure of his hardness seeking entrance. My cock jumped and throbbed, fighting its restriction. I exhaled, and did my best to relax. However the combination of the show Mistress was putting on and the feel of Chef was too much. He breached me, forcing his way past my defenses. It smarted, but I think it hurt him more than it hurt me.

Mistress gripped the edges of the curved platform and rocked back and forth. She watched Chef fuck me, and she slowed to match her pace to his.

“Neal, you look positively gorgeous,” she said. “You’re in such exquisite agony.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Unable to make myself coherent, I grunted the words.

She lifted her gaze, meeting Chef’s, and they both sped up. Chef reached under me and caressed my cock. Just when I thought I would die, he pressed the quick release, freeing me. Blood rushed in, and I was instantly hard.

I gasped at the pins-and-needles sensation. It felt so good and so bad at the same time. Immediately my mind floated away, hovering just above my body. Bliss rolled through me. Mistress threw her head back and let out a long, low moan as she climaxed. Chef slammed into me and shouted his release.

Though I don’t remember having an orgasm, when consciousness returned, Chef was cleaning semen from my leg.

Mistress stroked my hair back from my face, caressing near my temple. “Shhh,” she said. “You’re safe. You’re all right. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I looked up at her, at her soft dark tresses falling over her red dress where it covered her breasts, and didn’t speak. Hot tears leaked from my eyes. It tried to stop them, but I couldn’t.

When Chef finished cleaning me, he situated himself on my other side, the warmth of his thighs and hip cradling my body with affection. He stroked my shoulder and arm, adding to Mistress’s calming effect.

The room lacked a bed, and so the three of us sat on the floor in silence. They didn’t press me to talk about what had happened, though they both made it clear they would listen if I had something to say.

* * * *

For the rest of the trip, neither of them brought up the idea of something more permanent between us, and I was thankful for that. When Master Geordie had wanted something that I hadn’t wanted to give, he used to find some way to throw it at me or wear me down until I gave in. The fact that my decision was being respected—and nobody seemed inclined to retaliate—made most of my anger evaporate.

After my experiences with neediness and subdrop the mornings after a scene, I spent the rest of the trip rising before they did. Each morning, I left before they were awake, spending several hours on the water fleeing from my past and running from the future.

When I arrived home, Aunt Danielle was waiting for me. She leaped on me the moment I got out of the car, forcing me to drop my bag. Thank goodness I didn’t have anything breakable in there.

Drew had been called into work. The chef who had taken charge for the five days he’d been gone had come down with a nasty case of the flu. Sophia had dropped him at Sensual Secrets, and then she’d taken me home.

Sophia stood behind the trunk, my smaller bag slung over her shoulder. She looked beautiful, a goddess in jeans and a pink jacket.

“Hi,” Aunt Danielle said as she eyeballed Sophia.

They hadn’t yet met, so I introduced them.

“It’s good to meet you,” Sophia said. “Neal has told me about you.”

I noticed that she stated a careful truth. I had told Sophia about my aunt, but I hadn’t talked about her all that much. It was another way I was keeping her at arm’s length.

“Yeah,” Aunt Danielle said. “I’m sure.” She knew me pretty well, so she knew I hadn’t said jack to Sophia.

Things were growing awkward, so I took my bag from Sophia. My intention was to herd her back into the car. She had other plans.

She stepped around me and beamed a friendly smile. “Drew and I are having some people over Sunday afternoon. We’d like it if you could join us.”

Aunt Danielle looked at me, speculation and curiosity bubbling in her eyes. “I’d love to. Neal can bring me.”

I crushed her plans. “I’m working Sunday.”

Sophia had her phone out. “If you give me your email address, I’ll send you directions to our place. People will start arriving around four, but we won’t eat until closer to six.”

The telepathic messages I sent to Aunt Danielle telling her to beg off were not received. She gave Sophia the information.

When she was gone, I glared at Aunt Danielle. “I don’t want you going there.”

She did not find me at all intimidating. “My baby nephew spent a week vacationing with those people. I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t get to know them better.”

“Don’t do this.”

She shrugged away my concerns. “I promised my brother that I would look out for you. Nothing you say or do is going to make me go away. I know you, Neal. I know how your time in Brazil has changed you, made you try to hide who you really are inside. Everybody thinks you’re this wonderful chef who came out of nowhere, but I know where ‘nowhere’ is.” She got in my face, or as close to my face as somebody a foot shorter can get. “You’re not the kind of person who sleeps around, and you give your heart entirely too easily. I want to get to know these people before you’re too far gone.”

How wrong she was about me. I’d slept around plenty, and I’d charged for the privilege, sometimes commanding a thousand dollars a night.

“Aunt Danielle, you don’t know anything.”

“No,” she said. “Because you won’t tell me anything. Now I’m going to find out for myself.”

The whole thing didn’t sit right with me. I spent the night pacing in my room, tossing and turning in my bed that was suddenly too large and empty.

The next day, Saturday, was my first day back at work. I thought I’d walk into questions about where I’d been and why I’d been allowed to take a vacation so soon after starting the new job, but nothing of the sort happened. Nobody even looked at me funny.

I found Drew in the back of the kitchen, bent over a printout of the catering order. He tapped his fingers on the counter, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since he’d touched Sophia. Had she kissed him good-bye at the door and bade him have a great day at work? Or had she pushed him toward the exit, thinking about the piles of accounting awaiting her now that she was back from vacation? Or had she made sure he left sated and ready to face the day?

If I didn’t banish that line of thinking, I was going to go insane.

“Hey, Chef,” I called. “What are we doing today?”

He looked up slowly, and I caught the barest hint of smoke in his pale eyes. Then I remembered the title I’d unofficially bestowed upon him.

The look faded, and he went back to perusing the paper. “Grilled salmon. Go ahead and get those filleted.”

He turned to one of the other cooks and gave different orders. Around us, the kitchen was springing to life. Shouts and chatter filled the air, punctuated by the hiss of water and the clank of pans hitting one another and the stoves.

Things were happening the way they normally did, and flames of anger flared in my chest. After the week we’d spent together, Drew gave not one sign that things had changed between us. No special smiles or secretive glances. Not a word or touch. It’s what I asked for, but now that I was experiencing it, I found myself discontented.

After the crew had picked up the catering for the grilled salmon brunch, we began prepping the order for that evening, chicken cacciatore and mahimahi. We started in on the lunch break rotation.