Page 62 of Full Mountie

“Besides nipple clamps,” I interject, teasing her.

“I really don’t think I’m into pain,” she mutters.

“I don’t like liquorice,” he continues mildly, ignoring how I’m trying to steer the conversation back to sex. But seriously, who wants to talk about food preferences when we could talk about banging preferences instead?

“Oh, so it’s fine not to like liquorice but we can’t mock someone for eating steak with ketchup,” she says not-at-all-innocently.

“Beth…”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Lachlan?”

“Enough,” I growl. I’d like to pull out my cock, now fully erect, and suggest something better to go in her mouth than backtalk and sass.

But Beth would be just as likely to give me a good nip for presuming too much. Maybe one day I can convince her to let me be in charge for an entire day, blow job manner lessons and all.

“Let’s get back to the more important question at hand. How do you know you wouldn’t like a spanking?”

She looks back at me. “I don’t know. That’s a good question.”

“It wouldn’t hurt if you didn’t want it to. But you’re right. Maybe not a spanking tonight. Maybe we’ll wait until you’ve actually been a bad girl for that.”

Okay, I’m only a halfway decent person. And I can’t resist the squeak of surprised outrage. It fucking turns me on.

I catch her by the wrist when she lashes out at me with her pointy, bossy little finger. I kiss the waggling point and wink at her. “Tonight, Lachlan’s going to show you the difference between being flogged for fun at a play party, and being flogged by someone who’s been inside you.”

“Lachlan?” Surprise rocks across her face. “Not you?”

I look over at him. He’s not surprised. And he’s definitely pleased.

“Yeah. Lachlan. And I’ll be calling the shots. You will be doing exactly what I say. We’re going to work on your trust.”

“Flogging as a team building exercise?”

Yeah, it might be. We’re going to need to be a team, the three of us. At least until they decide they’re better off as a team of two. That’ll be right around the time one of them gets a wedding invitation and needs a date.

Date.

Singular.

That leads to mate, singular. And I’m not the mating kind.

I’m the long weekend of debauchery kind, and fuck it, I’m going to be the best there ever was. “You bet your hot little ass.” I point to her plate. “Eat up.”

24

Lachlan

Iusean old hockey bag for my kink stuff. It’s easily transportable, and is disguised in plain sight.

Plus, over the past ten years, I’ve amassed quite the collection. In the four years I was stationed in Alberta, I dove into Edmonton’s kink scene as a way of finding my way post-Hugh.

I learned about ropes and cuffs. All the ways people liked to be tied up, tied down. Tied up in knots, emotionally and physically.

I learned about pain and pleasure, and started to make sense of what was so good about what I did with Hugh.

None of it touched what we had, though.

So I gave up hunting for someone to push me to my knees. I scratched my itches in other ways—through service and care.

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