Chapter 14
Later that night, seven hours after she’d not only asked, but begged to be turned into a creature while kneeling naked in Kenny’s office, the living room glowed with firelight and the soft, steady twinkle of white Christmas lights.
The three had strung them across the mantle, wound them around garlands of pine, fir, and cedar.
A towering tree stood sentinel in the corner, already anchored and waiting, its dark green branches stretching wide and proud.
The room smelled like forest and winter, the weight of ancient rituals brought into their space to be honored, not just decorated.
Willow moved through the room barefoot, her red dress loose and soft against her calves, the hem swaying with every step as she checked the drinks.
Kenny’s glass was low, so she took it without a word, refilled it with mulled wine still steaming in the slow cooker on the kitchen island, and brought it back with a smile.
His fingers brushed hers when he took it, rough pads lingering just long enough to warm more than her skin.
The background Christmas music changed from slow to slightly faster, and she twirled across the room, making her dress billow out.
Boone had already brought in the storage bins full of ornaments and garland, his presence quiet and grounding as always. He’d stripped off his flannel shirt after hanging the last garland above the windows, so now he stood in just a black tee and jeans.
Silas brought in a tray of apple fritters in one hand, wings in the other. “Glazed in cranberry with a hint of ghost pepper,” he said. “Christmas Buffalo wings.”
She laughed and moved to snag a wing for herself, but Boone beat her to it. The glaze was sticky and sweet, the heat slow to rise, and she moaned in approval as it built on her tongue. “These are dangerous.”
“Good,” Boone said, his voice low and pleased. He took another for himself, then another before licking the sauce from his fingers in a slow sweep that made her pulse jump.
The lights for the tree were next. They worked together, untangling and testing them, wrapping them around and through the branches.
Kenny directed from the back, guiding the lines for even spacing.
Silas draped the lights with a decorator’s eye while she fed him the cord that kept trying to tangle all over again.
She offered them wings and fritters between strands, and refreshed drinks before anyone’s got low. The mulled wine shimmered with clove and orange, sweet and warm in her mouth, and every sip felt like Christmas.
The gold beads came next, long strands of them draped with care. Silas looped one over her head and tugged her close, brushing his mouth over hers with wine-flavored lips. Her heart tripped over itself. Her pussy clenched.
And his smug smile told her he was aware of both. Wolf hearing and wolf scent told her men everything.
He winked and dropped the beads over a high branch, turning back to the ladder like he hadn’t just melted her from the inside out.
They saved the ornaments for last. Deep crimson and rich gold, velvet ribbons and gilded pinecones, hand-blown glass and old heirlooms tucked in soft tissue.
She unwrapped each with careful awe. Boone favored the heavy ones, placing them deep into the sturdy branches.
Kenny took the ones shaped like stars, positioning them high and outward-facing.
Silas added anything with flair — glitter, twist, shine — and made sure they sparkled from every angle.
And Willow filled in all the empty places, so everywhere you looked, a bauble sparkled.
One of the boxes held a small photo ornament with a picture of dozens of pack members taken at some time before she’d met her men.
They were on the hill behind the house with snow in their hair, and Silas holding a thermos aloft like a trophy.
A moment of joy captured digitally and printed on paper. Their lives before she was in it.
She put it front and center on the tree and stepped back, chest full and aching in the best way at the thoughts of how all of those people had accepted her. Welcomed her.
The tree gleamed, and so did her eyes.
Silas turned off the overhead light, and the world shrank down to tree-glow and firelight. Kenny slid an arm around her waist. Boone pressed a warm hand to her back. Silas handed her a fresh fritter and kissed the top of her head.
No one spoke for a long moment.
And then Silas said, “Now for the upstairs tree. Gonna be a lot more fun.”
His words and the tone of his voice made her stomach flip in a slow somersault.
She followed the men up the steps, undressed at the armoire, walked into her bedroom, and just stared.
This tree was smaller, squat and fat, like it’d been chosen not for elegance but for mischief. Which, of course, it had, because Silas had announced he’d handle all the planning for this tree, and Kenny had nodded at his declaration.
Unsurprisingly, she could see his fingerprints all over the scene the moment she stepped through the door.
The lights were colored, not soft and polite, but bold and bawdy — saturated reds and greens, seedy blues, nightclub purples. They blinked in uneven rhythms, as if the tree itself couldn’t decide whether to be festive or feral.
Flocked branches gave the illusion of snow-dusted pine, bare and glowing in the gaudy lights.
Boone opened the first box with a grunt of approval, digging through it with the care of a man who handles dangerous machinery by day and wasn’t about to let a glass plug slip from his hand at night.
He held one up between two fingers and lifted his brows.
“Does this go on the tree or in the fucktoy’s ass? ”
Kenny smirked. “We can decorate her later. Tree first.”
Boone wound a green rubber band around the base a few times, put a metal hook on it, stepped forward, and hung it over a sturdy branch at shoulder height. He nodded in satisfaction and was smiling when he turned for the next.
Silas plucked a pair of small plastic floggers from the pile and held them up like earrings. “These go toward the top. Little buggers deserve a good view.”
He handed one to Kenny, who strung it carefully over a side branch, then adjusted it by a fraction until it sat just right. Willow realized with a flush that it was the floggers they used to beat her pussy and clit with, sometimes her nipples.
