Their Boy (The Game 2)

I didn’t like beer, wine, or bourbon, which were the kinds of alcohol we had at home. Colt and Lucas both enjoyed a glass of wine with dinner or at the end of the night. Unless we were by the pool; Colt wanted a few beers then.

I hadn’t had alcohol since high school, except for the time I reluctantly went out to brunch with Richard and his family. I’d had mimosas to survive the meal.

“You can have a couple drinks too, sweetheart. If you want.” Lucas wiped some buffalo sauce off my fingers. “Colt might take advantage of you on the dance floor, though.”

“Might?” Colt shot Lucas an amused look before he peered down at me with a smirk. “You can count on it. I’m curious to see you tipsy.”

That should happen fairly quickly. “I might get giggly.” I dragged a piece of fried pickle through the dipping sauce, my mouth watering.

“Let’s get you liquored up, then.” Daddy leaned in quickly, and he—and he stole my snack! He ate it right out of my hand!

“That was mine, Daddy!”

He laughed, chewing on what was mine.

I was so mad!

“Look at him.” Colt chuckled and hugged me to him. “You know you’re doin’ somethin’ right when your Little’s biggest problem is a missin’ snack.”

I snarled in defeat.

“Stop being so smug,” I said, moving closer to Lucas. “I cry more these days. Congrats.”

Abel let out a loud laugh. “Oh my God, me too. It took me forever to figure out why.”

“It would’ve taken you two seconds if you’d asked me sooner than you did,” Madigan drawled.

I cocked my head and grabbed a new piece of fried pickle, which I kept far away from Colt, the thief. “Well…what’s the reason? I’m a bajillion times happier, but I cry at nothing.”

Lucas smiled and kissed the side of my head. “It’s because you regress. Your emotions are closer to the surface.”

“Oh.” I scrunched my nose, eyeing Colt as he took an onion ring. “I guess that makes sense.” Reaching out super-fast, I stole the onion ring from him and threw it into my mouth. “In your fasshe.”

He rumbled a laugh. “That washn’t English, shweetheart.”

Gah, I wanted to smack him sometimes—often. “You’re mean.” I lifted Lucas’s arm so I could sneak under it, and I leaned back against his side. “I hope nothing happens to your food when you go do your honky-tonk dance later.”

Colt merely grinned. “Keep at it. You know I’ll just fuck you up later.”

“Lucas will protect me.” I hugged Lucas’s arm to my chest and stuck out my tongue.

Lucas cleared his throat. “Easy now, little one. You choose to be a brat. Then you can take the consequences too.”

“That’s not fair!” I pushed away his arm and looked back at him. “Colt stole my food first!”

“Okay, that’s enough with the tantrum, Kit.” Colt squeezed my kneecap hard under the table, and I stifled a yelp. He was giving me one of those warning looks. “If you want, we can go home right fuckin’ now. Your call.”

I had the biggest urge to whine, but I knew the jig would be up if I pushed him now. He wasn’t the type of man who made empty threats.

“Can you be nice?” Lucas asked.

“Yes…” I straightened in my seat and kept my hands in my lap. They were both meanies, simple as that. I’d just keep my eye-rolls and remarks to myself. I could do that. “I forgot that life’s not fair when you’re with Sadists. It won’t happen again.”

That was right; I called Lucas a Sadist too.

Lucas frowned at me.

Colt had this pensive expression, and he faced Lucas. “I had a feelin’ we were headed this way. I reckon we’ve got ourselves an involuntary masochist on our hands, darlin’. It may not be what he wants, but I think he needs it.”

“Welcome to my world,” Abel said with a small smile.

I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. “We’ve already explored pain. I like some of it. This isn’t news.”

“Do you get aggravated easily?” Abel asked. “Restless? Unsure of how to put feelings into words? Do you lash out and have a short fuse when you’re frustrated?”

I blinked.

“Oh Christ. How did I not see this sooner?” Lucas said in wonder.

“What?” I asked irritably. “Are you gonna fill me in?”

Madigan chuckled and kissed Abel’s temple. “You have some explaining to do for Kit.”

Preferably right fucking now. Yes, I could admit what Abel said rang bells. But I didn’t need pain. I accepted punishments when I’d been bad, and I felt better afterward. That was it. I didn’t want pain for kicks, unless it was just sensual pain. I did enjoy rough play and spankings and such. That was different.

“I know you’re confused, boy,” Colt said. “But you’ll see on Saturday.”

My brow furrowed. “At the event?”

He inclined his head. “You and I are participating in the first game.”