DALE

THE WEEK AFTER gulping down Raniero like he was water in the desert, I ached, disjointed, and off. The long day passed painfully slow as we worked every day on the man cave “dungeon”. Between the unforgiving hours and silence, I couldn’t imagine what he must have thought of me now.

Making out in the garage with our ladies was one thing, but we crossed a bridge that night. I was pretty sure we left it burning in our wake, and the relationship had changed for the worse. I feared we would never be the same.

Out of the blue—on the fifth day—Sal decided to actually say something. Up until this point, we had communicated in man-speak, nods and grunts with as few words as possible pertaining to the job. Wiping the sweat from his face, he declared, “You ought to put the flat screen here. We could watch the game while Amber is tethered to the rack over there.”

I laughed at his unexpected candor. Clearly, Sal planned on staying around these parts if he was mentioning the game. Football was months away. Maybe he wasn’t mad at all. Maybe it was all my conjuring up notions of how he must feel, but that didn’t make any of them true. “Good views of both. You gonna install it?”

“Ya, I’ll help your ass,” he said, taking a swig of tea. “Eventually, you need to talk to me, you know.”

“I am aware, but not exactly sure how,” I said as he handed me the bottle. I took a drink, licked my lips, and eyed him. Parking my rump on a short ladder, I tried to decide what to say. Everything loomed like a mangled, fucked up, mess of shit. “I am sorry, man.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sal quizzed, lighting up a smoke. On the exhale, he said, “Why the fuck are you apologizing?”

“Because I never meant to let it go that far. You are my partner, my bro…”

“Whoa!” he interrupted, talking with his hands. “No. You don’t get to do that. If you are moping around here because of what happened in your bedroom—stop. That is not why I have been quiet, and if I gave you that impression, I am the one who should be apologizing.”

Waving my fingers, I took the pack of smokes and fumbled one out. My hands trembled as he lit it for me. I tried to not make a habit of it, but hell if I wasn’t stressed out beyond reason. “Then what is wrong?”

“Two things,” he whispered with a broken, hurt expression. “One—every fucking bit of intel we get back on Pock doesn’t pan out. And two—it’s my twenty-fifth birthday today.”

“Oh, fuck!” I cringed, feeling every bit of an asshole. “We should go celebrate!”

“I don’t want to,” he said, putting the smoke in a half-empty soda bottle. “The one thing I want, I cannot have. So, there is no point in celebrating.”

I grumbled, “Have you still not heard from Iris?”

“No, I have,” he assured, cracking his neck and pacing around. “She’s talking crazy shit though.”

Aside from everything that happened between us, I actually did care about this guy. I wanted him as happy and whole as possible. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she just doesn’t get it,” Sal said, despondent.

I tossed back, “Get what?”

“How I feel.”

“…Have you told her?” With a scrutinizing glint, I bantered, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You aren’t very good at letting people you love close to you.”

Sal shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

“No…I get it,” I offered honestly. “You dealt with more in five years than some people do their whole lives. But it doesn’t change the fact you should tell her how you feel.”

“I can’t…” he whined, chain-smoking another.

Feeling a bit brazen, I suggested, “You want to see her for your birthday?”

“Ya, right…that isn’t going to happen.”

“Bullshit, Kid. Stop sulking.”

I had to try and fix this for him. If he wanted Iris Kettles jumping out of a damn birthday cake, I would do everything in my power to make that happen. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Jack.

Call me.

“It’s not worth the trouble. He won’t agree. We are at odds over things and have been for months.”

“Let me try,” I said with a wink as my phone rang, and I teasingly blew him a kiss. He shook his head, smiled that grin—bout time—and chuckled.

The conversation with Dr. Jack Kerris proved direct and to the point. Iris was under a six-month contract with the man, and all that solemn young man wanted was to get his rocks off with his girl on his birthday. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect the other Master’s authority. In fact, the opposite was true. I understood the dynamic link between us all and if nothing else, it never hurt to ask. Worst case, Jack said no. Best case, I was the fuckin hero of the year.

And I was still figuring I needed some bonus points after our night in the sack. I never planned in a million years I would be granted my one great wish, so what was the harm in trying to get Sal his?

I hung up the phone, and Raniero shot me a look. I couldn’t hold back the smirk rising up in the corner of my mouth.

“He said yes…”

I closed my eyes and nodded. “He said yes, but… I agreed to be there.”

The distraught look on his face quickly dissipated as his eyes flickered with a spark of hope. Unfortunately, the other shoe had yet to drop. “You only have one hour though.”

