Page 48 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

Without preamble, I launch into it. “We need you to know what you’re walking into because I see a lot of runway in front of the three of us. We work well together, we have great chemistry and–”

Lance interrupts, knocking his knuckles to the table as he coughs. “I’m sorry–” he clears his throat, eyes watering. “That vodka.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Brielle says.

“I’m not dramatic,” Lance retorts, taking a sip of the probably now lukewarm carbonated water. “That tastes like ass.”

“College budget,” she quips.

“Anyway,” I continue. “We need you to know that what Lance and I had… or I guess, have, is more than dominant and submissive.”

She smirks, her pouty lips making my cock ache. “I always likemore.”

Lance puts his elbows on the table, the old wood squeaking as he puts more weight on it leaning forward. “What we like and how we enjoy those dominant and submissive roles, is a change of pace for most,” he says, his voice strong and unwavering. He realizes this is important. We can’t bait and switch her. If she wants to be in a relationship, she has to fully understand the terms. And this is a big one.

“It is something that may take time to understand, time to get used to,” I continue, now also leaning toward her over the table.

“Stop dancing around it and just tell me already,” she says, collecting her fuzzy blonde hair with one hand, wrapping it with her other hand that clutches a scrunchie. I watch Lance, because he’s got a thing for women who put their hair up in scrunchies. Says it reminds him of a casual Sunday morning filled with nothing but sex and food, and it gets him going. Watching his pupils grow and his nostrils flare as he surveys Brielle putting her hair up has my blood pumping like mad.

“We tried bondage, which is common in dom/sub roles. But we didn’t like it. We didn’t like that some of it took forty minutes to set up, or even longer to dress. It was too much for us,” I tell her, wanting her to know we didn’t just jump to this. We didn’t choose this because we’re strange—it chose us because it fit, and it’s then we learned that it isn’t strange. Nothing is, with consent and love.

And a hard-on.

“We’ve tried it all,” Lance adds, popping a grape from the mini-cheese plate he made. “But this is what works for our needs. And we hope it works for yours too. Because you’re an equal in this. You have a voice as loud as ours. But this dynamic,” he says, shaking his head. “I need it as much as I need to exercise my dominant side.”

“And as you know, our relationship ended because he couldn’t exercise that side of himself. So you see how clutch this is,” I pander, nerves jumping up my spine as we toe nearer to the topic.

She folds her arms over her chest, looking unimpressed. “I get it. Okay?” She crosses her legs and unfolds her arms, getting antsy. “Now tell me because quite frankly you’re making me nervous. I’m starting to think a third hot director is about to walk in or something.”

“Sir and pet,” Lance barks out, laying it all out there with no more opportunity to pace and drawl.

I watch Brielle carefully, studying every fine line, every millimeter her eyes move. Everything. She looks between us, but pulls her lips together, chewing the bottom one a little as she processes. I hope she’s processing and not closing up. I can’t quite tell.

Lance slides off his chair, gently falling to the floor on his hands and knees. From the plate he made, I pluck the grapes up, cradling them in my palm as I lower my hand down to reach Lance’s face, which is eye level with the seat of my chair.

His sapphire eyes peer up at me, and I see it again. The flare, the passion, the overwhelming heat and happiness is all there, shining and gorgeous. Slowly, not to make a point but to savor each second, he brings his mouth to my hand, soft lips grazing my pinky. A shudder wracks my chest and I know my cock is officially fucking weeping.

Brielle breathes heavily from nearby, but I don’t look away. His lips part, bringing his teeth to the grape, pinching. He blinks. I clench my ass, seeing and feeling things from the past. Only this time, my chest doesn’t ache—happiness is warm and abundant inside me.

I sift my fingers through his gold silken hair, the tips of my fingers gently grazing his scalp. His silver chain peeks out from his shirt collar, heating my skin. I always loved how his chain looked against his bare chest, coated in a sheen of sweat. Shuddering, his back torques ever so slightly as I silently praise him for taking his snack like a good boy.A sweet pup.

At my side, in the chair next to me, I peek down at the bag I’ve stashed. With the top unzipped, the contents staring up at me, I reach in and take what I need. I set it on my knee, which is the last bit of me still under the cover of the table. Carefully, I remove my hand from his head and tug down my sweats, exposing my cock, pink and thick from pounding in need. Brielle whimpers; I expose the glistening underside. I’m dripping for them.

But this has to happen before we happen. We being the three of us.

Brielle has to understand—it’s only fair.

I grip myself and shake my cock over his lips, his eyes nearly all pupil as he watches. “Slow,” I caution him as he carefully and slowly leans toward me, sealing his eager mouth around my erection.

From nearby, Brielle whimpers, and I drop my hand resting on his head and grab for what’s hidden beneath the table, hooked on my knee.

I let go of my cock and it slips from his mouth, pressing to my jacket as I use both hands to put the leather collar on Lance. I need both hands to make sure it fits, snug but not painful, and to make sure the leash is well fastened to the collar. And as I do all of those things, my heart thumps like a basketball being dribbled. Heavy and constant, the pounding keeps me from looking up at her, allowing me to focus on my pet on his knees.

Being collared.

Again.

If I looked over at her now, would I see disgust? That’s my biggest fear, the one that keeps me up, rattles my hope, fills me with empty weight. If she doesn’t understand or doesn’t want to try to understand, that will hurt. That will change things, even though we’re all hopeful. It takes more than hope; it takes aligning on multiple levels, and I know better than most how tricky that can be.

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