Hitched (Steele Ranch 4)

“No?” King asked, his eyes lowering to my chest again. His gaze heated, the blue darkening. “Your outfit definitely says something.”

I tilted my chin up in defiance. “My outfit doesn’t say slave. Besides, I can wear whatever I want.” Not that I’d be caught dead in this outfit again. God, it was humiliating enough with these two seeing me like this. Coming to Hawk’s Landing was supposed to be anonymous. So much for that.

“That’s right, you can. Your outfit doesn’t say slave, because a slave would be naked.”

My eyes widened at that clarification.

“But if you’re offering what that outfit shows, then you didn’t have to come all the way to Bridgewater, princess,” King told her, pointing at my clothing. “As Wilder said, all you had to do was ask and we’d take care of you.”

I tugged my shirt closed, then realized I could do up the buttons now. Rachel wasn’t going to scoff at me for being a prude at a BDSM event. She wasn’t one to talk in her unisex golf shirt and pants though. We so weren’t friends anymore.

Fumbling with the buttons, I got them done so that I was covered in white cotton from neck to knotted hem. I tugged at that, pulled the tails loose and let the blouse drop so that it fell over the waistband of my skirt, and now at least my midriff was covered.

The men were quiet and watched me do this. Only when I dropped my hands to my sides did they say more. “We can still see your nipples, princess. That thin fabric is practically transparent and the bra does nothing to hide them,” Wilder said.

I crossed my arms over my chest, felt the hard points that they’d seen. I usually wore my nude colored bra, the one that had padding. But a black half-cup? God, where was the hole to drop into?

“You’re beautiful, princess,” King added. “We like seeing you dressed like this. It’s sexy as hell. We just don’t like seeing you dressed like this in front of others.”

“Possessive much?” I asked, tapping my toe again.

King grinned. “Fuck, yes. Those berry-tipped breasts are just for us. That pale skin by your navel? Just for us to lick and kiss.” His eyes dropped lower, his smile slipped. “And those hips—”

“Perfect to grip as I fuck you from behind,” Wilder added.

“Or grip as she sits on my face,” King added.

“But…” I sputtered, confused and almost startled by their words. Or at least those words from them.

My cheeks flared hot for a different reason. They were talking dirty. Really dirty. About me. About doing things to me. I’d dreamed of them speaking this way to me, but they never had. Until now.

“Do you like those things, princess? Of us doing them to you?” Wilder asked, his voice louder, pushier.

I was flustered, confused, overwhelmed. I was thinking about Wilder gripping my hips as he fucked me from behind, but when King added that about his mouth on me as I…God, I couldn’t think. I blurted out, “I don’t know!”

“That’s right,” Wilder said, his voice quiet. “You don’t know, do you, princess, because you’ve been a good girl and never let a man have what belongs to us. That pussy is tight and untried, your cherry just waiting for us to take.”

3

SARAH

* * *

“Yes!” I said, covering my face with my hands, too afraid to look at them now that I’d admitted the truth. How sad was it that I’d waited all this time for them, for something I didn’t even know they wanted as much as me? I took a deep breath. “I can’t…I can’t do this.” I turned on my heel to leave, to hide. To run.

King stepped around me, blocked the door. “Say your safe word, princess, and we’ll let you go. Otherwise, you do as we say.”

“We haven’t done anything to need a safe word,” I countered. My hands trembled and my heart was beating frantically. I wasn’t big on exercise, but I felt like I’d run a mile.

King’s hand came up, his knuckles stroking gently down my cheek. He’d done a similar gesture when he’d taken me out on a date last summer, but this felt…different. That the simple caress was a precursor to more and not all like I’d thought then.

“Sometimes talking about hard things is enough,” he told me. “You know we’re pushing you, right?”

I looked at his blue flannel shirt, noticed how the color matched his eyes, although I doubted he’d worn it for such a reason. “Why?”

“Because you’re at a BDSM party wearing the sexiest fucking outfit I’ve ever seen. Last summer, you didn’t even like either of us kissing you goodnight. Who’s the real Sarah Gandry?”

Who was the real Sarah Gandry? That was a good question.