Chapter 22
Kenny woke with Willow curled against him, Boone’s big body heavy on her other side. He eased out slow, not wanting to wake either of them. Boone’s wolf would stir if he lingered too close, and Willow’s hawk, sharp-eyed even in sleep, never let much slip past.
He paused at the foot of the bed anyway, breathing her in.
Her scent had shifted through the evening, storming from terror to lust to a strange alchemy of surrender and compliance.
This morning though, it was quiet. Not flat, not broken.
Steady. A low thrum of exhaustion threaded with the sweet edge of satisfaction.
Relief loosened something in his chest he hadn’t even realized was bound tight.
Still, doubt gnawed. He’d spent days planning the whole twelve hours, talking to the others, finding out what they wanted, either incorporating them or nixing them. Had they pushed her hard enough? Had they fulfilled her fantasy, or would she be disappointed?
Or would it go the other way? Had they gone too far?
He knew her tells. Normally, he could scent shame laced with arousal, or catch the tang of regret if it slipped in.
Last night had been so much, everything happening in a storm of activity, her body had been nothing but a hurricane of pain, surrender, and climax by the end.
Too much happening to get a good read on her based purely on scent.
Had the evening given her what she’d dreamed of, or had they bitten too deep into her psyche? Or not deeply enough.
He’d slept until nearly nine, so five and a half hours, but he was betting she’d sleep until at least noon.
And Silas’s ass would sleep until someone woke him up, but he’d told Kenny to wake him when she started stirring.
His beta had breakfast planned like a lover wooing a bride — every one of her favorites. That was Silas’s way of loving. Kenny’s was steadier, more practical: making sure the pieces all fit, making sure she didn’t drown under the weight of what they’d done.
Speaking of breakfast, he fixed himself three large steaks and half a dozen fried eggs, ate them, and then went across the house to his office, sent the internal encrypted camera feed to one of the monitors on his desk so he’d see when she woke, and went to work on this latest estimate on another monitor.
When she finally sat up near eleven, he was halfway up the stairs before he realized it, telepathing Silas to get his ass moving.
He made it into the bedroom when she was two steps from the bed, hobbling because they’d all used the antenna on the bottoms of her feet.
Not terribly hard, but it doesn’t take much.
He lifted her carefully, cradled her in his arms, carried her to the toilet, sat her on it gently because the backs of her thighs were a mess, and then he sat on the edge of the tub eight feet away.
“Do you want to go back to sleep, or do you think you’re awake for a while?”
Her eyes were heavy, but steady. “I want food, Sir.”
His chest eased. Food meant fight left in her. Food meant she wasn’t curling inward in regret. Still, he asked, voice quiet, “There’ll be an extensive question and answer period later, but for now, is there anything I need to know?”
She studied him a moment, bird-bright even through the haze of exhaustion. “Not that I can think of, Sir. But I’ll be processing this in my head for weeks.”
His wolf bristled at the word processing. He forced the rumble down, kept his tone even. “Good processing, or bad?”
She tilted her head, sharp as always. “Can we not put those labels on it, please Sir?”
He gave a short nod. Fair. Too soon for labels, but he still needed the answer to his biggest question — had it been too much, not enough, or just right?
He thought of another way to come at it sideways, because he didn’t want to get that heavy with questions minutes after she woke. Didn’t want to stress her.
“Any masturbation fantasies ruined?” he asked. “Something you used to get off on and won’t be able to anymore?”
“Being forced to eat nasty food, Sir,” she said instantly.
She said it so fast he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. “Yeah, a good part of the planning for this involved me reining Silas in.”
Her scent was clear: disgust, not trauma. He pressed on. “Anything we didn’t touch on? Something we didn’t take far enough, and you’re disappointed?”
“I think you made the most of the twelve hours. Covered way more territory than I thought possible. No regrets, Sir. Is that what you need to hear?”
His gut loosened. He hadn’t realized how tight he’d been wound, and he let a smile soften his face. “Except for the disgusting snack?”
She shook her head. “Still not a regret. Disgusting and gross, but… it dehumanized me. Maybe one of the top five or six most—” She stopped herself. “Can I get off the toilet now, please, Sir?”
She wiped, efficient and unashamed. He lifted her easily, pivoted so she could toss the paper in the bowl, flushed, then carried her back to bed.
