Page 144 of Piece Us Together

I put the lid on the slow cooker and set the heat. We have six hours now. It feels like I’m going to burn up, like I just turned a dial on myself. I don’t even know if I’m horny or anxious.Anxiously horny, maybe?Really excited for the sex, but also really fucking worried Maison is going to blow this whole thing up trying to protect himself.

Guilt spikes in my gut as the words settle in my head. As I realize I just did what he’s always doing—blaming him for ruining things, this time before he even did it. He doesn’t ruin things. He makes things better. He makes things safe.

But there’s no denying this sits in the palms of his hands.

Or maybe it doesn’t.

He tried ruining things, when he dragged me out of here. Again, when he showed up alone. Hunter didn’t let him.

But now there’s a rule.

No running.

“What happens?” I ask, unable to turn around even though I’m done. My throat feels tight, like someone has wrapped a hand around my throat. Not someone safe. Not Hunter or Maison. Someone bad.Someone—someone—someone—“What happens if a rule is broken?”

“You’re punished, based on what you agree to in the packets.”

“No. The—” I squeeze my eyes shut, bringing a hand to my throat. Just my hand. Only my hand. No one else. No masters. No rapists. I’m going to get what I need from someone safe, someone who loves me. I’m safe. I’m loved.I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.“If we run?”

There’s silence.

I hunch my shoulders.

“I’ll chase you,” Hunter says. I whirl around, not having expected that. Not having expected—he’s looking right at Maison because he knows, heknowsI’m not the one that would run. Maison is looking right back, chest heaving. “I’ll chase you every fucking time.”

And Maison asks, “Promise?”

My heart cracks right open.

And Hunter spills gold into it. “With everything I have.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Maison

Despite having felt like the day was passing by at a snail’s pace, now that it’s time for sex, it feels too fast, too sudden. It feels like all the talking we’ve done was just a step toward the edge and now I’m at the precipice. There’s no turning back after this. Once I submit to him, truly submit to him, I know I’m not ever going to want to stop.

It’s terrifying.

I want it more than anything in the world.

I’m trembling when he sends Nolan into the room to get naked and kneel like always. He sees it, of course. He sits me down on the couch and takes a seat across from me on the coffee table. My hands are taken into his, the touch warm and steadying. The green of his eyes is almost unsettlingly bright as he gives me this sincere, loving look that has me melting into putty.

“What’s your safeword?” he asks.

I release a breath. I know this. This is easy. “Red.”

“If you say no, do you want me to count it as a safeword as well?”

That’s…not so easy. “What?”

“One of the reasons for a safeword is because many people will say the word no or the word stop without actually meaning it. Some will do it out of instinct. Some will do it because they like the thought of being ignored.” He cups my jaw, thumb skimming over my cheek. “Some will do it because they’re a tough boy who doesn’t want to have to admit to wanting things. Who wants to pretend he’s not giving in. Who wants to be reminded he’s powerless.”

It feels hard to breathe. I can hear it when I answer, the breathless need, the aching want. “Just red. For a safeword. Just red.”

His thumb moves down my cheek, to the corner of my mouth, across my lip. He tugs at the center of it until my jaw is slightly dropped. I don’t know what he wants from me, if he wants me to suck his thumb into my mouth or just lick it or to do nothing at all. He’s looking at me, leisurely mapping the inches of my face, my shoulders, then focusing on my mouth. I just focus on breathing.If he wants me to do more than that, he’ll tell me, right?

“You can fight me tonight, if you need,” he tells me. At the same time, he slides his thumb into my mouth and over my tongue. I let it sit there, fighting the urge to suck. It feels bigger than it really is. My jaw aches like he’s stuffed me full. The weight of his thumb—of his attention, his dominance—has me pinned and flayed and unraveled. I’m not sure I’ll survive when he gives me more.

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