She remembered Kenny using clamps on chains wrapped around her thighs to hold her outer labia open while he beat her pussy raw that first week, and the memory lit her skin as if the tender flesh was still red and inflamed.
She looked in a box, saw Boone’s collection of silver speculums, blushed, but started putting them on the branches, too.
Boone worked methodically, loading the lower third of the tree with heft — short silver plugs, thick black dildos and plugs, a few ballgags in red and black, small leather restraints rolled and tied with glittery red ribbon.
Silas darted from branch to branch, chaotic and gleeful, peppering the tree with silver nipple clamps and miniature St. Andrew’s crosses in between swigs of cider and off-key carols.
Kenny moved more slowly, choosing larger pieces and placing them with ritualistic care — a bondage collar here, a set of red floggers with knotted tails there, the black loopy Johnny he’d used on her when she’d backtalked Boone, strung across two branches like a banner of growth and surrender.
She caught sight of one of her tack bras — which she now wore under her dresses on errands because she’d insisted she couldn’t go out braless with some dresses — looped and clipped to a branch with silver cuffs.
It looked festive. Horrifying. And okay, hilarious, too, even if she did hate the damned things.
Her laughter bubbled up before she could stop it.
Silas grinned like he’d won something. “Told you it would work.”
“You told me it would be tasteful,” Kenny muttered.
“My taste, not yours,” Silas said cheerfully.
She laughed harder, and Boone gave her a look that could only be described as fondly exasperated.
Silas selected a matching set of red-tipped clamps from the box and walked over like he was stringing tinsel, all casual smile and holiday cheer. “Can’t decorate the tree without trimming the most important branches.”
She arched her back as he leaned in, warmth curling deep as he rolled her nipple between his fingers before clipping it with precision. A kiss to the crown of her breast at her breathy gasp. Then the other side.
A chain linked them together, silver and delicate, and he pulled it out from the center while ordering, “Lean back a little, painwhore.”
She did, and he gave her a sadistic grin. “Perfect. Centerpiece ornament installed.”
Kenny gave a mock sigh of exasperation but didn’t intervene. Boone just chuckled and handed Silas the next ornament like he was passing down garland at a family gathering.
The scene should’ve been absurd — dildos on pine branches, clamps on her tits, colored lights flashing like some dive bar.
But it was perfect. Laughing, relaxed, and entirely themselves.
Because this, too, was love.
The four fell into a rhythm, tossing jabs and plugs (both verbal and literal), until the tree was a sinful explosion of kink and Christmas — red and black and silver in a sea of white-dusted green, the blinking lights turning it from lewd to ludicrous and right back again.
And then Boone stepped forward with the topper.
He didn’t need a ladder. Just reached up and slid the inverted flogger into place like he was setting a crown, red and black plastic falls splaying up and back down like a fountain of pain and promise.
The stiff tails shimmered under the colored lights, catching blue and green and gold as they moved with the air, a silent echo of every time those same strands had kissed her skin.
It was the flogger Kenny used on her thighs when she forgot to keep her knees apart, the one Silas favored for stinging her nipples before clamping them. Boone had used the handle once to tap out a rhythm against her clit that had made her shake.
Silas stepped back, gave it a nod of approval, then turned to her with something sparkly in hand.
“Now you,” he said.
She knew better than to resist, so she lifted her chin and met his gaze.
He decorated her like the tree, dangling little red balls from the chain between the nipple clamps, then a shiny silver clamp on her clit with a red bow tied on it. Her thighs trembled at the tug when he let it go, dragging down. Pulling. She bit her lip to keep from gasping.
Kenny walked around her slowly, studying the result like a man evaluating architecture. “Good craftsmanship,” he said. “Strong centerpiece. Balanced.”
“Could use a few more sparkles,” Silas muttered.
Boone flicked her nipples and the bells jingled.
She didn’t try to hide her blush. Didn’t try to fight the smile. This wasn’t the elegant magic of the downstairs tree, it was messier. Wilder.
She looked back to the tree again, all the tiny floggers and leather whips, itsy-bitsy St. Andrew’s crosses, way too many black dildos and plugs in every size and multiple shapes.
Stainless steel plugs sparkled, bound in classic red bows.
Strings of silver nipple clamps stretched from branch to branch, connecting sections like perverse garland, each one joined by a dainty silver chain that caught the colored lights and made them dance.
All the red, black, silver, and glass things they could scrounge from the playroom cabinets. Each jam-packed with memories.
This was her home, filled with trust and love. Wolves and a hawk.
And this ridiculous, kinky, glorious mess of a tree was hers. Theirs.
“Medallion,” Kenny said, and the men stripped and climbed into her bed.
When she was on the tan medallion, inspection pose pushing the nipple clamps and ornaments front and center, Kenny said, “Training night with all three of us, little fucktoy. Permission to join us on the bed.”
Her heart stuttered. Not from fear, but from need.
She’d only had nine marks last time, but she’d been working hard to get better.
She crawled to them on the oversized mattress, breathing slow, measured.
Boone lifted her easily, settled her on his thick thighs like she weighed nothing.
His cock was already hard against her back, his hands heavy on her hips.
Kenny took the clamps from her nipples and tossed them to the side.
She gave a little shriek when he removed the clit clamp, but he took his place to her left, with Silas on her right.
Playtime was over, time to get serious.
Silas handed her the lube.