39. Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Emery
Oakley: How’s your *kitty emoji* doing? Waving the white flag yet? Do you need me to order you one of those donut pillow things?
My cheeks ache from the grin that spreads across my face. I’m coming to really enjoy Oakley’s snark. It’s mixed in with a very large dose of innocence, but the fact that her judgment—at least, via text message—is basically non-existent, makes me want to keep her forever.
She didn’t give a fuck when she told me about her sugar dating activities, even though we are stuck living with each other for a year.
She didn’t try to stop me from going to my first gangbang, going so far as to bankroll it.
Then she supplied me with everything I would need for my extended weekend with the daddies.
And finally, she has been texting me every few hours to make sure I haven’t been turned into chop suey and dumped in the river.
I pull my legs up higher on the couch and tuck one under my butt. While I am tender, I’m not in actual pain. Everything just feels really well used. Like, really, really well.
Me: *kitty emoji* is doing just fine. She thanks you for your concern and wants you to know she has been very well looked after.
Me: And that would be a no on the donut pillow, lol. But thank you for the thought.
Staring at the messages, I fiddle with the pompom hanging from the sparkly case of my phone and wonder when I became the type of person who refers to her pussy in third person.
Bubbles appear immediately.
Oakley: I should hope so, with how much they are paying. That *kitty emoji* should be one pampered kitty.
Oakley: Are you sure? I found this super cute one!
Oakley: *Picture of pink-iced donut, with sprinkles and eyes with long eyelashes and a purple bow*
I shake my head at the phone, my grin impossibly wide.
Bosom buddies, for sure.
I mean, she is probably going to annoy the fuck out of me long term, but at any point, she’ll just need to bring up the fact that she Anakin Skywalkered my weekend fuckfest and kept all relevant details ready and available for the cops if shit went south.
But it so hasn’t gone south. Not even a little bit.
I’ve eaten more food and drunk more water this weekend than I normally would in an entire week. After every scene, there has been an entire bottle of water, a shitload of cuddles, and then a plate so full of food that I’m not sure even one of the daddies could finish it all.
Lunch today was the same. A giant gourmet sandwich from some fancy deli place. There’d even been little containers of different kinds of salads to go with it. I’d barely managed a third of what had been put on my plate.
I’ve been chillin’ on the couch ever since, trying not to think about the fact that there is one scene left to go before the weekend and our contract is over.
That it’s Xavier’s scene is making me even more nervous.
I’ve been given zero indication of when it is going to start or what’s involved. He’s been MIA several times since yesterday morning, and none of the others seem to care. And he watches me. All the time. I’m fairly certain that he would follow me into the bathroom if I didn’t lock the door.
And last night, during Hudson’s fuck toy scene, his questions about piercings had not gone unheard by me.
Is that something he wants? To thread a needle through my skin and leave a permanent mark? Is he going to do that to me today? And if yes, where? My clit? My nipples? Somewhere else?
A full-body shiver runs done my spine.
Do I even want that?
Nerves bubble in my stomach as I contemplate the state of my skin. I have nothing pierced and no tattoos. My skin is as unblemished as a baby’s, but that’s only because of the lack of cash in my life. And it’s not that I’m anti body modifications. At some point, I do want to pierce my ears for vanity’s sake, but I don’t see myself wasting money on ink or pierced flesh.
They are absolutely stunning on everyone else, but for me, I’ll be saving my money for my future. I never want to be reliant on another person or institution again, and the only way to make that happen is to be completely and utterly self-funded.
My phone locked itself while I was busy contemplating the mess of thoughts in my head. Unlocking it, I type out a reply to Oakley.
Me: Seriously, I’m fine, I don’t
Bang.
I fumble my brand-new phone, my heart rate tripling in beats per minute as I glance over my shoulder and see…
No one.
Wait, where did they go?
Swiveling around on the couch cushion, I scan the apartment but come up empty.
Shit, did they all leave?
My heart feels loose in my chest, like it is preparing to sink.
Did they really fucking leave me here alone?
They’ve had everything about this weekend planned down to a fucking T—how could they forget about me? What in the actual fuck?
Wait, is this their way of telling me to leave?
Maybe they are just having a quiet conversation in the bedroom together?
A bubble of hope that someone is still here with me, and they are just showering, fills in my chest as I abandon my phone on the couch and bolt to the bedroom.
The door is open, and the bubble of hope is already fizzling out when I don’t hear running water. The room is dark—the curtains are drawn and the lights are off. I flick the switch and walk around the bed to the walk-in wardrobe.
Dark in here too.
Fuck, is their stuff gone?
With panic starting to build, I search for the light, turn it on and sigh a massive breath of relief.
Their clothes are all still hanging in the wardrobe. Nothing is missing.
That must mean they are coming back, right?
Maybe it’s a momentary lapse in their planning, each of them thinking one of the others would be with me? That must be it.
