Chapter 13
The following day, Willow stepped into Kenny’s home office, closed the door, stripped her dress off, folded it onto the credenza, and waited quietly two steps into the room in inspection pose, her fingers laced behind her head, tits up, back arched, feet spread.
Her pulse beat at her throat like a warning drum because she had no idea why she’d been summoned, only that he’d texted her during her archery session with Boone. Come to my office when you and Boone finish.
Was she in trouble?
She mentally scanned the day. Nothing came to mind. No forgotten chores. No broken rules.
If he wasn’t happy with her housework, he usually walked her to it, one hand gripping her hair, face inches from the issue, his voice and demeanor dangerously calm. “Tell me what you see, little hawk.”
He’d called her here after the tracking app showed she’d driven ninety-five on the interstate.
That time, she’d had to kneel up on the floor in front of his desk with her fingers laced behind her head for nearly an hour, muscles burning, while he delivered a quiet, brutal lecture about value, caution, and the damage a crash could do to something he owned.
He’d reminded her of the Atlanta Alpha’s mate, decapitated in a crash. Werewolves can’t come back from losing their head. Neither can hawks.
She’d kept it below seventy-five since then. Mostly.
And it wasn’t like everyone didn’t know about the guy in Atlanta. Wolves mate for life. When you lose your mate, that’s it. Except he’d fallen in love again a few decades later. How can that story not have gotten around, even to the other shifter groups?
But Kenny’s words had hit home. He’d be devastated if he lost her. She had to be more careful.
Tonight, her arms burned after an hour with the bow, but she held them at the back of her head and breathed through it while she waited for him to acknowledge her.
Long minutes passed before he saved his work, finally shifted his eyes to acknowledge her presence, and spun around sideways at his desk.
“Three feet in front of me. Spread kneel.”
Her breath caught and released in relief. Not just because she could lower her arms, but because this position didn’t point to her being in trouble.
He always chose more vulnerable postures when he wanted to make a point. Her fingers were usually grasped behind her head or stuck up in reverse prayer behind her back when he dressed her down.
Palms up on her spread thighs might mean everything’s probably okay.
She settled into the pose, heart drumming louder from the closer proximity, but also because the position put her on the floor below him, looking up into his face, subjugated. His willing fucktoy at his feet.
He waited a few beats after she’d settled fully into the pose before saying, “I worked closely with a Strigorii vampire in the weeks leading up to the Big Battle. He’s one who stayed when Abbott moved to Alaska.”
His tone was clinical, detached. Willow stayed motionless, spine straight, thighs spread, trying to calm her racing thoughts.
“I had a talk with him about how difficult it might be to take your speech from you for a short time, and apparently, doing so for around twelve hours is a cinch. Blocking the teleportation pathways is a little more complicated, but doable.”
The air in the room shifted, her stomach dropped, and she froze.
Her fantasy.
“Here’s my proposal,” he said, leaning forward. “Evening of the twenty-third, you’ll have your own silent night as a pet. Three o’clock that afternoon until three in the morning on the twenty-fourth, and we will use you every motherfucking second.”
She stopped breathing.
“You’ll be our pet from the very second your voice is taken. Treated like an animal.” He paused a beat. “Since there won’t be a safeword, I want to outline some things up front — things to keep in mind while you decide if you’re ready to push your impossible fantasy into reality.”
Dark heat flickered low in her gut. Her mouth went dry, but her pussy pulsed with need, and her asshole, kept raw from relentless use, gave a traitorous twitch.
He sat up straighter. “If you decide it’s too much, it’s fine. No pressure. Maybe the fantasy works because it’s impossible.”
Her nipples pulled tight, begging for attention, and she wished they wouldn’t. Wished she could control her body the way he could control his voice because without a doubt, he scented every-damned-thing she felt.
“But if that’s not the case…” He leaned forward again. Elbows on his knees now, his face closer to hers. “This isn’t a negotiation. I’m telling you how it will be if we do this. Silas and Boone are going in on the cost with me. All three of us have things we want to do while you’re our mute pet.”
Her thighs twitched.
He reached out. Caressed her cheek with devastating softness.
“This won’t be a scene,” he said, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “It’ll be the obedience expected of a pet. Total, absolute, unrelenting. No breaks. No humanity.”
Her chest tightened because the words landed hard, echoing her fantasy exactly.
