Her Troika (38 page)

His hands reached up, clasping hers, then coursed slowly, so slowly, down the soft flesh of her limbs, fingertips stroking her underarms. He reached for the mass of her hair, catching it in a tight grip, wrenching her head back, exposing her neck to him. She trembled as he licked, sucked, nipped at her throat. Then he kissed her, savagely, selfishly, his tongue plundering her mouth, his growl low, vibrating through her as he sucked her lips, nipping the lower one with his teeth.

Releasing the grip on her hair, he stepped back again, his gaze dropping to her chest once more.

“I will never—” he cupped her breasts in his palms, lifting them, huddling them together “— get tired of these. God, you’re so beautiful, Breanna.”

She closed her eyes, sighing as he bent to them, his hot tongue licking the last drops of cool water from the slopes of her breasts. His soft lips caught one nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth, and she moaned as he drew upon it, letting her feel the sharpness of his teeth. The stirring deep in her belly had her trembling as he sucked one then the other nipple into stony hardness, that agile tongue slowly laving the aching tips.

“I could do this all day, Breanna. Just play with these breasts.” He squeezed them harshly, and she moaned again at the hurt. “Make you understand who owns them, who they’re for. Make them mine, just like the rest of you.”

The feel of those strong hands claiming her soft, vulnerable flesh was making her lightheaded. She locked her gaze with his, telling him all he needed to know, that heated connection between them stronger than ever. She wanted to give all to him, surrender everything to him, to his lust, to that instinctual, savage male animal inside him.

His hand caught her throat again, squeezing firmly, and she felt the blood pulse at her temples, her arousal like a hot, heavy weight between her thighs. His hand slipped under the fabric of his boxers, freeing the thick cock she couldn’t get enough of last night, the cock she wanted now more than anything. He fisted it, stroking it gently, looking down at her sex. She spread her thighs, and he murmured, stepping closer, stroking the soft petals of her sex with the broad, inflamed head. He stroked it up and across her pubis, leaving a glistening trail of fluid, then used that head to work her clit, his thumb pushing back the hood of flesh, allowing him to friction her clit directly.

“Oh God, yes,” she hissed, her hips rotating against him, seeking, needing more contact.

“You’ll pay for that later,” Derek said, his voice thick.

I can’t wait.

Then he sighed heavily, slipping his cock — with difficulty — back into his boxers. “But first things first.” He reached up and brought her hands down with his, his eyes flashing. “Living room. We’ve got a lot to go over before this weekend.”

She knelt down, reaching for the towel.

"No, you won't need that," Derek rumbled. "Living room. On your knees. Now."

Her mouth suddenly dry even as her pussy began to heat once more, she rose to her feet.

Here we go again ...

Chapter Twenty Nine

T
he living room was so silent, she swore even the jackhammer beat of her heart was audible. Kneeling there, water still drying on her chilled skin, her ass pressed to her bare heels, she watched the two men watch her. They’d taken either end of the couch after instructing her to kneel before it, far enough away that they could get a good view of her. Then they’d simply looked her over, their expressions as neutral as stone.

What were they thinking? Why weren’t they saying anything? What had happened while she was in the shower?

Her clit throbbed away between her legs, her arousal now at a low simmer rather than a rolling boil.

“Spread your knees, girl.” Kurt’s hand waved at her.

She complied, the slickness between the lips of her sex feeling cool in the still air of the living room. Kurt sat forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Move your hair out of the way, drape it over one shoulder. That’s it. Now clasp your hands behind your back.”

“I like how she tries to hide them,” Derek murmured. “Hard to hide tits that big, eh Breanna?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Kurt said. He glanced back at Breanna. “He asked you a question, girl.”

She swallowed, meeting Derek’s dark gaze. “Yes, Sir.”

“Things are changing now, Breanna,” Kurt said, leaning back against the couch.

Her eyes couldn’t help but take in the bulge of his genitals, so blatantly presented between the splayed, muscled thighs.

“First thing. When you’re with us, you’ll speak only when spoken to. Do you understand? Starting now, you’re going to learn to address us — properly.” Kurt cocked a thumb toward himself. “From now on you’ll refer to me as what I am — your Master. You’ll no longer use my name.” His long finger extended toward Derek. “He’s now ‘Sir’. Always. Am I clear?”

Fighting the fiendishly powerful urge to say something, she clamped the corner of her lower lip between her teeth.

“What is it? You can ask,” Kurt said, nodding at her.

“Why? Why are you doing this … Master?”

Her mouth had gone dry, and her quickening pulse pounded in her ears. The word
felt
right, but terrifying — it was something they’d talked about before, but it had seemed a bridge too far at the time. Now? She wasn’t so sure
anything
was a bridge too far anymore.

“We’re doing this for two reasons. First, because we want it this way — you don’t need to concern yourself with why, only accept it. Second, and more importantly, we’re doing this because this weekend — at the farm — things will be different.” Kurt’s eyes flicked to Derek then back to her. “More intense.”

“You don’t like this do you? Not talking. It kills you, doesn’t it?” Derek’s lips curved in a warm smile. “To be honest, it’s a little weird for me too — but after what Kurt told me? Yeah, it’s the right thing, even if …” Derek looked beyond her, off into space, shadow falling over his gaze.

“This will be part of your commitment to us,” Kurt continued. “Your sacrifice for us. You know yourself as the confident lawyer, the woman who uses her intellect, her cunning, her words, the inflection of her voice — and that’s all true. But all that means nothing now, when you’re with us — and we’re going to see how you cope with that. How you adapt to what pleases me, what pleases
us
. Do you understand me?”

How does he … know?

“Yes, Master.”