His smile quickly faded into a frown, followed by a heavy sigh. “I suppose that is better than nothing.”

I tried to imagine what the Kid was going through, but I couldn’t even get passed the—Amber took a contract with another Master. My insides paralyzed as my heartbeat sped up with thought provoking notions of only having an hour. I would be furious. I would rage. I would run to her, grab her, and go. But Sal couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. His determination and focus on his word proved unparalleled time and again. And even though I knew he longed to do as I would, his priority remained on our case load.

Sal had chosen and would continue to choose work and his partner—me—over Iris. The realization held my thoughts as I continued to install the tongue-and-groove wainscoting. Board after board I would nail them up, methodical and locked together tight—just like Sal and I.

I crossed a line last week. A line I had no business being anywhere near. I was a motherfucking alpha dog, not some bottom dweller. I wouldn’t be anyone’s bitch…unless Sal asked me to.

As the lines began to blur with each tack of the boards and our relationship muddied, I started to see only one line. A straight, narrow path leading my crosshairs only to Amber.

But what if she wanted Sal to do those things?

What if she needed it?

The sole focus would be on her—whatever and whenever she desired. If she wanted my body hanging upside down on the wall while I whipped her ass or if she needed me to bend over and take it up the ass from Raniero, I would. No was not a word that existed along the arrow to Amber.

With a hand on my shoulder, Sal knelt down beside me and said, “I want you to take the lead tonight, man. I cannot do it. I want to see her, but I cannot top her without causing some serious emotional damage to myself.”

I sighed, fraught with the possibilities of what that would mean. Sure, I could whip your bitch and stick my dick in her. Yeah, buddy, I’ll do that happily for you, and then I’ll get heinously jealous from what you do to my slut. I closed my eyes tight, praying we could rewind and Sal not ask me that question.

Apparently, I couldn’t say no along his line either.

* * *

AMBER

As we pulled up to the sprawling house on High Drupe Road, I smoothed out my skirt in the backseat nervously. I didn’t want to admit how I had dolled-up, going the extra mile all for these two fine looking beasts. Or how I was hoping by night’s end to end up sandwiched between the two.

Driving his truck, Sal chatted with Dale in the passenger seat the whole way there. I knew him well enough to know two things. When he was nervous, he either clammed up tight or wouldn’t shut up. He opened the door and cast me a glance. I detected a note of apprehension, maybe even fear. Iris wasn’t just another bang or a notch on his belt, Sal really cared for this girl.

I embraced him tight and whispered, “You got this, remember. Let D take it.”

With the sun going down, the sky loomed with a hazy shade of pink as Dale strode around the Ford Raptor. “I got this. No worries,” he assured, patting Sal on the shoulder. “Don’t diverge from the plan. Follow my lead and afterwards, we’ll go get smashed.”

Sal smirked and laughed as Dale walked ahead of us. I grabbed Sal’s fingertips in reassurance when D turned back to us. “Toss me the keys.”

Closing his eyes, he pitched and D caught with an affirmative nod. This may have been a personal favor, but it felt more like business. With his jaw set, D focused on the task at hand, having a sexy composure I rarely ever got to be privy to. The dampness soaked my thighs as he unlocked the door. He was going to go inside and spank this woman like nothing more than a piece of ass. The uncaring attitude electrified my body, making me wanton and horny. I was nothing more than a voyeur to his exhibitionist performance, but in that, I got to view how he treated me.

And that was downright kinky.

The beautiful, modern house poised model home perfection as we made our way inside. From the kitchen, the aroma hit us hard—garlic, bread, and a hint of chocolate. “Dear god, what is that smell?” I mumbled to Sal as he forced his way past Dale to lead the way. We followed and found him, standing dumbstruck by the sight of Iris in nothing but an apron.

“Sir informed me you were coming. I thought you would be hungry. Happy Birthday, baby!”

Oh, dear God.

Iris was heaven sent, and I couldn’t imagine how much pain Sal must be in. He made his way over to her and swooped her up, spinning her around and around. The sight brought tears to my overly mascaraed eyes. I thought I could hold the tears in until he sat her down and just walked away—so easily.

Glancing at Iris and her broken stare, I chased after Sal. Running outside to the pool, I ached from his longing. Tears streamed down my face as I sat down beside him on the edge of a lounge chair.

Smoking and popping his jaw, Sal tried to keep his emotions inside. His lips puckered up and quivered as his hands trembled. I parted my lips to offer some comforting words, but he said, “Don’t. Just don’t.”

I didn’t listen.

“You’re in love with her,” I offered, laying my hand on his knee.