“Complete inhumanity,” he clarified, “but that’s the point, right?”
She didn’t nod, didn’t dare. But her pulse jumped.
“I won’t mention the details you wrote in your fantasy. I assume you want those things to happen.”
The phrase echoed in her skull because those things included peeing in the yard, being stored in a cage, forced enemas, being strapped down and unable to scream while hurt in inhuman ways.
Her pussy clenched so hard it ached.
Kenny’s eyebrow lifted. Of course he noticed.
“Boone wants to use a round hairbrush in your pussy.”
Her stomach flipped. Twisted.
“Silas wants you to be a toilet slave for all of us.”
Her breath caught, and her stomach roiled in a queasy lurch.
“You’ll ingest a whole lot of piss in those twelve hours.”
She barely heard her own voice. “Just piss, Sir?”
“Yes. No scat. You’ll have a dog’s shock collar on your thigh, and all three of us will have a remote. Move too slow, get something wrong—” He shrugged. “Immediate reprimand.”
The pulse between her legs was unbearable now, her desperate longing to be made less than human tangling with heat and need.
“The collar’s batteries last much longer than your plug’s,” he told her, voice still irritatingly calm, “and we’ll buy extra packs, enough for dozens of shocks per hour, should you push us to it. Also, I’ll clear the property for the evening so we can use you outside.”
Her mind was a maelstrom of thoughts, and she was already outside in her mind. Knees in the dirt. Cold air on raw skin. Silas pissing down her throat while Boone held her hair.
Fuck.
It was perfect. Horrifying. Everything she’d imagined and never thought she could have. Everything she’d fantasized about in the dark, alone, when she could pretend she didn’t want it for real.
Except now it was real. Or it could be.
The only big difference was that she’d be able to understand them, but that was probably better for the obedience thing. Hard to obey people you don’t understand when it’s only a twelve-hour span.
And that made it… more. She wouldn’t be lost in translation. She’d understand their every word, every command, every cruel taunt and humiliating order.
Her stomach flipped, fluttered, coiled tight.
Did she want to make it real for twelve straight hours?
No safe word. No ability to beg, explain, or plead her case. Just three men pushing her body past its limits while her mind stayed wide fucking awake.
Two hours? She’d have begged for it. Would’ve crawled across glass to make it happen.
But twelve?
Her body already knew the answer. Her nipples were drawn tight, her pussy tightened around emptiness, and her clit throbbed. The air on her exposed skin was unbearable, the lack of touch making her twitchy.
She wanted.
God help her, she wanted.
But then she considered the marathon feeling of it, her body used constantly by three men for so long. The pain, the degradation, the objectification.
The piss.
And her brain, the part of her that could triage with cold analysis, balked. It tried to pull her back, to remind her of aftercare protocols, subdrop, and the psychological guardrails necessary to be certain she’d be herself again when it ended.
Pain was fine, objectification was fine, but what if this broke part of her psyche she couldn’t put back together?
And still, her cunt clenched at the thought. Her heart hammered.
Her body absolutely wanted it, her mind rebelled, and Willow was left in some fragile, shivering place in the center where need and fear danced a breath apart.
“Any questions?”
His voice brought her back, and she realized she had a big one. “Will I be able to think in words?”
“Yes. You’ll understand us, and you’ll think in words. He’ll block your ability to vocalize. No screaming, no moaning. He’ll make your brain forget how to send signals to your voice box. Also, no way to telepath.”
A tremor ran down her entire body.
“You trust the vampire?”
He nodded. “He’s one of the good guys. Scary bastard, but there’s a decent moral fabric in there.”
He tilted his head. “We’ll know by scent if you have a total freakout.
We’ll stop everything if that happens, but we won’t stop just because you hate it.
No safewords. No safe signals. No way to stop it once you’re mute.
For twelve hours, you won’t be our beloved Willow. You’ll be our less-than-human pet.”
She swallowed hard. “Are you trying to talk me out of it, Sir?”
He smiled, and she could see the wolf who lived inside the man — a predator wearing human skin. The wolf didn’t just want absolute obedience; it would accept nothing less than total surrender.
“I’m making sure you fully understand the details the three of us have put together.
If we spend the money to do this, it won’t just be your fantasy; it’ll be a fantasy night for all of us, an opportunity to do things we’d normally see as crossing unacceptable lines.
Things even Silas would consider going too far. ”