“I’m starving, Sir.”
He telepathed Silas. Tell me you have something we can feed her now?
Four minutes and I’ll be on my way up.
Boone walked his naked ass to the bathroom once Kenny was out.
“I’m going to sit you on the side and then get the wedge from the playroom, so you can sit up in bed,” he told her. “Silas is bringing something to hold you over until he makes you breakfast in bed.”
When he had her situated, he looked her over again, taking everything in, cataloguing every mark. Even bald, she seemed like his Willow again, not the creature they’d turned her into the night before.
The steadiness of her scent confirmed it — aching, but threaded with pride and a touch of satisfaction.
“The agreement was for you to wait until after we get through Christmas morning, and then for us to all change together, but if you need to go to your hawk this morning, I’m fine with that.”
The look she gave him was pure shock, almost horror, and that surprised him.
“You’d take this from me, Sir? The memory of it? All the aches and pains? The bruises? The reminder every time I look in the mirror that ya’ll made me the unhuman thing I’ve fantasized about since I found out people actually do that?”
“It was a suggestion. A question, and I believe I have my answer.” Loud and clear.
“Answers a shitload of my questions,” Boone said, stepping in from the bathroom.
Silas stepped in with a tray, the smell of seared steak and runny yolk hitting Kenny’s nose even before the man set it down.
Two steaks, each crowned with a sunny-side-up egg, plus a glass of apple cider.
Kenny couldn’t help his smile, since he’d made himself the same thing a few hours earlier. Only double the amount.
The room was silent while Silas put the plate on a side table, used a fork and steak knife to cut everything into bite sized pieces, and then put a tray over Willow’s lap with a flourish, and settled the plate and a glass of apple cider on it, with a small sprig of evergreen beside the napkin, pulled from the garland on the mantle.
“My big question is when we can do it again,” Silas said.
Kenny shook his head. Leave it to Silas to start with that.
Willow laughed, took a bite, and looked at Silas with something softer than Kenny expected this soon. “Until you asked that, Sir, I didn’t know I wanted to do something similar but… different.”
She met Kenny’s gaze. “Feels kinda like this one might need to be a negotiation, Sir.”
No way was he agreeing to that, so he merely said, “Tell us what you realize you want.”
She took another bite, chewed slowly, thinking.
“Not so intense on the pain levels, or at least not one thing after another, right? I mean, any three or four of those…” She shook her head.
“That isn’t the point. I want three to five days of being made less than human, Sir.
Whether that’s a pet, creature, some kind of formal slave, or something else, but I want some time to settle into it.
Having my voice stripped probably isn’t necessary.
Gags and stuff can keep me from communicating, or fuck, the damned collar on my thigh will do that if you use it when I talk.
I don’t really want the rapid-fire endless stuff, at least not for this next time, but a long, drawn-out scene… ”
She hesitated, then pushed through. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but stored away in a fucking cage when not needed is fucking part of it.” She took a breath. “Sirs.”
Silas leaned in. “Once a month, maybe?”
She shook her head. “Maybe two or three times a year, Sir?”
“Any chance you want to be a permanent toilet?” he asked.
“No,” Kenny said. “The two of you can negotiate that into your scene nights, but it isn’t in the overall agreement.”
But he caught Willow’s scent and was again surprised.
“I’m not going to make any big decisions today,” Willow said, “but at this moment, I think it’d be fine for scenes, and even for, like, when we’re in the private areas of the house.” She met his gaze. “Or in either of your offices, Sir.”
Kenny tried not to show his shock. She’d be okay with having to be his toilet when she came to his office for lunch.
The power behind it during last night’s fantasy had surprised him.
Did he want to push that into their everyday life?
His wolf certainly did, but the man would need to sit with it a while before deciding.
“Okay,” he told her with a nod. “You’ll make a list of things from last night you might want to incorporate into scenes and or everyday life, and we’ll sit down and discuss it in two weeks.”
Silas called Kenny’s phone, told him to put it on speakerphone and keep it on, and he went down to work on breakfast.
Kenny breathed in again. Their hawk’s scent told him the truth: not broken, not regretting, not hiding cracks. Just sore, wrung out, and more theirs than the morning before.
Kenny exhaled, and his wolf settled. He pressed a kiss to the top of her bare scalp and let himself believe her.
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