Mastered By The Mavericks (35 page)

A bulge he let Brynn experience firsthand, as he secured her body tighter against
his.

“Oh!” She gasped then wriggled. Well, tried to. The muscles of Rhett’s forearm were
impressive ropes of sinew against her waist, keeping her firmly in place on his lap.
“Ohhhh my God.”

Rhett lifted his other arm…and cupped a hand around one of her firm ass cheeks. But
he did nothing more. Instead, he raised his head, seeking out Rebel with a dark, inquiring
gaze.

For a long moment, Rebel didn’t do anything, either. Didn’t want to. He communicated
as much by curving up a steady smile, paying unabashed reverence to the sight before
him.
Fuck
. Few things in life got more perfect than this: the two people more beautiful to
him than any others on the planet, bodies fitted as if sculpted by a master artist,
too stunning to be real. He was awestruck. Mesmerized. Caught in a reverse trance.
Instead of everything in his body running numb, he was a network of humming nerves
and electrified awareness, amped like he would be for a mission, only sporting a boner
that grew larger by the minute. Wow. Was this what people felt like when in the presence
of true masterpieces? He’d never been a “museum guy” but started to appreciate the
allure of the places, in ways he’d never imagined.

“Damn.” Imagine that. Quasmido
could
speak. It wasn’t eloquent, but who needed to be when the artwork spoke for him? “Damn…
yes
.”

The praise wasn’t lost on Rhett—or so Reb guessed. He couldn’t be certain, when the
man’s return smile should’ve earned him a place on the wall next to the
Mona Lisa
. What was with the cryptic intention—and did it really matter? God only knew, if
their positions were reversed and Reb sat there with that stunning woman wriggling
on his knees, primal instincts would’ve crawled their way through his brain faster
than a caveman bearing the world’s first fire. Clarity would definitely not be a priority—especially
if he had someone standing nearby to pick up the rational thought slack.

Rebel was all too happy to be that someone for Rhett. They’d played reverse roles
this morning, with Rhett calling all the shots—and fuck, it had been
good
. Nothing like an ideal opportunity for payback on the best scale possible…

He let his body do the talking about that conclusion first.

On measured steps, he approached the bed. With calculated intent, widened his stance.
With even deeper resolve, let a weighted silence pass. The room’s stillness was unique,
as if suddenly sealed off from the party of the world outside the door. The only sound
on the air was the soft scraping of Rhett’s fingertips along Brynna’s spine.

Rebel turned. Leaned in. Ran his own fingers along skin, choosing the stretch from
Rhett’s elbow to wrists, before meshing his fingers between the long, firm digits
that caressed over Brynn’s back. Like his, Rhett’s fingers were seasoned by years
of military duty. Their nicks, callouses, and bruises said hello to each other, while
the marked difference in their heritage still separated who was who. Nordic snow against
Cajun pepper. Marble next to dark gold. The contrast captivated him in entirely new
ways.

Hot, blood-hammering ways.

Would their bodies look this good, twined with each other…buried in each other?

Brynn’s moan yanked him back to the moment—though with no less seduction. Holy fuck,
she was entrancing, her body responding to every touch they delivered, arching and
dipping in response to the direction of their hands, up and down her spine.

Her face gave him a different story.

He crouched down to look at her fully, though reluctantly ended his handclasp with
Rhett to do so. But he was damn glad he had. This was all uncharted territory for
her, and the torment on her face confirmed it with solidarity. Her lips were twisted,
and clearly, she’d not stopped crying. The rest of her features were contorted as
if they’d clamped her nipples and clit at the same time. While the idea was beyond
appealing, it was also beyond impossible, at least for a submissive like her: a submissive
still violently opposed to even the word itself.

A submissive so conflicted about her journey, she didn’t even know what to do with
herself after laying across her Dom’s knees.

“Oh,
minette
.” He whispered it while brushing the hair from her eyes, thumbing the wetness from
her cheeks. “Our sweet, sassy little Brynna.”

Her face screwed tighter. “Don’t call me sweet,” she sobbed. “I’m not sweet!”

He made sure she watched him smirk. “As a man who’s tasted all the best parts of you,
I strongly beg to differ.”

