He’d trapped her neatly, and she flushed again as another ripple of amusement went through the room. The intention was to tease her, she knew it, but something else went through her, something darker. Bitch in heat…
“Easy.” Jon ran his hands slowly down her arms and back up, even as he brought his body closer, which pressed his pelvis firmly against her backside and the plug. She gasped as he reached between them and manipulated it, seating it deeper. She clutched the arm that suddenly circled her waist and he spoke against her ear, his jaw to her throat. “If I gift one of my brothers with the lush pleasure of your mouth, it will be because it’s what I order you to do. Serving me pleases my sub, and her pleasure pleases me. Remember?”
“Yes, Master,” she breathed. Jon had done this exercise with her often, never allowing her to be frustrated with herself. He knew how to use targeted questions that pointed her back toward the right path.
“Would you want to do it if I wasn’t here? If I hadn’t ordered you to do it? Think it through, but more importantly, feel it. Feel the honest answer in your heart and don’t be afraid to say it.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I wouldn’t have the slightest desire if it wasn’t my Master’s will. If it didn’t give him pleasure. Or me pleasure.”
“Good,” he said, in that voice that could stroke her nerves like a song. He turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders. “Now, I want you to get on the table. Go to Dana, and remove her gag. I want you to kiss her.”
Her gaze flicked up to him, showing her surprise. He stroked his thumb over her lips, his hand on her face. “Can you imagine that, sweet girl?”
She could, and the idea of it had her unconsciously wetting her lips. Jon’s blue eyes lit with sparks of fire. “But that’s all you get to do. For now. You can’t touch her below the shoulders, but you can kiss and caress her all you wish within those parameters. Don’t stop until I tell you to do so.”
She realized the men were moving to take seats around the table, but when Jon turned her and nudged her toward it, she was only thinking of what he’d just told her to do. And that was a mistake.
On her walk around the table, she’d kept the right amount of her mind on her balance. Even though they were only three inches, what most women would consider easy, she didn’t wear high heels often, at least not for walking. Jon enjoyed seeing her wear them in the bedroom, while on her back, her legs raised, or on all fours, her backside in the air, the heels pointed outward over the edge of the bed. So she was mortified when she snagged the carpet and started to take a plunge.
A pair of strong hands immediately caught her. Two pairs. Peter and Ben had both moved quickly. It couldn’t help but make her blush, give her more butterflies. Their rapid response spoke to their obvious close attention to her every movement.
“We were hoping you would do that,” Ben teased her. “Give us a chance to be chivalrous. I don’t know how you women walk in those things at all. But God bless you for wearing them.”
“That drag queen down in Texas offered you the chance to wear her boots,” Lucas reminded him from the other side of the table. “She said you two were the same size. I was looking forward to that.”
“Yeah, because you like to stare at the swing of my ass,” Ben retorted.
“It’s so cute and tight, how can we resist?” Peter said dryly.
Rachel hid a smile and Ben tugged her hair, his other hand still resting on her lower back. “Hey, no disrespect of a fellow Dom in front of the subs. Else I’ll have to be all the harder on them to make them behave.”
“That’s exactly what you’re hoping,” Jon said.
“Damn right.”
Jon’s hands took the place of Peter’s on her opposite hip. Ben’s hand slipped away, though the lawyer’s response had added exponentially to the lingering heat of his touch.
“Rachel, I told you where I want you,” Jon said. “And you know I don’t like repeating myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
Figuring out the best way onto the table took only a second, because the question was answered for her. Jon turned her toward him and lifted her onto it, putting her backside on the cool surface. He pushed his body between her legs as he gave her another brush of his lips. “Turn over and go to her on your hands and knees,” he instructed.
“Yes, praise God,” someone murmured. Possibly Ben.
“Once you get to her,” Jon continued, “sit up on your knees, and have her do the same. She has cuffs on each wrist. Draw her arms up so her wrists are behind her head, and latch them to the back of her collar. I want your bodies close, so press your knee against her cunt, your other one to her hip on the outside. Mind the heels on the glass.”
“Yes, sir.” As he backed off, she shifted, pulling her legs up onto the table in a fold and then rolling from there to her knees. It was an easy enough move to do with her yoga experience, but she didn’t usually walk on her hands and knees. However, a glimpse of glittering male gazes became a weighted blanket of heat. It helped her add sinuous grace to the movements as she made her way to the center of the table.
The cut size of the mat meant her knees were immediately pressed into the cushioned support, no chance of her having to handle the unyielding surface beneath.
These men could be hard on their subs. Every one of them had a ruthless side. When the ladies met for their monthly girls-night, they shared stories with one another freely. But those ruthless moments were always, always balanced with notes like this, ways to protect and care for them. Any discomfort or pain was the kind that led to pleasure, a mindless surrender, a letting go, to simply be this.
Theirs.
She reached Dana and inhaled the woman’s scent, so familiar to her. Perhaps because of what they were, the women were frequently physically affectionate with one another. At those female get-togethers, they often retired to Cassandra’s sun porch with glasses of wine, and Dana liked to sit close to Rachel, her fingers playing in Rachel’s hair. Sometimes she laid her head in Rachel’s lap.
Now they had permission to take physical affection, the bond of friends, subs, family, even further—to sexual enjoyment and indulgence. It gave the caress she feathered over Dana’s cheek a different, lingering feel. Either because she was already heavily aroused or because she sensed it, Dana turned her face into Rachel’s hand, brushing her cheek and nose against her palm.
Rachel unbuckled the gag, sliding it out, stroking Dana’s nape as she did so. Dana had dark hair, soft and wooly, closely shorn so it emphasized the shape of her skull, her swanlike neck. Rachel had seen a couple of pictures of Dana before the explosion that had taken her sight, and she’d had sharp cheekbones. The IED had done a lot of damage to one side of her face, but the brilliant cosmetic surgeon had compensated, so that her cheeks weren’t as well defined, but they had a soft line to them that drew attention to her lush lips and firm but feminine chin.