Page 19 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
The coat opens, and I’m exposed. The nipple cutouts, the open crotch, all of it. There for them to see.
Wesley exhales, low and reverent. “Holyshit.”
The vinyl hugs me like it was poured on. Black. Shiny. A scene-ready masterpiece designed to attract punishment.
Sean’s voice is a rasp. “You thought leaving here in that would be safe for you?”
My lips part, but no sound comes out.
He touches the edge of the zipper that runs from my throat and twists around the curves to the base of my spine. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Yes what?”
I swallow. “Yes,sir.”
Something changes.
Wesley smiles, but it’s a darker thing now—his usual warmth tinted with hunger. “Well, look at that. She remembers her manners.”
“I remember a lot of things,” I say, breathless, thinking about a stolen kiss from over a decade ago.
“Good,” Sean murmurs. “So do we.”
Huck’s voice rumbles behind me. “Colors. Red, stop. Yellow, slow. Green, go.”
“Green,” I say instantly. “So green.”
That’s all it takes.
Sean grabs my wrist and spins me until I’m facing the wall. He presses me into it with one hand on my back, the other guiding the coat down my arms.
“Hands behind,” he orders.
I obey.
Wesley’s fingers are at my throat, stroking the vinyl collar. “You wore this to attract someone who would take control, didn’t you?”
I nod, breath shaky. “It’s the only thing that works. That makes me feel right when I’m not.”
“You don’t need anyone else’s hands but ours.” Wesley lifts my chin, kisses my cheek, then bites my ear just hard enough to make me gasp.
Sean’s voice is calm, clinical. “Huck, strip her. Wes, cuffs.”
“Yes, sir,” they answer in sync.
A shiver rolls through me. I’ve scene-played for years. David handed my body to strangers, and I’ve safe-worded out of dynamics that felt hollow. But this? This is something else.
This is the three men I’ve wanted longer than I’ve known how to want.
Huck’s big hands peel the coat the rest of the way down. He tugs the garters free and lifts my arms overhead with the kind of strength that makes me feeltiny—and I love it. God, I love it. The vinyl creaks, taut across my chest, as he cuffs my wrists in soft leather. He walks me to where I have a heavy hurricane lamp hanging on a large bracket on the wall. He leaves the chained hook, removes the lamp and lifts my wrists over the hook.
I’m exposed. I’ve been exposed before. But this time, I feel seen.
Wesley presses his front to my back. “We’re going to have fun with you, baby. Not sure for how long. Could be hours. Maybe the whole weekend. Depends on how good you are.” He buries his face into my hair, close enough I feel the heat of his breath on my ear again. “We’re going to use you, because you need to be used, don’t you?”
I whimper. My thighs tremble. “Please, sir.”
