When fiery passion can turn on a dime, how far would you dare to gamble your heart?
When proof of a college indiscretion comes back to haunt her, Hazel’s whole world threatens to crumble under the threat of discovery.
Recently tangled in a three-way relationship with her best friend’s one-time lover and his prickly roommate should’ve turned Hazel’s hair prematurely gray. Sure, it’s not the sweeping fairy tale romance she might have imagined as a little girl, but it might just be the next best thing. Dylan and Ward are not only the right blend of domineering and considerate, they also seem eager to treat Hazel to a comfortable life. Whether it’s in the bedroom or the playroom, they are devoted to her pleasure and enthusiastic to help enact her deepest, darkest fantasies.
But while navigating the uncertain waters of such a complicated arrangement proves easier than expected, other areas of Hazel’s life aren’t so well anchored. As she struggles to keep a shameful secret that could irrevocably change the way Dylan and Ward see her, the tethers of the past call Hazel to home and hearth and the artful lure of an old flame.
Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of bondage, BDSM and impact play, as well as a scene of rape fantasy.
General Release Date: 8th May 2015
Heels hovering just off the floor and toes curled into the buffed hardwood boards for want of grip. Her wrists, bound with rope, stretched above her head. Most importantly, her eyes tightly shut, amplified the softest breath to the heave of a bellows.
These were the rules of engagement. All that was expected of Hazel was to follow them.
She tried. She couldn’t see them, but she knew they were close, circling like vultures—and she, the only prey. A slice of hair curled around her biceps. It must have slid free of the ponytail she’d attempted before she entered the room. Sloppy. Her throat worked, but no sound made it past her lips.
There would be time to beg later.
Out of nowhere, a sharp swish of leather whispered through the air. It was the only warning Hazel was afforded before liquid fire spread over her shoulder blades.
“Oh…” Hooks and karabiners creaked overhead. Somehow, she held back a startled cry.
Don’t break, don’t break.
Another strike, this time diagonally, drawing a broad welt over the juncture of hip and thigh. Hazel made to pull her knee into her chest, but the ropes secured to the floor would not allow her the range of movement. Her eyes watered as the sting solidified into a dull, throbbing ache.
The cat-quiet shuffle of footsteps arrested behind her.
“Did she—?”
Ward. Two weeks into their arrangement and still he didn’t trust his instincts. It would’ve been insulting if Hazel didn’t know precisely what he feared. She wasn’t proud of herself for digging his insecurities, but the information came in handy. She knew now that he feared the darkness inside him, the blind hunger that had once possessed him to take advantage of a friend.
“No,” replied said friend. Dylan didn’t call it ‘taking advantage’. He didn’t call it anything at all, because whenever they were together, he and Hazel always seemed to find better to do than excavating the past.
Hazel had never seen anyone compartmentalize better than he did. She shivered when he cupped her sopping pussy with a long-fingered hand, then parted her labia to drive a single long digit inside her.
“But she’s not far from it,” Dylan added conversationally. He crooked his finger against her G-spot. “Isn’t that right, slut? You’re drenched. Bet you’d fuck yourself on my hand if I let you. Answer me.”
“Yes.” It came out more ragged than plaintive, but Hazel felt no shame. She’d been squeezing her eyes shut so long—on their orders—that opening them took effort. Pinpricks of light stung her corneas. Her lashes stuck together. She congratulated herself on not wearing any mascara, but self-satisfaction was short-lived.
Dylan filled her field of vision, his jaw set, his inky eyes blazing. Over his shoulder, she glimpsed the door—innocuous, painted wood with a silver handle, black on one side and white on the other, the only way in and out of the playroom—and the cabinet beside it. All Dylan’s toys were carefully cleaned and stored, and she knew she could veto the use of any implement. Still, despite his suggestions that she take a peek at what was on offer, Hazel had refused. She needed a little mystery. She wanted her boys to surprise her.
It was a perfectly mundane aspiration. Dylan circled the heel of his palm over her clit in either punishment or reward, or possibly simply because he enjoyed seeing Hazel in distress. He didn’t have far to push, if that was what he hoped to achieve.
“Oh, please,” Hazel gasped, hitching herself up as far as the ropes would allow. Her torqued shoulders burned with effort. “Please…”
“Begging already?” Ward clucked his tongue, breath hot in her ear. He snaked an arm around her waist, holding her still as Dylan gently slid another finger into her cunt. “And here I thought we taught you better than that.” As a rule, his accent was barely distinguishable, but when he was angry or nervous—or aroused—it came through clear as day. The vestiges of Afrikaans rasped in his voice.
Sometimes he called her ‘schat’—treasure—and sometimes he settled for whispering filth into her ear without translating. No need. Hazel could read his tone like she read Dylan’s touch.
They had taught her well.
Since Dylan’s return from Shanghai they’d been at it almost every night—sometimes in bed, sometimes in Dylan’s playroom—orbiting around Hazel like celestial bodies. It should’ve been hard to keep up with two lovers, never mind two Dominants, but Hazel’s sex drive had never been in better shape. They had fucked all over the loft. Just yesterday, Ward had bent her over the kitchen island and fucked her until she’d come around his dick, her hands numb from clutching the countertop.
They’d burnt the toast and Hazel had been late for work.
It was worth it.
Ward sunk teeth into the meat of her shoulder, a warning meant to tow her back into the present.
She wished she could see him. She wished they’d keep going with the floggers until she was a helpless, shuddering quivering mess. But Dylan had other ideas. He was relentless. He pressed his palm down over her mound with sharp, rough strokes, offering no reprieve.
Hazel was tethered to his gaze and trapped between their bodies, unable to tell if the heartbeat echoing in the cage of her ribs was hers or Ward’s.
“Please,” she choked out, pathetic and past the point of giving a damn.
Ward dug his fingers into her heaving breast almost to the point of pain. “Please, what?” he growled.
“Let me come,” Hazel whimpered, face hot. “Please, please, oh god… I can’t.” She felt close to tears, didn’t realize they were already leaking down her cheeks until Dylan scraped a thumb through the salty rivulets and brought it to his lips.
He was every bit the swaggering, nonchalant playboy who had walked into Marco’s dinner a couple of months back and left with her heart, when he’d said, “So come.”
It didn’t take much more. Dylan hooked his talented fingers just so and Ward bit down on Hazel’s nape, triggering a powerful orgasm. For all her fears of what she must’ve looked like and how fragile the rigging was, Hazel threw her head back and shook with a guttural cry.
The ropes held. She was ashamed for expecting any less.
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