“Good.” Kurt steepled his fingers together in his lap. “This weekend there will be others at the farm. Women, like you, serving their Terms. Some you might recognize, most will be new to you.”

The woman who’d been auctioned off before her — Breanna couldn’t remember her name — had haunted her since the night of her auctioning. The name escaped her still, but Breanna vividly remembered the shame she saw burning in the woman’s cheeks as she stood before everyone. The mortification of that woman had transfixed Breanna as she’d watched the men handle her, strip her, then bid on buying her for the duration of her Term. That a
woman
had finally won the auction had stunned Breanna. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. That a woman might want—

“Are you listening to what I’m telling you?” Kurt’s voice rumbled, his gaze darkening. “This is important, Breanna.”

Derek’s sober gaze fell upon her as he held a hand palm up toward her husband. “Things have gotten … more complicated. He’s trying to help you get through it.”

“I’m sorry — Sirs.” She dropped her eyes, the heat burning in her cheeks. How the hell was she supposed to say anything with this new rule? She didn’t even know how to address both of them at the same time!

“Start listening, girl. And understanding.” Kurt took a deep breath. “Quinton Trask will have rights to you this weekend.”

Her eyes shot up.

“Alone.”

Oh no. This — there’s no way.

Derek ran a hand through his hair. “We’re gonna do everything we can to keep that from happening — we’ve got some ideas. But we can’t be sure it’s going to work.” He flashed Kurt a quick glance, her husband replying with a grim nod. “By Trust — rules, I guess — any Member can request the use of any woman serving a Term at the farm — as long as the woman is not removed from the farm. And even though we’d hoped the little fucker would just disappear … it’s not gonna to be that easy.”

Her mind began working this, trying to figure a way out, something she could give them that might help. She remembered Quinton, and though he possessed the superficial charm that good looks and wealth afforded a man, she’d seen something else in him that night of the auction, that rapacious gleam in his cold gaze, the clench of the muscles in his jaw — and she feared him.

“You’ve got questions, Breanna.” Kurt inclined his head. “Say it.”

“How long?”

Her husband looked down, stroking the line of his jaw with a finger. “Twenty four hours.”

“Dear God,” she whispered. “He’ll kill me.”

“No,” Kurt said. “He can’t — and he won’t. He’s a sonofabitch, but he’s not stupid. He knows the rules, knows just exactly what he can get away with, and killing you definitely isn’t it.”

“Will he hurt me?”

Kurt and Derek exchanged a long look, and Kurt tipped his chin toward Derek.

“Yes, he can — and we think he will,” Derek said in a quiet voice. “We’ve heard the rumors ... other women who’ve been under his ‘care’.”

“Which is why we’re going to make sure he doesn’t get what he wants.” Kurt’s eyes flashed, his hand squeezing the arm of the couch so hard the flesh of his fingertips shone white. “I’ll do what I have to — even defy them. It’s not going to happen.”

“I don’t … I don’t know if I can do this.” She looked from her husband to Derek, searching for a hint that things weren’t as awful as they suddenly seemed.

Stop being a scared little girl. You’ve faced tougher than Quinton Trask. You’re more than this.

Of course, she knew it to be true — intellectually. She could, and would, do what needed to be done, but she’d be lying to herself if she said the thought of being in a room alone with Quinton didn’t fill her with dread.

“Can I — what can I expect then? What do you think he’ll do to me? He’ll hurt me — okay.” She straightened her spine, taking a deep, slow breath, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart. “I can deal with that.”

Truthfully, she could take quite a lot of pain — given to her by someone she was attracted to. There was a difference though between being a masochist, and being suicidal — and she suspected there was no way of knowing how far a personality like Quinton’s might take things. Still, she needed to know, needed the truth of what might lay ahead.

“This weekend’s going to be sort a first for the Trust,” Kurt said, leveling his gaze with hers. “The interest in pony girls, in the whole thing — the objectification, and dehumanization, and captivity — all of it. It’s big — and growing bigger as word gets out. More will be here next summer … and there are plans for some new events.”

“Jesus Christ, dude, spit it out.” Derek shook his head. “What numb nuts is trying to say here is that there’s going to be a race next weekend. And you’re gonna be in it.”

“A …
race
?” She looked to her husband. “Like, at the track?”

Kurt gave her a solemn nod.

Hadn’t she wondered what it would be like to have dozens, even hundreds of people watching her as the men had whipped her around the track on that hot, windy day? Enjoying the spectacle as the sweat poured down her body, her curves glistening with it? Hadn’t she dreamed of it, even as the idea had terrified her? How could something like that actually turn her on? She’d woken one night, the image of her looking up at her smiling husband, her leash taut in his fist, his pointed finger directing her into the barred cell, little more than a glorified cage. She’d never tell a soul that she’d masturbated furiously to it, crying out her release to the image of her on her knees, locked in that same cell, her wrists chained to the bars above her, her lips closing obediently around the hard cock Kurt thrust between those same steel bars. What did it mean that objectification, humiliation, even
captivity
haunted her fevered dreams?

That dream had been the impetus for her initial discussion with Kurt — about the Terms. In her lust-clouded mind, the idea of a Term of Service, reduced to the owned property — if only temporarily — of the Trust, fired a dark desire within her. It had seemed like an opportunity to live out one of her most deeply held fantasies. A safe way to explore that part of herself that most excited and most frightened her, that stuff of dreams she’d always suppressed, always pretended didn’t mean anything anymore.

Now, the prospect of what the Term meant — and the fact that her fate was entirely out of her hands — stirred within her a deep vein of fear — and anticipation. Those two emotions warred with one another now, such that she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. Soon enough, she suspected, they’d became unrecognizable as anything separate — until, in the end, they’d become two sides of the same coin.