His face flashed to me. “Yeah, I fucking am, and I fucking hate it.”

“Why though?”

“Why?” he shouted, jumping up from the lounger and exaggerating with his hands. “You have to ask me why? You—after you watched me deal with the last time I was in love—are asking me why?”

Following him, I touched his arm and consoled, “Iris is not Kaci.”

Gritting his teeth, he scowled at me. “I said—Don’t.”

The bite of his words caused my retreat as my eyes drifted down, and I walked away. If he wanted to suffer in silence, I would let him. I had served his needs for years, and I knew better than to trifle with the angry and hurt Italian. Before I knew it, my back was pummeled into by a hard wall of muscle, bending me over an outdoor glass table.

Without hesitation, Sal yanked my dress up and ripped my black, lace panties down. The dried mascara was sticky on my cheeks as my mouth gasped open. He was such a hot mess of chaotic madness.

The sting of his hand against my ass cheek burned my skin as I heard the rush of the belt from his slacks. Fear poured into my veins, waiting for the first lash. His current psyche would render my ass reddened and welted. I knew the routine. I understood the choreography.

What I hadn’t expected was the view into the house…

On the kitchen counter, D pinned Iris. With his bare back to me, I watched his muscles flex and arch with a magnificent allure. Her arms draped around his shoulders as she blinked, tears streaming down her cheeks. I didn’t know what he had done to her, but her crying revealed enough to draw up sympathy from me. Her longing gaze focused on us with a transparent loss.

I easily recognized the look. She loved Sal—relentlessly volatile and haphazardly wild. I fired back with a warning smile, feeling somewhat above her position. I had what she wanted—Sal’s hand on my derriere and dick about to be buried in my wetness—and though I didn’t want to gloat—I was. In less than an hour, I would walk out of here with each of these hunky men latched to an arm.

I was the lucky bitch.

Grabbing the edge of the table, I took the caress of his leather like a champ, but I also understood we built up to this. We didn’t start here or anywhere remotely close. His easy-going mannerisms inhibited his timid awakenings. Almost ten years older than him, my maturity and wisdom escorted us into the land of the fetish world with the flutterings of a seasoned pro. Even if he hadn’t found his place in the landscape, I had. And that sometimes made the difference between mutual satisfaction and precarious disaster.

I acknowledged his dawdling and lenience early on with Iris. She pushed back in such a way that he was left trapped in her web and captured under her spell. I saw it happen. I knew. And the memory of the promise I made collapsed my body against the table as he refused to stop.

“What’s going on with you?”

“The case I have been working on for years has decided to peruse Sugargrove.”

“And? It’s not like you haven’t been yanking your chain over her for years.”

“Ya, but there is something so innocent and pure about her...”

“She’s nothing more than a pretty pink oink oink—kaching kaching.”

He shot me a look of disdain. He might not want to believe it, but that didn’t make it any less true. In four and a half years of studying the girl, he knew as well as I did how that bookstore stayed open. Her finances were puffed up and exaggerated by her demanding market. They asked; she supplied. “You know what she is, Sal.”

“I know, I know. I know all about what kind of princess paypig the girl is. Hell, I have seen the deposits into her accounts. It doesn’t make her any less desirable.”

“Or you any less addicted…she’s drained you. You think she isn’t going to figure it out eventually… You’re fucking crazy. You need to stay away from her.”

“What if she is for real…”

“You mean, what if there is some genuine notions of actually wanting to be a real submissive… You should just hand your credit card over now, sweetheart.”

“You weren’t much different, love. Stripping and lap dancing and going upstairs…”

“I was a fucking whore, you can say it, but I never hid it.”

“Has she?”

I thought about what he said. “I mean really, has she hid anything? She doesn’t know me. Do you honestly think she’s going to just come right on out and say—oh yeah, I got a wish list a mile long. Buy me a couple things, and you can watch me fuck my ass with a dick.”

“It’s muddy, Sal. Very fucking muddy. So muddy it might even be filthy.”

“Promise me, you will not say a word.”

“Who would I tell?”

Mere months ago, I had no one to talk to but my personal assistant. The question creeped to a burdensome place. The absurdity repeated—who would I tell?

Looking through the glass, I blinked at the man who held my world in the palm of his hand. Without even being any the wiser, I studied his unawareness as he pumped away in her lair. I wondered briefly if she informed Sir Jack of her past, all the while knowing I was going to have some explaining of my own to do.

