Page 109 of Piece Us Together

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hunter

You’ll get hurt. You’ll regret this.

Wells was right.

That motherfucker was fucking right.

I sit for hours at the kitchen island after Maison drags Nolan out of the house, a bottle of Scotch beside me with the cap still on, my phone beside my hand as I wait for one—or both—of them to respond to my concerned messages and voicemails. I’ve told myself that if I haven’t heard from them by dinnertime, I’ll call each of their emergency contacts, confirm someone is going to find them and assure their safety, then open the bottle and drink until I forget I ever met a man named Maison and his beautiful boyfriend.

Waiting until dinner is a long time to wait.

I start crawling out of my skin around noon. Making myself some lunch isn’t helpful. Nolan had brought leftovers when they’d come last night, his cheeks adorably flushed when I showed my excitement by immediately heating some up for a late-night snack. Seeing the food now makes me ache. It doesn’thelp that I planned on getting dirty with the pie and whipped cream later, either.

I sit with my plate full of turkey and mashed potatoes that I can’t stomach and let my head spin and spin.

Where did we go wrong? Was it the blindfold?It must have been, but that wasn’t a limit. Sure, triggers show up unexpectedly, catch people off-guard, but the anger Maison had toward me was as if I had known and betrayed them by doing it anyway. I couldn’t have known.I couldn’t have, right? Was there a sign I missed?

I cover my plate and put it back in the fridge, too nauseous to bother trying to eat right now anyway. I had uploaded their paperwork to my cloud so I could review it whenever ideas for scenes popped up, but I go looking for the printed copies instead. There’s something about being able to hold them and see the proof for myself that I need right now.

I was right about blindfolds. They weren’t a limit for either of them, soft or hard. They also weren’t one of the things that I could see Maison had erased. His decision to include them was clear. Confident. There were no signs for me to see.

I grab a notepad, closing my eyes and working my way through the scene. I write down as much as I can remember. Words I used—sweetheartwas an unexpected trigger for Carter, after all, one that had him going mute and in need of his emergency contact to come pick him up. I write down every touch, every toy, every kink. I study them as my heart pounds and sweat starts to coat my skin.

Ithadto have been the blindfold.

I’d had Nolan in that exact position on the bed before, so it wasn’t Maison seeing him on his hands and knees. The bondage I had him in was there earlier in the scene, nothing new, so it wasn’t that.

I suppose it could have been the game I suggested we play.Maybe Maison didn’t like the realization that Nolan wouldn’t know which of us was touching him? Did it make him jealous? Or feel overwhelmed? Afraid? Was he worried Nolan wouldn’t like it? Did Nolan not like it and Maison picked up on that before I did? Or was he so upset because maybe he said the safeword more than once and I didn’t hear it the first time?

I’m usually so good at reading my partners, but I apparently lost my touch. I could have sworn Maison was enjoying himself. More than enjoying himself, actually. He’d been doing that thing he’d started since our snow day, where he melts into me, lets me guide him, lets me touch him. Where he looks at me the same way Nolan does—like I’m his, like I’m theirs, like he trusts me.

Maybe I shouldn’t have let them leave. He didn’t scare me when he yelled and pushed me. Hell, he barely pushed me even, his hand reaching out to stop my momentum the second I started moving backward from his shove. He’d looked terrified after, like he’d messed up.

I should have jumped on that fear and used it to keep him here.

I should have gone after them.

I should have told them no in the first place, before I got so fucking attached.

Wells was right.

I fucking hate that he’s right.

I check my phone again, sighing deeply when I see there’s still no response from either of them.

My sweaty skin feels cold and tight. I close my eyes, trying to fight against the drop I know is coming. It’s going to be a bad one. The kind that knocks me on my ass. I’ve always been more susceptible to them than other doms. I get too emotionally invested, even with a one-night sub. I also put too much pressure on myself. All of that is amplified with Maison and Nolan. Ican feel it building like a steady thrum inside me, ready to overwhelm me any second now.

I should call Wells. It’s the smart thing to do. I shouldn’t be alone with this. I definitely shouldn’t be alone once I drop. The thought of explaining things to him is daunting, though. Especially because he warned me against all of this. He’s not the kind of dick who would say he told me so—he’ll give it a few weeks first—but he’d be thinking it, and I’d be thinking it, and it’d be right. Hehadtold me so, and I was the idiot who thought I could be the exception.

I fell in love with them.

I’m so fucking stupid.

Harsh vibrations of my phone against the counter pull me from my self-hate spiral. I nearly drop it in my haste to answer, only just registering the name of the person calling before the screen is against my ear. It’s more of a sigh than anything else when I say, “Nolan.”

“S—” He stops before finishing, cutting himself off with a punched-out noise that hits my chest. “Hunter. Hey.”

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