Page 22 of His Own Heaven

History.

She would have catalogued her memories and filed them away in her spank bank, only to be called upon in the privacy of her own bedroom.

Because a memory was all she could afford.

“You ready to go upstairs?” Toby said, cupping her face and dragging her back from her melancholy.

“Depends,” she said. “What’s upstairs?” Cocking her head to one side, she stared up at him with cautious curiosity. “Do you have a secret sex room?”

Charlie shook his head, laughing. “Close enough.”

Lucy sucked down a gasp of surprise. “I was kidding,” she said, rubbing her thighs together as she stared up at them. “Do you actually have a sex room?”

Toby grinned wickedly, kissed her hard, then grabbed her wrist in his vice-like grip and dragged her back inside the house. “You’ll see.”

Chapter Eight

If Toby thought the sight of Lucy on her knees, her intoxicating gaze locked on his as they shared one hell of an orgasm, was spectacular, it paled in comparison to the look on her face as she took in his bedroom—or more accurately, one wall of his bedroom.

With her eyes wide and her fingertips pressed to her lips, she stared at his collection of whips, floggers, canes, and paddles like a starving man stared at a feast—with unabashed longing and hunger.

Toby watched with something akin to pride as Lucy took a tentative step closer to his array of accoutrements, and his cock twitched with renewed life as he watched her glide her slender fingers over his favourite riding crop. The aged brown leather was soft to the touch, the shaft supple and strong, and its leather keeper left one hell of a red welt on a shapely arse or thigh.

His cock thickened at the thought of decorating Lucy’s body with such marks, of criss-crossing his way across her creamy flesh until she came, screaming her pleasure. Screaming his name.

Just then, Charlie entered the room and dumped everyone’s clothes in a heap on the floor. Lucy spun away from the wall like a naughty child caught doing something, well, naughty, and Toby took the opportunity to really admire her. All of her this time, not just her face, tits and arse.

Her hair cascaded all the way down to her waist and shone under the muted bedroom lights with shades of dark blonde mixed with honey brown, reminding him of rich butterscotch. Soft to the touch, it felt good wrapped around his fist.

The unscarred half of her face was fresh and pink with no visible laugh lines until she smiled, and even then the lines softly feathering from the corners of her eye and mouth were barely noticeable. If he didn’t already know she was the same age as him, he would have thought her to be much, much younger and believed himself to be a dirty old man for all the things he wanted to do to her.

Fuck, he was a dirty old man regardless.

Her body was long and lean and lightly muscled. Not surprising considering she’d once been a firefighter and listed rock climbing as a hobby. Her legs were slim and ended in feet he considered almost dainty for a woman of her height, but her arse was good and round and soft, and her hips flared out in a way that made him want to grab them hard as he drove himself into her from behind. Her waist was small, her breasts too, small and perfect, and…fuck!The sight of those nipple rings piercing those sweet peach-coloured nipples, the memory of them rubbing against his chest when he’d held her tightly, made his cock as hard as granite.

When he’d held her in his arms before, he’d felt the scars on her back, the ones she hid under that mass of butterscotch-coloured hair. He’d traced his hands over her skin and marvelled at the difference in texture. On the left side, her skin was unmarred and soft, smooth to the touch and supple against his palm. But the other side, like her face, neck, and shoulder, was raised slightly and uneven, but at the same time the skin there felt smoother somehow, almost silky under his fingertips.

And as he’d gently explored her scars, she’d gripped the muscles on his back, exhaled a shuddery breath, and shivered against him. She’d closed her eyes and bit her lip and pressed her body so close she’d practically moulded to his chest. But she’d neither protested nor cried out in pain.

Interesting.

A slight nod at Charlie was all he needed to get his brother moving across the room, and together they advanced on Lucy, surrounded her and touched her all over again.

Toby placed himself behind her, gathered her hair into a ponytail, and gripped it tightly in his fist. “I love your hair. It’s so soft,” he murmured, bending down to bury his nose in it. “Smells so good.”

“Gardenias,” she said with a sigh, confirming his earlier suspicion.

He tugged her head to one side, and she let loose a breathy moan that made his gut tighten and his cock twitch. Then she leaned in to him, giving him free rein as his lips met her skin and he began a leisurely exploration of her shoulder and neck.

“Toby,” she gasped, his name a plea. But a plea for what? “Sir.”

Keeping his voice low and calm, he said, “Your scars are very sensitive to touch, aren’t they, baby?”

Lucy nodded quickly, as though she didn’t want to spare the brainpower required to provide an explanation. “Uh-huh.”

Toby leaned down and kissed her, and she moaned into his mouth, but a moment later, she broke away with a gasp. A quick look over her shoulder confirmed his brother had two fingers deep in her pussy and was fingering her nice and slow. Good. Toby wanted her begging for release before they fucked her, and Charlie knew how to finger a pussy like a virtuoso knew how to finger a violin. Knew how to pluck and play and tease to make the sweetest music erupt from within her.

“Why?” Toby asked, keeping the conversation going for no other reason than to keep her off-kilter. To see in how many directions they could pull her concentration before she snapped.

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