* * *

DALE

Lingering in the kitchen, I briefly nodded at Amber to chase after Raniero. I get it. He loved Kaci. And now he has this little dollop, swirling in his mind and speeding up his pulse. I can’t say as though I blamed him. His mental acuity complicated by Iris. Sometimes when he tried outsmarting it, the strategies would only end up ricocheting. I had been privy to his private demons for years, and this challenge seemed doomed for failure.

I glanced up at Iris, rather embarrassed about his sudden departure. I noticed the trickle of tears streaming down her cheeks.

Dear God, fuck no. Anything but that.

I stroked my beard as I contemplated what the fuck to do. I told my brother, my partner, my friggin man crush that I could lead the brief session. But after he walked out in such a rush, the line that once belonged to Amber, and then to Sal suddenly merged into my own. Or maybe that was just my rod, standing at attention with tears nearby.

I swear it could be a damn stranger. And if it had tits and ass and a pretty face—crying—preferably with streaks of black makeup, I had a boner from here to tomorrow. I tried to keep it in check, but once the adrenaline kicked in, I couldn’t stop.

And I damn sure didn’t want to.

Moving closer into the galley kitchen, I rummaged quickly through drawers until I found the necessities of my evil. I didn’t have to ask for the bitch’s consent. I had it—contractual obligations—from Jack. I paced closer and she scooted back slow, thinking she could outwit me. Playing with her for a few minutes, I would move, and then she hastily busied herself with dinner. Taking the sight of her in, I counted backwards in my head, breathing to calm down or else fearing I would tear into this poor girl like a savage.

She sniffled.

Jesus, no.

Turning away, I watched Sal and my girl having a pow-wow by the pool. What a birthday. Poor bastard. All I could do was to try and resurrect the rest of the night. This was a bust. I took a deep breath only to pivot back to find Iris, standing between the sink, and the oven completely naked and dripping with sentiments.

Fuck no.

I couldn’t let this go. My fingers latched hard around her wrist as I pulled her closer to me and we struggled to the ground. My enormous frame wouldn’t stand for her getting away. I straddled atop her waist and groped her breasts. I didn’t want to kiss this girl. I wanted to hurt her, fuck her—hard and fast. I wanted to get my rocks off in Raniero’s girl. I slapped her tits, flicked her nipples, and lowered down to kiss the caramel peaks.

Her fingers latched into my ginger locks and pulled. Biting her nipples, I pinned her arms with my massive hands and as she continued her cries, I did the unthinkable.

This could have been where I seriously fucked up.

With her writhing and a mess of tears and hair, I gazed at her pouty mouth and scraped my teeth against her lips. While holding her head and petting her fragrant mane, her mouth opened and I slipped my tongue inside, completely oblivious to the fact that her now free hands had managed to undue my jeans. Her tiny fingers slipped around my trunk, and she just felt so damned good. I wanted to come down her throat, on her tits, and in her ass. I wanted to take her and make her mine.

I never realized what an out of control siren this little succubus was. I never imagined that from beneath my two-twenty she would coerce me into fucking her, but I did. In the middle of the kitchen floor, I rammed into her hard. Her pussy clenched tight around me, sucking and needing as her legs held me in place. I knew what was wrong with Raniero then. This girl liked to play as much as any Master, and damn if she hadn’t taken a masters class in seduction.

Fucking her was a magical experience. Mind you I had done it before, but now, hunkered behind the safety of the shield of cabinets—I could do whatever the fuck I wanted. Holding my hand over her mouth, I snapped two clothespins onto her nipples as my dick had his way in her cunt. Heavens, she was worse than snorting lines. I wanted to gag her with my dick. I longed to see her heaving and crying all the while trying just to please me. I needed to spank her and finger her.

I had to do this again.

I closed my eyes. Not even believing the thought had crossed my mind. Laying my weight onto her, I inhaled the scent of her hair and whispered, “How long is Jack gone?”

“Through Sunday, why? Are you going to come for round two?”

Hell to the fuck yes.

“Would you keep it on the low?”

“If your big brute ass will take me to the dungeon underneath this joint, I’ll be your little sex slave for the next three days.”

I didn’t even stop to think—I just nodded and kept pounding into her tight little mound. God, I wanted to flip her over, welt her ass, and hold her fragile little body in my arms afterwards as she cried. I shouldn’t have been having these thoughts, but fuck if she wasn’t sweet and tart and wild.

I was such an asshole.

And if I ever got caught, Sal, Jack, and Amber would all fucking kill me. But I was a fucking frog, I wasn’t going to get caught. I got arrogant and belligerent and cocky before I even won the battle of the kitchen floor much less the war of the dungeon diva.

