Page 67 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

I ignore how fast I drive there, how anxious butterflies flit around my insides as I do. I ignore how my pussy throbs at the thought of being in their arms, and how awful I feel for having spent the last hour and a half with Otis when I could have been with them.

I pull into the driveway and stare up at Aug’s house for a minute before I get out.

I kind of had a bit of a tantrum in an effort to get my way. I blink, taking in his perfect shaped house numbers illuminated in an orange rectangle. I never asked to have that talk, and I could have done that instead of… what I did. I chew the inside of my cheek and decide to rip off the bandage and go inside.

My fist is reared back at the door but it swings open before I can knock. Aug is there, still in his espresso colored cigarette pants and white button up dress shirt, his hair a dark mess. Lance is staggered a few steps behind, also still in his charcoal slacks and black dress shirt, his feet bare. His blonde tresses are tangled, too.

“Come in.” It’s not an invitation, it’s an order, and in truth? I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Aug shuts the door behind me and then we’re there, trapped in the all-white tiny foyer, the two of them hovering over me, demanding answers with their pinched gazes.

My bravado and anger is gone, and as I stand before them, guilt heavy on my shoulders from my non-date date, I fold. I completely fold. And I don’t know why it surprises me, after all, I am their sub.

“I was annoyed that neither of you initiatedthe talk.” I roll my lips together, edging closer to them, needing to feel close to them despite the fact that I’m the one that put the temporary distance between us the last two hours.

“The talk?” Lance deadpans.

“You know,” I stomp. “The talk. Like,what are we doing and where we’re going. That shit. Because look, when we’re together, I don’t feel like the third wheel. I don’t feel like the bridge for the break between you two, I really don’t. But the more time we spend together, the closer we grow, I need to know what’s going on. And you two seem content just living without talking about any of it! And your complacency makes me fucking crazy!”

My chest heaves as I blink at Aug then Lance.

A beat passes where no one speaks and then Lance takes my purse from my shoulder and my coat from my back, dropping them on the floor of the foyer. He locks the door behind me and stands by Aug once again.

Clearing his throat, Aug says, “Naked, then fours.”

I swallow, unsure of what’s going on. I look at Lance and he’s still on his feet, arms crossed over his chest. He’s not dropping to his hands and knees. From his pocket, Aug produces one of the leather collars. He slaps it along his bare palm, ordering again, “Fours.”

Aug and Lance are in this together tonight. They’re going to be dominant together again. I strip immediately and drop to my hands and knees, watching as the light ends of my hair sway against his tiled floor. A moment later, I’m collared and nervous. Because they’re angry with me for going out with Otis, and being submissive to an angry dominant is not something I’ve ever done.

The room is cold and quiet and nothing happens for what feels like a really, really long time and then—thwack!Something comes down hard and fast against the center of my ass.

“Ouch!” I whine, but in truth, the sting on my ass does something strange to balance the guilt I feel for behaving somewhat childish. On my hands and knees I’m starting to realize that maybe I could have just brought it up. Maybe I could have broached the subject at Rise & Grind or over Italian. I could have even brought it up in the office the three of us share, one of the many times the door was shut. Point being, there’s been opportunity. And I was so busy focusing on why they hadn’t brought it all up and why as the woman in the relationship I shouldn’t have to bring it up that I failed to see that all of those things were just excuses. Things to keep the padding thick between me and the real thing. The fear. The big shadow looming over me, the monster under the bed waiting to pull me under if I stick out a toe.

The fear: that they don’t want me beyond this.

“You do not speak until your Sirs have told you to speak, is that clear?” Aug asks, his voice vibrating with passion. I’ve never heard him this way. I mean, Aug and Lance get pissed a lot.

I realize then thatthey’re not angry. The energy they’re giving me now is passion, dedication to giving me release, knowing that being apart from them tonight has been torturous for us all.

They’re both slightly grouchy and if I’m being honest, I’m close to the same. I get fired up and angry and—well, I’m Quincey Parker’s daughter. I’m short-fused just like him. But his voice now isn’t the normal frustration I hear when things aren’t going well on set, or when a vision doesn’t come to fruition the way he wants.

This reaction is fueled by pain.

I went out with Otis and these thwacks—another slaps across my backside as I work through it all, biting into my bottom lip to help me obey—these are meant to punish me. Because my guys are hurt.

And I hurt them.

You can’t hurt someone who doesn’t give a fuck, everyone knows that. So that means… “I’m sorry,” I mewl, lurching forward as the leather strikes my backside again. I peer over my shoulder and find the other collar hanging from white knuckles, and turn around again.

“The collar is a gift if you let it be a gift. But if you’re bad,” Lance says, drawing out the word carefully, “then the collar can be punishment, too.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, staring at the way my fingers curl into the ground, my pussy throbbing uncontrollably in response to the whippings across my ass. I’ve been palm spanked before (Noah wasn’t all that exciting upon retrospect) but never whipped.

“Do not speak until you are spoken to. Last warning. And pups that don’t obey go in their pen. Covered. As punishment,” Aug says harshly before another sting ripples through my ass, up my back, making me bite my lip to hold in my pained cry.

“You think that there is a world where we share our pet?” Lance asks, pacing around me as Aug spanks me again, this time the sting lingers on my skin, making my thighs tremble. “We do not share our sweet,” he lowers his face to mine, and the mint and booze on his breath makes the arousal budding between my thighs drip. “Pink, puffy pet,” he finishes as he drags his fingertip up my greedy, swollen pussy. Another strike, this time over my lower back and the top of my ass.

Their punishment, their feeling, their possessiveness—it’s so hot. I don’t hate the idea of being punished in that pen again, I won’t lie. But I want them so bad that I have to obey. Because I know what I can receive outside that pen will be far greater than what they can stick through those bars.

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