Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Payne
Whoa!
The gate was fierce and low-key terrifying.
My artistic brain pictured the interlocking R’s and horseshoes adorning the black wrought iron as menacing eyes, while the bars twisted and curved to resemble the rest of the face.
Foreboding and protective, I could almost hear its deep, gruff voice rolling through my mind, promising to always be the first line of defense between the world and those who called Rawhide Ranch their home.
It was the kind of gate that would take its job seriously if it were a sentient being.
I wouldn’t want to wind up on its bad side, that’s for sure.
Only, at the moment, I was. All the wonderful things I dreamed of lay on the other side, and here I sat behind the wheel of my beloved Kia Soul, nervous and a little shy about meeting the Doms who’d be my hosts during my first two weeks here.
I trusted my former employer's assertion that the Ranch would be a good fit for me and me for it, despite the fact that I was still smarting over losing my job. It wasn’t Sterling’s fault that he’d gone and fallen in love with an amazing guy who could not only fill my shoes as his personal assistant but also connected with his Dominant side in ways I hadn’t been able to; our tastes were just too different.
Not only that, but Gannon was genuinely the sweetest, most energetically perfect host for an influencer like Sterling, who loved intimate suppers almost as much as he loved pop-up parties.
Gannon fit into every crack and crevice of Sterling’s life, including his bed, which had never been part of our agreement.
I’d made sure his appointments were in order.
That the appropriate clothes were laid out for the event or appearance he was scheduled to attend.
I kept the RV in showroom condition for any impromptu entertaining he wanted to do, cooked whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it, and took care of the million and one annoying tasks he didn’t wish to be bothered with, all with a smile on my face and a willingness to listen when he needed to vent.
Which was often.
Chicken and waffles or cheesy-stuffed omelets at 3 a.m. were his go-to comfort foods.
Served with giant mimosas and a side of grunge playing low on the smart speaker, those early morning meals were when he tended to unburden himself while wrestling with whatever internal debate he had going on.
From the first conversation about Gannon, I’d known he was meant to be Sterling’s forever, even if it had taken him four more months to see it for himself.
We’d made a formidable team, the artist and the influencer, but only in a purely platonic sense, which sucked when we’d filled the rest of each other’s needs so perfectly.
We just lacked the spark needed to turn our friendship into something more.
Did I believe something more lay on the other side of that gate?
My inner romantic did, while my imagination had done a fine job of feeding me more than just a few steamy scenarios in which my dream Dom found a million different ways to torment me with a bullet vibrator and the stinging slap of his hand on my behind when I got distracted and forgot to do something he told me to.
So, what was I waiting for?
Apparently, the guard was wondering that too as he approached the car and gently tapped on the window.
“Sir, can I help you?” the tall, imposing figure asked.
“Yes, please. I, um, I’m Payne Pettigrew, and I, um, have a reservation, I guess you could call it,” I said, offering him my paperwork.
After what felt like forever but was really only a matter of minutes, the gate swung open, and I headed up the long, winding driveway that led to the main resort building, where I wouldn’t be staying. A cabin awaited me, with a kitchen that I’d be able to cook in and two men I’d be able to serve.
It was almost like going home, well, would be if I still had a home to go back to.
For a moment, I was hit with a pang of longing for the apartment I’d grown up sharing with my old man.
Missing him was a constant, but missing that place had only started to hit after I’d lost my job and the constant rolling of Sterling’s RV.
The wide, covered porch was stunning, as was the bright multitude of colors in the receptionist’s hair.
“Welcome to Rawhide Ranch, I’m Luna. Moses will take care of your car and luggage. Let’s get you checked in.”
“Thank you. I love your hair; that’s an awesome array of colors.”
She smiled and preened for a second. “Thanks, I love it this way.”
“It’s easy to see why.”
Signing in made it all feel real, but what made my heart hammer the hardest was when she looked up from the computer screen with a cheery smile.
“You’re all set. I’ll let Master Thorin and Master Wylde know you’ve arrived, and they’ll be right up to get you.”