Reb held her fast, despite her struggle to wrench back again. “I don’t want you to
‘beg to differ’, either. Just—”

More tears welled and spilled down her face. Rebel dropped to both knees, pushing
closer to her.

“Just…what?”

“Just…be
mad
, okay?” Her gaze blazed, pure fire against pine, before she closed it once more.
“Be what I thought you were going to be. Stop
worrying
about me.”

He pushed his thumbs against her hairline. Was two seconds away from delving them
further then seizing her scalp as hard as he could, demanding the full revelation
behind those words. She would’ve been fine with their rage, but not their apprehension?
She was totally okay with the consequences of pissing them off, but not the emotions
from stirring theirs?

This shit went beyond the dynamics of denying her submissiveness. It was tied directly
into her whole sense of self—and the worth of that self.

Or in her case, the total lack of that worth.

No fucking way was he letting her listen to
that
playlist anymore. He’d grown up as the king of those self-hatred mix tapes. Hell,
he still wore the crown. The filthy hoard of them was right there, stacked at the
back of his mind, guarded by an historian who made Jabba the Hut seem like Snow White.
He knew the steep price of keeping up the self-hatred collection—and he’d be damned
to see her pay it, too.
Not Brynna
.

A sharp jab at his shoulder commanded his head up—

To where Rhett waited, steely gaze and set jaw—with a new tape to jam into his deck.
The one that had all
his
crap filtered out of the song, letting him hear just Brynn’s again. The one that
told him she wasn’t listening to anything right now but her confusion and chaos—and
that they needed to slice through that crap before she could hear anything else.

The one that dictated they were the perfect men for the job.

The revelations cascaded, one on top of another, as Rhett looked on, smirk rising
higher and higher. The beautiful bastard had known every shred of this already. It
was why he’d ordered Brynn across his lap in the first place.

Rebel grinned. Then, with one definite glance downward, told his buddy it was time
to hang on to her a little tighter.

Rhett grinned back—and complied at once.

As that happened, Reb bent his head again, realigning his gaze with Brynna’s.

“I’m not going to lie to you,
minette
. We
were
worried. But
mierde
, we were also mad.” He cupped her chin in one hand, ordering her gaze to remain locked
in his. As he felt a storm brewing in his eyes, a growl formed in his voice. “Damn
near out of our minds, Brynna—from both. Do you understand that? Do you truly get
it?”

Her eyes were dry now, but her lips trembled. Perhaps she sensed they were getting
on to the part she dreaded but needed. Perhaps even craved. “I get what it’s like
to be so concerned for someone, especially because of shit they brought on themselves,
that your stress becomes fury.” She swallowed hard and grimaced. “It…sucks,” she stammered.
“Real bad.”

Rebel released a long breath through his nostrils. Yearned desperately to kiss her,
but held back. She didn’t need tenderness right now. Nor did she even want it. Still,
his voice was a grate as he affirmed, “Yeah. It does suck.” He dipped his head. Adjusted
his weight against his haunches. He was going to be here a while. “And yeah, you
do
know all about it, don’t you?”

He almost felt like shit for that one. Almost. She wasn’t stupid, meaning it was easy
enough for her to fill in his inferences, to know they’d done some research about
the shit she’d blurted this morning. God, was that only this morning? They’d come
so far since those tangled, crazy moments on the futon. Now…they were about to go
farther. Goddamn, at least he hoped.

She didn’t respond to his probe. For long moments, he wasn’t sure if she would. Her
shallow breaths told him nothing. Her continued tears told him nothing.

But her new grimace, trapped by claws so vicious they almost made
him
wince, told him everything.

“I’m…sorry. I am.” The sobbing echoes vibrated with grief, confirming his original
conviction. All of this—her breakdown back at the ranch, her secret escape and solo
crusade for Zoe, even the way she’d flipped from ferocious in the parking lot to this
teary mess now—was wrapped into shit that twined deeper inside her.

Much deeper.

Shit they were never going to get to, unless her remorse was cleared out of the way.
Until she felt like the debt had been paid, the scales righted.

“Ssshhh.” Now, he did kiss her—a quick tap, on the tip of her nose, before assuring,
“We know you are,
cher.
We know.”

