Page 130 of The Sun & Her Burn
Absolutely not.
My resolve died a quick, bloodless death on the seat of the black velvet booth as I held a photo of Sebastian and Linnea marked with my name in my hands.
They wanted me enough to risk coming here, to put themselves wholly into my hands, to pursue me even when I did not deserve them and told them as much again and again.
Enough was enough.
I might not everdeservetheir goodness, but maybe, if I worked hard enough, I could earn it over time.
Friendship, it seemed, was not enough for any of us.
And even though I had no bloody idea where any of this could go for the three of us together, I was willing to admit Linnea was right.
We were on a path together now, and only an idiot would turn his back on walking through life with two people like them.
I stood before I had even opened my eyes, the photo and card secured in my hand, but my scotch forgotten on the table.
“Ah, Meyers,” someone said, stepping into my path as I started across the main room to the hall leading to the private room on the right.
I neatly moved around him without stopping and increased my pace until I was almost speed walking.
The only thought in my head was them.
Sebastian and Linnea.
Waiting for me.
Beckoning me.
Daring me to be my basest, rawest self.
By the time I reached the door to Private Room C, my heart was hammering inside my chest, my blood hot enough to sear me from the inside out. A mask hung beneath the gold plaque naming the room, and I laughed soundlessly at the sight of its moon-like texture.
I slipped out of my plain black mask and into the moon’s embrace before I fitted the key into the lock and turned the door open under my palm.
Without looking deeply into the shadows of the low-lit room, I closed the door behind me, breathed in deeply to collect myself, and then turned to face my lovers.
The room was themed like a harem, everything jewel-toned and draped in swathes of silk fabric, layered in deep, lush pillows. The bed was enormous and built into the floor to the left, while the right showcased a beautiful spanking bench, a wall of impact implements and toys displayed like glassware in a dining room, and a St. Andrew’s Cross with red velvet padding.
But I noticed all of that only in my periphery because my total focus was centered on the two bodies kneeling in front of a low bench facing the door. Their heads were dipped toward the floor just as in the photo, their hands palms down on their spread and bent knees.
The handwritten tags lingered in the hollow of both their throats.
For Adam Meyers’s Use Only.
On the left side of either throat, a love bite blossomed like a dark rose, a signature they’d signed onto each other for my benefit.
Fuck, they were glorious.
Perfect and depraved.
Andmineif I was brave enough to let myself have them.
“What pretty presents someone left for me,” I drawled as I came deep into the room and walked a circle around them.
The room was utterly silent, with not even a hint of music to distract from the quiet sound of our breathing.
I stopped in front of Sebastian and took the tag between my fingers.
