Page 24 of Piece Us Together
“You’re not my dom, though,” he hurries to add. His eyes are wide. Afraid again.
I fight the urge to smirk, knowing this is fragile. “I’m the dom of the scene. If you want to be a part of it, you’ll listen, understood?”
He licks his lips, his eyes going dark and heavy. There’s something there, for just a moment. A flicker. A spark neither of us are ready to acknowledge.
“Understood?” I press.
“Yes, sir.”
It’s meant to be sarcastic, I think. It doesn’t sound that way, though. It sounds soft and a little breathy and goddamnbeautiful.
“Then let’s go.”
I offer him my hand. He stares at it for a moment before taking it and letting me help him stand. Before I can decide if I should drop it or try to use it to guide him to Nolan, he tugs it out of my hold and steps back. His eyes are shifty again, his shoulders full of the tension from before. “One more thing.”
So close.
“Okay.”
“Is it too late to add a hard limit?”
I can’t help the slight jump in my eyebrows this time, but I keep anything else from showing my surprise. “It’s never too late.”
“Don’t kiss him.” He meets my eyes again. The emotional turmoil from the pub is back. “Please don’t kiss him on the mouth.”
Take what you can get,I tell myself.
Wells’s voice is unfortunately louder than my own.You’ll get hurt. You’ll regret this.
I force a smile. “No kissing. No problem.”
Chapter Seven
Nolan
It feels like I’m being ripped in half as I wait kneeling on the cushion at the foot of Hunter’s bed. One side of me—the annoyingly needy submissive who won’t die no matter how hard I try to kill it—is vibrating with pure fucking happiness and so much relief it makes it a little hard to breathe. The other side of me—the one that’s Maison’s boyfriend—is seconds away from drowning in an abyss of guilt and self-loathing.
Which means that when I hear Hunter and Maison enter the room, I’m both achingly hard and close to hyperventilating.
They split up when they reach me, one of them going to my left while the other walks to the right. The one on the right—Maison, I recognize his jeans—keeps moving away while Hunter settles with the toe of his shoe just a breath from nudging against my thigh.
I know I’m allowed to look, but I can’t get myself to, my eyes fixed firmly on the floor in front of me. I think maybe I’m shaking. My chest is, at least. Probably because I can’t quite catch my breath.
What if Maison sees me like this and can’t handle it? What if he’s disgusted? What if he calls it off?
Or worse, what if he stays quiet the whole time and allows it to go on, only to hate me for it later? What if we get home and he tells me he can’t do this? What if we get home and he tells me he’s done with me? What if he tries to hand me off to Hunter and wipe his hands clean?
I try to find the calm that usually comes from being on my knees. This is supposed to be peaceful. It’s supposed to be good. Itisgood. But it’s bad too. It’s so bad.
How can something feel so good, soright, when it has the power to ruin everything?
“Nolan?”Hunter asks, a hand—Hunter’s hand, that’s probably his hand, because why the fuck would Maison want to touch me when I’m on my knees?He probably can’t even look at me right now. He’s probably disgusted. “Nolan, what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry,” I gasp. My face is itchy. Wet.When did I start crying?“I’m sorry. I’msorry.”
“Nolan? Fuck, baby—hey.”
I sob at the sound of Maison’s voice.