I thought I knew my shit. I thought I knew how to play, but as my load shot deep inside of her warm, wet hole, I realized I didn’t know shit about the sport of sex with a vixen who had but one goal.

We may have been fucking, but Iris damn sure wasn’t playing with me.

* * *

AMBER

In the parking lot of the seedy dive, we cracked open the bottle of whiskey Sal stashed in the lock box. Between the three of us, we hit it hard in silence. Not a word had been muttered since we left the house. I peeked in the bag of food Iris packed and grabbed the loaf of bread. Before long, the two boys peered at me from the front seat and demanded food.

We continued our quiescent standoff as my heart tried to catch up with what my eyes had seen. Completely stunned, I watched as the man I had come to know as my Master held onto the frumpy-but-could-be-beautiful girl for dear life. Between kisses and birthday wishes and tears, Iris leapt into Sal’s arms, and they had a full-on make out session for over ten minutes as Sal’s come was dripping out of me.

I tried to recollect my thoughts, but the sight of the mismatched-somehow-perfect pair flashed like a dying neon sign. I understood what he saw—potential. But that was far off from the reality. His attempted reassurance that she was in peril and needed saving droned out all logic. And he wanted my help to achieve that goal—check on her. The woman fucked my future husband, I kind of wanted to rip her pretty hair out and slash her throat. Or I wanted to fuck her senseless and make both the boys in the front seat look like amateurs.

One or the other, sometimes both.

“You hot pistols ready to go dance the night away?”

Sal casted a side glance from the front, and Dale grinned from under his thick ginger stache. In the end, I’d forgive them both. Not because I liked fucking them—though that didn’t hurt—but I knew they loved me. A wholehearted, would lay down their lives for me kind of love. I didn’t know where our little trinity would end up, but I did know they would both—Dale and Sal—remain in my life until my last breath, if I had a choice in the matter.

Forgiveness is imperative or the hurt will eat you alive.

I’d forgive Sal for having blinders on and D for well, just being a man. Everything was so new, so fresh. We went from not seeing each other for fifteen years to buying a house and planning a wedding in record time. He accepted my need to cling to my former Master, and I condoned the use of his explorations, which he kept locked and hidden.

The simple fact was another party played a pivotal role in our relationship dynamic. No, I didn’t mind if D played, but Sal asked him to do it—as a favor. I knew Sal well enough under the authority of Master Raniero to know he didn’t ask for favors. He issued commands. Or played people like puppets on a string. And D was now the latter.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Sal and Iris were involved in a strategic, manipulative game of sexual indiscretions. Each upping the ante in maneuvers set to push the other one to the breaking point. In the most volatile, angst-ridden game of courting I had ever witnessed, Sal and Iris danced around, poking at one another and trying to get the other one to bite or let go or come in their pants.

In some ways, I was jealous. D liked the game, but his involvement focused on the tangible—whips, verbal humiliation, and the chase. And sometimes the things which you cannot see are far more terrifying and arousing than those you can. Sal wasn’t just fucking me out by the pool, he was toying with his precious doll he coveted more than anything else. He didn’t want someone weak who would emotionally collapse; he wanted someone to play his game by his rules. And Iris did that better than anyone.

Walking quietly inside The Holding Room, I was flanked by the two best looking Dom’s within miles. Despite my early perceptions of feeling beneath Iris’ moves, I strutted in proud. I wouldn’t be slumming it with cheap one-liners and stale cigarettes. Tonight, I would be the Queen in the BDSM dive bar, and that alone gave me a certain satisfaction. I may not be able to compete against Iris—as a player or even a submissive—but fuck if I wasn’t top dog in this crowd.

The Holding Room existed for one reason alone—economics—not everyone could afford a Juliet membership. The problem inherent in that though was the measure of confidence and freedom patrons could experience in the vetted background checks. The Doms and subs were both background checked and cross-examined for any criminal or other questionable activities at Juliet. The act of the free fly couldn’t be obtained at some place like The Holding Room because a safety risk posed a threat. No matter how much you talked to someone, you could still end up behind a locked door with a crazed sociopath.

D and Sal routinely hung out at THR because it was a good place to network and garner up trust in the seedy underground. Over the years, they had busted several sex and drug traffic rings from intel gathered in the nicotine, beer, and piss infused smelly bar. Why Sal wanted to come here on his birthday was beyond me. He didn’t have to accept well used, dank puss. After all, he was the golden boy of Juliet and he could walk into any well-established exclusive fetish club on the planet.

But tonight, for his twenty-fifth birthday, Sal chose The Holding Room.

