Page 52 of Enticement
He got to his feet as he spoke and stroked his thumb tip over one of her excited nipples. A tremor of fear and longing stabbed through her insides. Evie began to shake her head. She hated being watched. It’s why she re-routed Ross’s passion for fucking in the rain to making out in the shower. There were no stray observers in the bathroom. Leastways, there hadn’t been until Kit moved in. Not that she suspected Kit would stand back and merely observe anymore.
“Nnnn…yes.” The confession left her feeling rather freaked out. A vivid blush burned her cheeks. “My turn,” she gasped before Kit had a chance to say otherwise. He still lay stretched along the settee, perfectly nude. Given a black and white film and a camera, she could make thousands selling shots of him lying like that, particularly when he glanced up, and those dark eyes of his swam with secrets and zeal. “Dare?”
He nodded.
“I dare you to masturbate for me.”
Kit swung his legs around into a sitting position. “Uh, uh!” He shook his head, his eyes narrowed, but a smile still playing on his lips. “Not that one.”
Outraged, she squealed, jumping up and down on the spot. “Forfeit, forfeit…”
“Okay, I forfeit.” Kit raised his hands in idle surrender.
“Tie him down, Ross.”
“To what?” Ross’s gaze darted between her, Kit and the furnishings. With the exception of the ancient radiator, there wasn’t anything to tie Kit to.
Vexed by the realization, but unprepared to be thwarted, Evie scrunched up her mouth and thought. “Upstairs. Strap him to the bed.” They’d all be more comfortable up there anyway and it simplified the logistics of how they were going to manage inviting him into their bedroom.
Ross saluted. “You got it.” He tugged Kit up off the sofa, and planted a hand on his arse. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you looking pretty. You know you’ll enjoy this.”
Ross rummaged in the bottom of the wardrobe and dug out a roll of years old bondage tape he’d bought at an erotic torment fair. He used the tape to fasten Kit to the bed. Kit refused to lie down. He sat amongst the pillows at the head end, both arms bent at the elbows and his wrists flopped outwards, barely maintaining the façade of outraged disinterest he was trying to pull off. Ross wasn’t fooled. While his friend might not specifically get off on being restrained, he was intrigued by Evie’s determination to take the top role in the bedroom.
Ross straddled his legs as he wound the tape around Kit’s wrists, securing him to the ironwork headboard. “You can always yell if you want out.”
Kit grinned and snapped his teeth. “What do you reckon she’s got planned for me?”
“No idea.”
Snake-like, Kit’s tongue pressed briefly to his top lip. “What shall I shout?”
“Don’t shout, Kit. Let her have her way for a bit. We’re walking a knife’s edge here. It won’t take much to screw it all up, and I’d rather we let things settled down naturally.”
Kit tilted his head as if in consideration of the point. The way he pursed his lips together just made Ross long to kiss him, but tonight wasn’t really about him and Kit. It was about the three of them finding a way to knit themselves together without setting off unwanted sparks.
“And if I don’t like it?”
“Grit your teeth.” Finished with the tape, Ross patted Kit’s thigh. “You’re a big boy, and I’m sure you’ve done worse for money.”
“Why is it that everyone in this village thinks I’m a whore?”
Ross raised his brows, but held Kit’s gaze. “The line about other men didn’t help.”
Kit tugged against his bonds but couldn’t break free to reach out to Ross. “Is that all you’re worried about?”
“Guess I thought I was unique.” He traced his fingers over the curve of Kit’s jaw.
“Ross, you oaf! You’ve always been that. Always will be.”
“Don’t muck this up.”
“I won’t.”
The bedroom door creaked open. Ross shimmied off Kit’s lap in order to see Evie come in. She’d rearranged her hair since they’d left her downstairs, and had pulled it up into a messy high ponytail, from which bits stuck out and hung down to frame her merry face. She’d stripped too, down to a teeny tiny polka dot thong, a pair of patent leather stilettos and the butcher’s apron he’d recently taken off. She was holding the whisk he’d left in the kitchen sink.
Part of him wanted to laugh at the vision of domestic goddesshood as she dipped one knee and flashed them both a glimpse of her sumptuous rear. Kit did laugh, but his mirth quickly died when she sashayed over to the bed and rapped his thigh with the springy metal. “This is a serious matter, Mr. Skye. I’m bitterly disappointed in you. Forfeiting in the first round, what sort of wussy behaviour is that?”
“Climb aboard, babe. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
