Page 4 of Room 13: Bred By the Bears

Ryker stepped behind her, gathering a lock of her hair in his fingers, taking in her scent once more.

“I’m simply a fan of efficiency. Dancing around, playing the game. Why do I pay a membership fee here if I can’t be direct in what we’re all looking for? Would you prefer I be demur? Bat my eyelashes? Blush when you suggest finding an open room to discuss our likes and limits? Seems like a waste of time when we can just speak frankly, be direct, save the thirty minutes and get to fucking that much faster.”

Miele was an interesting dichotomy. I wished I stood where Ryker did, a ringlet of her hair between his fingers, her neck exposed. What I wouldn’t love to tilt her head back a bit and press my teeth into that tendon. I bet she’d melt. I loved watching a woman give up the fight and go boneless. It made me hard just thinking about it.

“Room thirteen,” Ryker whispered against her ear, spending long moments caressing her cheek with his facial hair before placing his guest key in her palm.

“We play together,” I warned her. “Our play can be quite intense.”

“I look forward to it.” She cocked her head, a taunting smile turning up the corner of her mouth. “I’ll see you gentleman upstairs.”

The three of us watched as she sauntered away. Her handlebar hips sashayed beneath that sweetly innocent dress she wore. We could have been an old fifties cartoon where the wolf’s eyes bug out of its head and follow the sexy lady. Anticipation sizzled like static before a hurricane.

five

What were the odds?Apparently I’d been playing the kink lottery long enough that my number didn’t just come up, it hit the triple jackpot. Those three men didn’t just hint at the beasts waiting to be let out, they howled and snapped their teeth. Beneath those fancy suits and well-heeled mannerisms something dark and tawdry lay in wait. I could feel it. A strange synergy that promised the most incredible evening of my sexual exploration.

Lucky number thirteen. Well, it had always been lucky for me anyway. I was born on Friday the thirteenth. Living in the Bayou where there are more superstitions than people, and being born on such a day had always opened me up for a never-ending parade of well-wishers trying to get the spirits out of me. When I’d finally grown old enough that my hair came in and grew into its final color, all of thosetraiteursor healers, saw my red gold hair as a sign from Providence that he’d taken pity on me and forgiven me for being born on the devil’s day.

I’d rarely paid attention to it. Only at times like this when my lucky number appeared. And more in appreciating the serendipity than believing in any of thehoodoo.

The room’s electronic door beeped and disengaged, the quiet hiss of the door a soothing welcome to the inner sanctum of the three men who would join me shortly. Those who owned rooms had carte blanche to outfit and decorate them as they saw fit. The room barely looked any different from the general use rooms a floor below. Functional, utilitarian, but not much personality to them. Though given their proclivities I’m not sure exactly how a room could be outfitted to satisfy their kinks.

There was a bathroom and a changing area which contained a handful of robes in varying sizes, along with ponytail holders, wet wipes for quick freshen up, and other club provided accoutrements that all signaled they’d taken every desire of their clientele into consideration when creating rooms for debauchery.

The room beeped and the lock disengaged, barely giving me more than a moment to collect myself once again before the three men entered the room in a single file line.

“You’re still dressed.” Armel’s voice was toneless, there was no emotion I could infer just from what he said, yet I felt like I’d disappointed him.

“We never discussed preparation,” I told him while untying the bow that held the panels of my wrap dress together. “Some Primals like to rip and tear. Others prefer their bitches bent over in anticipation.”

“Your dress is far too pretty to be allowing anyone to rip it.” Obsidian held his hand out to collect the dress as it fell from my shoulders. “And you will never hear the three of us refer to you as anything but a cherished partner.”

Men who liked to fuck like animals but had sterling manners and the height of propriety. That was a dichotomy I hadn’t been prepared for. Though, the shiver that traversed my spine seemed to enjoy it just fine.

“I guess when you said you liked things a little different, I had assumed you meant sexually.”

“Trust us, Little Cub.” Armel approached me from behind, gathering my hair in his hand, holding it away from my neck so he could caress my pulse point with his lips. “We do a lot of things differently.”

His teeth pressed into that tendon, and the simple act had my knees threatening to buckle.

That was it. The rush. My body turned on the faucet that fed my adrenals exactly what they needed. The piece of my mind that becameprey. All he’d done was bite my neck and already I wanted to go limp and let him devour me.

“Safeword?” His beard tickled against my earlobe, that combined with the bite stole my breath and dialed my pulse up tobunny.

“Goldilocks.”

The word came out ofmymouth. Previous to breaking the silence in room, it formed frommylips, caressed overmytongue. So why did it cause my pussy to spasm and my nipples to tighten? I’d never noticed such a visceral reaction to my own safeword before.

“That’s cute,” the one named Obsidian said, running his large hand beneath the strap of my bra. “Goldilocks here is about to get pounded by the three bears.”

The humor in his voice tangled with the desire I heard in the subtle rumble of his r’s. The vibration matched the thrumming of my pulse. His large, warm hand, only heightening the intensity of the feelings careening through my body.

Ryker knelt at my feet. After he helped me out of my shoes, his fingers caressed every inch of skin from my feet to my legs and thighs. I felt drunk, and all they’d done is just barely touch my skin.

“Limits?” he asked while placing gentle kisses up and down the thigh closest to him.

“I don’t do non-consent. No piss, shit, or blood. I’m not into pain. Obviously, what we do had some elements of pain in it, but I’m not interested in being tawsed, caned, flogged, figged, any of that shit that has nothing to do with breeding. And, until we’re comfortable with one another—color checks are a must.”

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