I thought about suggesting we go to elsewhere and by the time we sat down at the wobbly table with sticky edges, I wished I would have spoken up. D felt right at home, having been a long time customer of the bar. Sal held a scrutinizing shadowy gaze, holding back the brokenness and pain of leaving Iris at Jack’s house.

We ordered a round a brews and shots. Three rounds later, I wanted to dance. D scoffed at the notion as Sal held his hand out. Perhaps this was the moment where everything changed. His gyrations catapulted me into another place and time where simplicity existed. Master and slave. Command and obey. Hurt and comfort. Fuck and run. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to grind down on the dance floor with the dirty one. But I did.

I just wished I never would have looked back.

* * *

DALE

Watching Sal and Amber get their groove on, I kicked back and sipped on a smooth tequila. The packed bar served as the only decent sized fetish club between Juliet and Houston. While I felt comfortable and at home, I could sense my fiancée’s apprehension. In a way, I could understand it—for the most part, in a club such as this—she was the prey.

The Doms or wannabe Doms far outnumbered the submissive, and the silent competition between the males pumped intense. The air thick and heavy with smoke layered the entire joint as side glances of assessment were marked amongst the men. I had nothing to prove. My collared bitch held tight out on the dance floor by the man I trusted sometimes more than myself. If nothing else, her safety would be guaranteed.

Sal would have had zero hesitation of taking it to the lot.

Adjusting myself, I scouted out the minimal pickings. Some of the girls were nothing more than prostitutes looking for the night’s meal, some came to The Holding Room because their owner insisted, and few arrived alone with a genuine curiosity.

At the bar, I spotted a curious sight—undercover agent, Pris Grace, aka, Jaid-fucking-Chambers. I wished to erase the moment right before I realized it was her. The instant my eyes and dick focused on that hot ass perched on the barstool, my body and mind raced into overdrive.

She had a fine ass.

The kind of ass a man like myself longed to get lost with; the kind that begged to be lashed and fucked and spanked again. I hated her almost as much as I hated myself in that moment.

I glanced at Amber wrapped up in Sal’s arms as they cascaded along as one. I loved that girl more than life itself. She knew it; I knew it. I was pussy whipped and held by the balls. I might control the reins, but ultimately she led the spiral of us—where we went and how we went and ultimately, how long we stayed. I accepted the fact she could pull the plug at any point, but eying her with Sal, I doubted that would be anytime soon.

The jealousy remained, but I had no desire to be boogie-ing down with Sal. My urges were more clandestine and kept hidden from everyone but the willing participants. I wanted my chance to worship his Master. A momentary wish. A stupid fantasy, I knew. But I needed to own it. And I never had.

My eyes flicked back to the bar to find Jaid had disappeared. When I turned back to Amber and Sal, she had taken a seat at my table right in my view. She sipped her chardonnay and smiled the all-too-cute grin.

Fuck me, I am getting punished for my thoughts about Nero.

“How have you been?” she asked, touching my hand like old friends.

I didn’t want to be her old pal. I didn’t want to even know her. Sure, Sal liked to work with the girl because of her impressive skills. But to me—she was the fucking contagion, lethal and deadly and epically bad for me. Like eating a bucket of chicken alone in the parking lot. Or drinking whiskey into a squalor. Or fucking until your dick ached for days. Her mere presence was an overdose, calling for an emergency.

“I’ve been good,” I said, kicking back the rest of the glass. “Good indeed. It’s Sally’s birthday,” I mentioned with a wink in their direction.

“I know,” she replied, leaning forward and showing me her cleavage.

God, how I’d love to fuck those bitches.

“He wanted to come here to celebrate,” I elaborated, discreetly moving my growing erection. “I tried to tell him we should go to Houston.”

“Houston has too many memories, Hoss.”

God, I’d rub my chub all over them.

I blinked at her calling me that. Hoss was an exclusive Raniero term and her use of it played on repeat in my mind. Suddenly, I found myself asking the question that I wasn't certain I wanted the answer for. “You want to go get a dungeon?”

“I thought you'd never ask…”

Standing up, I took her hand and led the way through the club, past the theatre, and to the counter. A lovely young woman was working tonight and I quickly arranged for a foray with the woman who could kill me dead in one move. Spec Ops Agent Grace didn't mess around. Trained as a teenager, she knew the lingo, position, and maneuvers better than most. I understood why my partner took such a liking to her. Her skills were enviable.

Closing the door on the rented dungeon, I asked, “You need a safeword?”

