The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood 3)

Travis’s tone was wicked as he spoke to the other man. “What do you think?”

I could hear his corrupt smile. “She asked so nicely.”

Travis’s tongue was lush as it massaged my clit, starting so slow and whipping faster to match my ragged breath. Sparks rolled up my shaking legs. My heart sprinted to keep up with the urgency he created. The need for release was so strong, it narrowed my vision to a singular point . . .

And then it burst into unfocused stars as pleasure erupted.

The orgasm wasn’t like yesterday’s. It went on, and on, and on. So long, I wondered if the sensation was ever going to end. As satisfaction gripped my body and mind, it caused me to contract and shudder. I thrashed against my restraints and the hands around my thighs.

I was still recovering when Travis gave a soft laugh of disbelief, but it was the sweetest sound. He loved witnessing how powerful the pleasure was as it washed through my limbs, and then he turned to glance at the other man, as if wanting to confirm what he was seeing was real.

Or perhaps he’d glanced at Clay to acknowledge his part in the scene. They’d worked as a team to bring me to this point, so he wanted to share the credit. The thought only sent me soaring higher. How the hell did I get so lucky to find—and have—both of these men?

Travis straightened to stand upright, wiped a hand over his mouth, and gazed at me with longing in his eyes. It wasn’t sexual desire—it was a different kind of ache, and it made me jittery. I liked the way he looked at me now, but what if it didn’t last?

What if I came to dread it like I always had before?

I pushed the thought away as he walked to the other end of the table and undid the knots at the handle, allowing me to lower my arms. He helped me sit up, intent on untying the ropes around my wrists, but when his hands landed on mine, he paused. He saw the opportunity and wasn’t going to waste it.

He stepped to the edge of the table, cradled my face in his hands, and lowered in. His lips pressed to mine in a kiss that rivaled the one he’d given me last night. He hadn’t asked anyone’s permission, but Clay’s silence allowed it.

If I weren’t already weak, the long, lingering kiss would have made me so. It tasted like gratitude, like he was thanking me for the scene. My brain was foggy and floaty, and enjoyed the simplicity of it. When it ended, I sat dutifully still and let him undo the ropes my other partner had put on me.

Travis hadn’t come. The only time he’d been touched was the hand Clay had set on his chest. Yet he seemed satisfied, and without acknowledging it with words, we all sensed it was late and the evening was coming to an end.

Clay picked up his jeans and shoved a leg into them, surveying us as if he felt like an outsider in his own home. As he dressed, Travis fetched my clothes, and while I put them on, he coiled the rope into a neat figure 8 and set it on the workbench.

It was Clay who helped me down off the table, but once I was on my feet, he didn’t want to let go of me. Seeing him uncertain was strangely reassuring. He was human, capable of making mistakes, and didn’t have every moment of his life figured out.

I didn’t want to add to his confusion but couldn’t help myself. I rose onto my toes and pressed my mouth to his. The kiss wasn’t about possession or ownership. It was meant to show how happy he’d made me, and I was thrilled when he responded in kind. It wasn’t in his design, but his embrace strengthened around me and I sank into our connection.

It was over sooner than I wanted, but Clay broke the kiss as if he just thought of something and it needed to be said right that very moment.

“It’s important we all understand that while this arrangement works for us now,” his voice was serious, “it can change at any time.” He searched for the exact words and weighted them. “It’s temporary.”

I exhaled slowly. Maybe he’d said it to be helpful, to protect Travis from falling for me when I wasn’t built for the long term. But it also felt like he’d reiterated it was temporary as a reminder to himself, and to me to not become too attached.

It served as a warning to us all.

Dr. Lowe’s house was larger than Clay’s and had an inground pool in the backyard. It was the spot we’d chosen to kick off the celebration for Cassidy’s twenty-first birthday, and I sat on the lounger by the deep end, watching the people playing in the pool with mild interest.