Turning off each light as I pass the switches, I go back out into the main area of the apartment but pause a few steps in because it’s only now occurring to me how damn quiet the space is. All weekend, there has been noise.
Them talking, the TV, music—something.
The silence feels thick and heavy on my skin, but it also reminds me that there was a huge bang earlier, like something heavy falling on the ground. But if I’m here by myself, what caused the noise? A chill fills my veins at the thought that I might not be completely alone.
I almost snort laugh at myself. Could I sound anymore like the blonde chick who gets killed in a horror movie?
Ooo, there was a weird noise over there, I’ll go check it out .
Next thing you know, she’s carved up like a turkey and her friends keep finding pieces of her body around the cabin they rented for a weekend getaway.
It would basically be impossible for someone other than my men to be in here with me. Security fobs to get in and out of the building, a security guard at the front door, swipes to get the elevator going, and then another one to get into the actual apartment.
No, it’s more likely that something was sitting precariously and finally lost the battle with gravity. I’ll go figure out what it was, set it to rights, and then sit my ass back on the couch and watch some TV until one of them gets back.
Then I’ll give them a piece of my mind for abandoning me here.
I just need to be quick. There is absolutely no way I want them catching me walking through their personal torture dungeon. Nope, nope, nope. Am I going to snoop? Hell yeah, but only a little. I have no idea when they’ll be back, so this is going to be a quick in-and-out mission.
I ignore my racing heart and how sweaty my palms have become and go in search of the noise.
It’s like there is an invisible wall that I pass through as I step into the corner that is Darcy’s space. His beautiful ropes line the cornered walls, and I can’t help but run my fingers over them. The chair is gone—I have no idea where—leaving it as an open space.
I walk around several cabinets placed together to form a makeshift boundary wall and toward Derek’s space.
The Wall of Torment.
Almost as colorful as Darcy’s walls, Derek’s has a lot more black intermingled among the rainbow. I want to reach out to the floggers and whips, but I don’t. Instead, I search out the two paddles that have claimed special places inside of me.
There they are, side by side.
Good Girl. Daddy’s Brat .
Those, I do touch. I can’t help it. The leather is so much smoother than I thought it would be. The way my ass had stayed red with the imprinted words for hours after the scene had caused heat to simmer in my veins.
Just the thought of it is turning me on again. My nipples feel tight against the fabric of Xavier’s shirt, which he pulled over my head the moment I’d gotten out of the bathroom with Darcy and Hudson. He also helped me slip on the plain black panties that I’m wearing.
One shaky breath later, I turn away from the wall and stare at the abundance of kinky furniture.
The spanking bench from yesterday.
More cabinets in varying sizes, with plenty of drawers.
My eyes widen when I spy what looks like a gynecologist’s bed in the far corner, with stirrups and everything—really fucking glad that wasn’t on the menu for the weekend. What the hell do they even use that for?
Swallowing, I look at the next piece of furniture, and my mouth drops open. Is that a pillory? Holy fuck.
And then, the piece I have been trying really hard not to look at.
The St. Andrew’s Cross against the wall.
Tentatively, I take a step closer to it.
It’s wooden, with padding along each of the arms and legs, as well as where a person’s torso would go. There are handcuffs hanging from the highest points of the X. Straps dangle from the sides of the torso padding, perfect for restricting movement. My gaze traces down to the legs, and that’s when I notice something out of place beside the cuffs attached to the feet of the cross.
A massive black leather case.
That must be what made the noise.
I look around for where it may have fallen from and easily spot an empty space on top of a cabinet just behind it. Quickly, I stride over to the case and bend to pick it up.
A grunt of surprise leaves me. It’s heavier than I thought it would be. As I shift it to the top of the dresser, the items inside of the case make a weird metallic tinking noise.
I pause.
Is the stuff on the inside broken? Should I check?
There is a tiny voice in the back of my head, screaming at me to put it back and return to the safety of the couch, but my curiosity has been piqued. And besides, I didn’t snoop in any of the drawers. Surely, looking at just this one thing is okay?
Besides, if they catch me snooping, I can tell the truth. I heard a bang, found the case, and when I picked it up to put it back, I thought the things inside were broken. What I will do if they are broken, I have no idea. But it’s a good enough story for now.
Carefully, I place the case on the top of the dresser and then work the top and bottom buckles open. Butterflies have escaped from my stomach and now flutter through my chest. With a breath, I lift the edge but pause almost immediately. This isn’t a case. It’s a wrap.
I don’t even hesitate and open the wrap right up, rolling it all the way open.
Knives. So many knives.
My throat goes tight as I scan them all.
Long blades, short blades, thick handles, smooth handles, thick blades, pencil-thin blades, a scalpel, and more. All of them look sharp as fuck and glisten under the apartment lights. There are at least twenty knives here, each one secured in place by little pieces of black elastic.
Except, there is one empty set of elastics.
Just as I touch my finger to the empty loops, the air shifts behind me and the bite of cold, sharp steel presses against my neck.
“Hello, little dove.”