She said nothing, but pulled off her short black dress, revealing a red lace bra and panty set. I should have been tangled up in the lace, but the gun in the small of her back and two blades—one on either thigh—caught me off guard. I'd never been locked in a dungeon with someone as adept as myself. The girl would pose no threat physically, but mentally I wracked myself with the variables.

She was trained to be an assassin—a killer, a protector, and a savior. Much like Sibyl had done with Sal. She was a contract weapon—not the firearm or the knives, but her. And that meant she knew how to play, provoke, and psychologically dismantle anything I tossed her way.

My dick ached with the thought of her challenge. “You been with Raniero?”

She blinked like I had spoken a foreign language as the resonating—duh—fluttered over her expression. “We've played.” As if that wasn't enough to make my skin crawl, she added, “Have you?”

How the fuck did she know?

Was she a mind reader on top of everything else?

For whatever reason, I opted not to lie. Probably because it was better to speak the truth when handling a bomb than to light the fuse in your hand. “Only with Amber.”

She unhooked the neoprene waist belt and sat the gun on a table. I had a strange sense to do the same. I doffed my jacket and shirt and undid the full vest I almost always wore. It had everything I could ever need. Even a tranq-loaded syringe. “All purpose,” she mentioned with a lift of her brow.

Moving closer, I placed the vest on her gear. Squatting down before her, I asked, “How did you know?”

“About you and Nero?” She reached out and stroked my beard. “He told me. He tells me everything.”

“Then you know about Iris?” I chimed off, ready to rumble

“I know he's been sneaking over to Jack’s at every possible moment,” Jaid revealed, locking her fingers together. “If Kerris ain't home, Sal is there.”

Furrowing my brow, I conceded, “Sal’s really pissed, isn't he?”

“At Kerris?” Jaid said, leaning up. “Fuck yes, but not for keeping Iris. That's the one thing he did that was good.”

I asked, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Jaid replied with a snarl quite becoming to her innocent face.

“Why are you here—strapped and loaded?”

She posed off the question sarcastically, “Would you come here bare?”

“You're not working,” I declared, staying on my game.

“I'm always working,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m not actively pursuing, but I am scouting. I've got leads all over the place with Pock’s whereabouts.”

“Rach and Aimee do, too,” I admitted stoically. “For all we know, fucker is lying face down in a ditch somewhere.”

“How is Amber doing, knowing that her father is the notorious gang leader?”

“How would you be doing?” I barked the rhetoric, but the truth was I didn't really know. She didn't talk about it and I didn't ask. I couldn't imagine she handled it well. Pock’s business was everything Amber wasn't. She may have been a stripper and sordid other things, but bad didn't own her like it had her father.

I briefly wondered what the fuck I was doing in a dungeon with this woman. I excused myself, said I wanted a bottle of water, and made my way out. I needed a breather. The rental desk was closed so I walked to the edge of the theatre. It was jam packed, full of greedy on-lookers. I didn't want to look at the stage, fearing the worst. But the further I went up the steps, the more I noticed the mutual partaking of the crowd. Faceless men jacked off, and couples fucked in the seats and by the walls.

With a deep breath, I took the last step up. Slowly, I pivoted back only to see Raniero and my girl performing. Amber arched on all fours as he laid beneath her, gloating and tantalizing her deviant kinks. My fists clenched and jaw tightened as I sprinted back down the steps before ever being seen. I forced the emotion away as I strode to the dungeon.

On my way back, I grabbed a couple of demonstration paddles off the rental desk. Fuck this. Holding nothing back, I went at her full force, flying in and slamming the door pissed off. Jaid waited on the rack, beautifully naked and ready to serve, and I didn't hesitate or regret or question. I know, a horrible way to go into a scene, right?

Guess what? I didn't give a rat’s ass.

It wasn’t that Sal and Amber were up there, it was that they were up there—together. While I knew she was safe, there was that little thing about me getting a boner for my partner every time he fucking blinked.

I hated it all—him, her, me, hell, even Jaid for just being here. I didn't want to even consider what would have happened had she not been here. I needed to keep my fetish close and my kinky partner closer because heaven forbid word get out that the alpha dog had a man crush on the golden boy.

Fuck no. I'd rather be dead.

On the rack, her athletic, slim frame balanced easily on the bars. My eyes gazed over her delicate, innocent face, the one she was known for. Her eager breasts and smooth curves offered a sensuous suggestion. I pondered the situation with Jaid. It was easier after all for me to imagine her in the role she had taken on as opposed to Agent Priscilla Grace.

Fuck that—No, tonight she was Jaid Chambers, submissive student at Juliet.

And I was gonna be her teacher.