It took two gulps before I nodded and managed to reply. “Thanks.”
“You can have a seat if you’d like; it shouldn’t be too long.”
I was really doing this.
Wow.
Master Thorin and Master Wylde. My mind conjured up images of fierce, bearded men who resembled Vikings…
or bikers. Vikings better suited the visage of the gate that had taken up residence in my imagination, while the mountains in the distance, heavily peppered with evergreens, made me think about lumberjacks.
Buff, plaid-wearing, burly Dom-bears with sawdust-covered floors for me to sweep and polish and hands like steel when they swatted my behind for messing up. Would it set the wrong tone to greet them needy and half-desperate to assume the duties that awaited me?
Even as a kid I’d loved doing chores. Having tasks to focus on had been a much-needed break from my overactive imagination.
Creating, even for an audience of one, could sometimes be exhausting.
Pressuring myself to get the images just right and being hypercritical of the stories I made up, those were all part of the artistic makeup, but they could have a hella draining aspect as well, especially now that I was doing it professionally.
Sterling had helped get the ball rolling for me, taught me how to navigate social media and how to build a platform and a brand, along with a website from which to launch my creations, and now I had a following.
A demanding, slightly pushy following that sometimes sent my stress levels through the roof.
The thing was, I had a hard time stepping away from my drawing tablets and notepads unless I had something else to focus on.
Something that needed to get done. Something with consequences for a task left unfinished.
Otherwise, my mind raced from one idea to the other, dissecting, tweaking, discarding, and restarting the process until I worked myself into a meltdown over every empty page.
“He’s right over here.”
Legs came into view first, encased in faded denim. One wore dusty leather boots splattered with something, the other scuffed cowboy boots. My fingers itched to take hold of one of the cleaning cloths in my bootblack kit and get to work cleaning them.
Eager to see their faces. I raised my head, imagination shifting the images around to remove plaid from the equation.
One wore a gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up tanned, muscular forearms; a black t-shirt with a bull riding a motorcycle emblazoned across it hugged the chest of the other.
A cowboy and a biker?
#score!
“Hi, I’m Payne; it’s nice to meet you both,” I said as I met their gazes, one a deep green hue, the other a stunning gray with flecks of blue.
“First off, wicked name, and secondly, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the one with the t-shirt said.
The way he said pleasure made my stomach clench, especially when he gripped my hand. Firm. Calloused. My rear end gave a needy twinge at the thought of him cracking me one with it.
“I’m Master Wylde,” he continued.
Which meant my cowboy was Master Thorin. I wondered if anyone called him Thor and even tried to picture him spinning a hammer, ready to dive into battle, but my traitorous brain conjured up an image of a clear Lexan paddle with holes in it, and my ass throbbed again.
New question. What tone would it set to be needy, eager to get to work, and horny as hell right from the jump?
I was pretty sure we were about to find out.
“It’s nice to meet you, Payne. I’m Master Thorin. If you’re ready to head to the cabin, we have some refreshments waiting. It’ll give us a chance to start getting to know one another and talk more about your needs and expectations.”
But.
But.
I was ready to jump right in.
“Yes, Sir,” I replied, having to work to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
Technically, I’d been unemployed for weeks while traveling with two people who couldn’t keep their hands off one another.
With nothing to do but create new comic strips, one would think I’d have a stack of completed storyboards.
Instead, I had two, neither of which I was particularly happy with.
Slipping into a fantasy right now, letting my mind focus on chores and lists of goals to accomplish, that’s what I desperately needed in order to get myself sorted out again.
Only he was right. We should talk. Creating a fantasy was a lot easier when you knew the people you’d be creating it with.
Something happened on the ride to the cabin.
Maybe it was because the UTV was too loud for conversation without yelling, or maybe it was because Master Thorin’s request for conversation had sent my brain spinning in a million different directions, but suddenly I had questions for them and ideas, so many ideas.
I’d brought costumes, a whole suitcase of them.
Knowing them better would help me choose which ones to wear and when, but more than that, I was curious to see if they already had plans and ideas in store for me.
Yeah.