She didn’t look reassured at all. “You know, but you don’t forgive.”

He palmed her cheek. “Our forgiveness was yours from the moment you uttered your first
apology.” He filtered his fingertips into her hair. “But that makes no difference
in the end. Forgiving
yourself
is what matters, and where the changes take place.” He let a long moment—and those
words—settle over her. “You haven’t forgiven yourself for anything in a long time,
have you, Brynna?”

The start of a sharp
pssshhh
burst from her—until he jerked her chin once more. As the sound cut short, so did
the protest in her eyes. Even so, she gritted, “That’s a little easier said than done,
Sergeant.”

Rebel gripped her a little tighter. Angled his gaze closer. “Sometimes more than a
little,
minette
.” He didn’t blink, letting her see the emphasis behind every word he uttered—that
nobody knew the truth of it all better than him. “And sometimes, you just need extra
help to get that done.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you understand?”

She swallowed. The breath behind it never left her. Rebel held his own breath—and
his grip on her. Tighter. A little bit tighter. She finally exhaled—on a whimpering
sigh.
Fuck
. Doing this—to her, with Rhett—felt so damn good. So damn right. He treasured every
passing second, knowing it might be the last he felt it. That any moment, she’d choose
to pull another acrobatic escape, leaving the two of them with libidos clamoring and
nuts hanging. At least this time, the latter wouldn’t be so literal.

“Yes.”

It was his turn for the boulder gulp. He’d been so prepared to let her go, her consent
strangled the center of his throat.

And the roots of his balls.

And damn, the girl dared to smile as if she didn’t know that. As if his hold alone
had already sent her halfway to subspace, and all she craved was more of the next
step he’d all but promised.

He couldn’t believe it. He almost didn’t dare. The ideas must have reflected in the
fierce sweep of his gaze because she repeated, adding deeper conviction, “Yes. I understand.
I need this…Sir.”

Her utterance, so purposely soft and submissive, harmonized his low groan to Rhett’s
taut growl. He looked up again at his friend. One second was all it took for confirmation:
they were fixed on the same perfect goal. Brynna’s ass. Bare and red. Beneath Double-Oh’s
palm.

He lowered his stare to her once again. God
damn
, she was so lovely. So much of her spirit was already exposed…her desperate need
for their passionate discipline.

“Very well, then.” The words sliced from him like cut timber, smooth on the surface
but edged by ruthless angles. He loved watching what the tone did to her—and to Rhett.
Those eloquent hands constricted against her waist and hips, causing a quiver to consume
her body. “If you need this, then we’ll give it to you—but this time, there are going
to be some rules.”

“Yes, Sir,” she murmured dutifully.

He gave her an approving smile. “It’s incredible to hear you say that,
ma cher
, but from now on, it won’t be necessary unless requested of you. Same goes for any
unrequested outbursts, back-talk, or commentary. No focusing on what your next witty
one-liner is going to be. No worrying about whether you’re entertaining us or not.
All that crazy chatter in your head is turned off now. It belongs to us now.
You
belong to us now.” He squeezed in a little more on her chin, waiting until she concentrated
harder on him. “Do you understand that fully? Do you trust us to know what you need
from us, and to give it to you as fully as you surrender yourself to us? Do you trust
that we’re going to take care of you,
all
of you, and honor all of you as the amazing gift that you are?”

She swallowed again. A new sheen appeared in her eyes. But her lips lifted as she
rasped, “Yes, Sir. Completely.”

Rebel brushed a thumb across those gorgeous strawberry pillows. “That wasn’t easy
for you, was it?”

She sighed against his finger. “N-no, Sir.”

Damn it. He couldn’t help it. He had to kiss her—and he did. The brush of his mouth
over hers was threaded with the same silken reverence as his caress. “Thank you.”

When he pulled away, it was to have Rhett filling his vision, nuzzling his full mouth
against her gorgeous neck. “Gratitude is always best when shared,” he murmured. “Thank
you, our wonderful peach.”

As he rose back up, Rebel couldn’t help but follow with his eyes, still mesmerized.
The fluid power of the man’s muscles…it was scenery he’d seen hundreds of times, but
now it was even more breathtaking. More meaningful.