* * *

AMBER

On the dance floor, his sweaty, hard body pushed against mine, rocking us to the moon. Everything else eclipsed by the moment as my flesh served his command and my skin poured onto his. Drawn in by his flame, my resistance would be engulfed by lick of his sparks, and I would surrender my being with totality—a fusion of his will and my suppleness.

The beat changed to a slow country tune and though I thought he would let me go, Sal only pulled me closer. My arms draped around his neck as we swayed to the crooning in idyllic perfection.

As Master and slave, I understood our days were numbered. The time would come all too soon for his departure away from our lives. He was our relationship training wheels, our mediator, and our mentor. I wanted to believe we were ready, but in my heart, I knew nothing could be further from the truth.

With my inability to trust and D’s lack of intimacy, we were a sharpened arrow—each knowing who we were—as we raced towards a mirage of a target. The impact would leave us hollow, our relationship chipped and disintegrated until he was the bastard in the other room and I was just some cunt he got off in. I loathed the notions.

In that fear of an uncertain future, I avoided the present. I didn’t want to think about the training wheels coming off. As far I was concerned, the braces would stay on for as long as Sal would allow. His support and love and concern coupled with his strong will and need to please allowed us the time and space to grow into one.

But we didn’t do that.

We took our kinky games out of the sheets and to the streets. The moment I realized how bad it had truly gotten, it was too late. The body died without warning.

Instantly. Callously. Gone.

The man I fought so hard to return to walked away with another. Holding her hand, Dale escorted the woman through the club. I knew where they were headed. I didn’t have to ask. She served as the stand-in for the night, the bitch with no remorse and the man with no promise.

I should have been mad at that, but what hurt the most wasn’t his exploring the newfound terrain of his Dominance. It was the lack of communication. He knew every single time my former Master would be involved. Hell, half the time he instigated Sal being there, so that he could learn his tips and my ticks.

There was no other—man or woman—but D and Sal until that night. He pushed a button in me which triggered a landslide of self-destructive behavior. Even with a warning bell, he failed to notice the sirens in the distance. They were headed in, coming faster and faster like waves lapping at my shores. The winds turned violent and the upheaval of sands swept all around until we were caught in the maelstrom of deceit and lies.

The game D and I played far different from the intense chess match going on between Sal and Iris. Theirs proved dark and unyielding, each striking one blow after another, and then returning to coddle with a blind love—a salt-stinging, bitter kiss.

I wasn’t blind yet, but I damn sure turned bitter.

I saw Jaid leave with D, and immediately, I whispered, “Take me to the theatre.”

Sal only did as I requested. While he could have said no, he didn’t because the fluidity of our intimacy garnered up a mutual trust. I could call and say I needed a spanking, and he would come running. He would text a sexy dick pic, and I would return with whip cream covering just my nipples. And that playfulness carried our relationship when we couldn’t talk.

But D didn’t understand playful; he only wanted to play dirty.

The confusion was easily understandable. A relationship was supposed to be a party of two—not three, not four, not more—two. In our world, we didn’t have that which was arguably D’s fault to begin with. He encouraged Sal to watch after me and keep me trained. Oh, how many times had I heard that one—keep her trained.

The implication was simple. Any Dom worth his weight would understand the request. Now those three little words would be the death of us before we even began. All because Sal followed the orders of his superior.

Without thinking twice, I let Master Raniero lead the way to the theatre. The sparse seating left us parked in the shadows of the back wall. Watching the couple on stage, I felt a hint of longing as Sal pressed his erection to my back and wrapped his arms tight around me.

He was celebrating his birthday with me. I was it—the cake, the present, and the surprise—and it had never been planned to be that way. Instantly, he had my sympathy as even I had a better quarter-century marker than this. I needed to do something special for him and I had to do it fast.

The couple performed a simple scene—a caning, and not long after they began, he slipped his hand up my dress. Cupping my ass cheek, Sal quickly drifted to the front and rubbed my clit. I hadn't realized that in doing so, he exposed part of my privates to the audience. A few people gawked as I mentally left the theatre and world, following Sal into his dangerous territory.

His fingers pulsed against my flesh and begged for me to fly. I arched my back and lifted my arm to find my fingers in his curls, welcoming him to my neck. Biting and sucking my tender flesh, he whispered, “Let me take you on stage.”

“Agree that you won't fuck me in front of everyone…” I whispered, pausing and thinking. “And you have a deal.”

“I’ll fuck you afterwards in the backseat of my truck,” he teased with a smirk that made me melt even more into his body.

With a wink, I acknowledged, “Promises. Promises.”