Chapter 24
The routine was fucked the three days of the full moon.
All three men ran every night, and she understood they slept four or five hours in their wolf forms, but once the pack was all back in human form and dressed, they sat and ate breakfast together, talked, and then wandered off, and her men all went to bed.
None worked on these three days. The construction company, being wolf-owned, went to a modified schedule so all wolves got one night off, with Boone and Kenny off all three days, though Kenny put in a few hours from home every evening.
Silas also went into the restaurant a few hours in the afternoon or evening.
She hated having her dependable, trusted routine all scattered to the winds.
Although she had to admit, breakfast was enjoyable with a few dozen people hanging around and eating together, swapping stories with lots of laughter.
Well, until the second morning.
Two males, both late twenties, had been sniping at each other under their breath, and louder, all through breakfast. She didn’t catch everything, but it wasn’t subtle. Something about one of them proposing to the other’s sister and him not being the right wolf for her. All wrong.
The bickering started to sour the energy at the tables. People got quieter. Heads turned.
The morning had been so peaceful. These people had run in their wolf forms, taken deer down together, fed together, slept in their furry bodies in a pile. Now they were back on two legs, breaking bread together, talking about their night, their lives.
And these two idiots were spoiling it. Perhaps she shouldn’t have spoken up when she was so damned irritated, but damn, they were treating the woman like a fucking dog toy. Or wolf toy.
She stood and walked to their table, looking down on the men who sat across from each other, and she told the boyfriend, “Miranda needs her big brother. He’s been there for her since the day she was born.
He’s important to her in a way only a little sister can possibly understand.
One would think, a man who truly loved her would be happy to see her surrounded by people who give a shit about her.
You should be encouraging that relationship. Not making it harder.”
Then she turned to the brother. “And you? Think back to this time last year. Was she happy?”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked down. Stared at his plate.
“She’s happier now,” Willow said softly. “More secure. Fulfilled. You know it.”
He nodded once, gruff.
“You don’t have to like each other. But you both love her, so maybe the two of you should grow the fuck up and put her first. Work on figuring out how to at least tolerate each other. Maybe even be civil.”
She ran out of things to say and walked back to her table, where Kenny was looking at her with a smirk and a lifted brow.
There was a heartbeat of silence, and Kenny held her gaze while he said, “Yes. What she said. Exactly what she said.”
“And the fact a fucking hawk had to tell it to you straight means the rest of us need to step up our game,” June’s husband said from somewhere behind her.
“We need to talk about firewood,” Boone said, thankfully changing the subject. And the group started talking about putting a day together to figure out which tree should come down to contribute to next year’s Christmas bonfire. It seems they cut it down in January, to give it a year to season.
The rest of breakfast was like nothing had happened, but the two young men sat quieter after that, not looking at each other, not snapping back.
The other mornings, thankfully, nothing major happened. In her mind, the only thing good about those three days were the breakfasts.
After finishing the morning meal, Silas fucked her before he went to sleep every day, but Boone only did twice, and Kenny didn’t at all, probably because he spent longer talking to the wolves before he went up to bed.
No evening scenes, either. And she slept alone.
It was a break she hadn’t expected, and she wasn’t a fan.
It wasn’t like they left her completely alone. Everyone wanted to use her when they woke later in the day, but it wasn’t on a schedule. They texted her, she came. Well, she wasn’t allowed to actually come, but she went to them.
But Kenny still called her to the playroom for her damned orgasm training every day. Fuck.
And she fucked up just before Silas went to bed on the second day.
He’d made her choose from the list — her labia and clit pinched and twisted between long hemostats for 2 minutes — fucked her ass, and then wanted to talk, which wasn’t like him.
He asked how her night was, and she told him, “Lonely, by myself. I hate being in bed alone now.”
About a minute later, he handed her one of his special-made fireball jawbreakers, made with some ungodly hot pepper that burns worse than the fires of hell, and told her, “Let’s add onto Kenny’s standard line.
What is it you’re supposed to write when you don’t address us properly, and how many times? ”
Fuck. She’d answered without saying Sir.
She took a shaky breath and told him, “I must show respect to my Sirs by acknowledging their authority over me every time I speak to them, written fifty times, Sir. I apologize for not doing so. I’m out of sorts, being off my schedule, but there’s no excuse for not acknowledging who you are when I speak to you. ”
“Yes, that’s the line, and I want you to add onto it, A fuckhole exists to be filled and must respectfully thank its owners for giving it attention.”
Kenny’s standard line, written fifty times, took her about an hour. However, with Silas’s addition, she wrote for nearly two fucking hours.
The fireball is always hell. Within minutes, her whole mouth was blistering heat, tongue on fire, throat lit up like it was flayed raw. Her eyes watered and her nose ran, and still the thing didn’t shrink.
She had to keep her mouth shut around it while trying not to drown in her own spit because if she drooled onto the paper, she’d have to start that page over.
The damned thing took over an hour to dissolve, and every time she swallowed, her throat screamed and her stomach twisted from the burn.
Usually, the fireball lasts about fifteen minutes after she finished the lines, but today it was gone before she was done, and she drank over a half a gallon of milk while her fingers cramped and her eyes still leaked from the afterburn.
She wanted to do something else to apologize, but Kenny would frown on that.
Still, it gutted her that she’d so casually disrespected Silas.
Their relationship was built on hierarchy, and she appreciated that her men didn’t let her forget her place.
Ever. And yet, she’d spoken to him like an equal, a girlfriend rather than the owned submissive she’d agreed to be.
Silas’s extra sentence had done what he intended. Maybe she could make him some beef jerky or something, and just not say it’s an extra apology.
Because Kenny was clear that this was a quick-and-done thing.
Apologize, feel the reinforcement of her mouth burning while writing about respect, and it’s over with.
Lines are written on the conference table in Kenny’s home office, naked with the door closed, and Kenny is rarely there.
She hates hurting alone, but it’s usually only an hour.
But she wasn’t surprised Silas added to it. Sadists are like that, and her owners get to decide punishment.
The last night of the full moon was Sunday night, and Kenny declared they got back on schedule Monday evening with Boone for a scene, and Boone and Kenny sleeping with her.
Boone stretched her jaw and her pussy during his scene — no big surprise for either. He also worked her ass open with a speculum before he fucked it, which was intense, but so much better than being assfucked with his monster cock with minimal or no prep.
They worked on her servicing them that night, with her riding Kenny’s dick while she gave Boone a blow job. When she failed miserably, they put her between them and Kenny fucked her throat while Boone was rougher than ever with her ass.
And then they held her, told her they loved her and they were sure she’d get better, and petted her to sleep.
She never got an orgasm, though.
And she’d like to use that as an excuse for her actions the next day, but fucktoys don’t get orgasms without permission.
The next morning went as it always did. She chose to have Silas put a binder clip on her clit for sixty seconds and then whip it off with a two-foot horsewhip.
Tuesdays are a heavy chore day without having to exercise, and while she was changing the sheets on Boone’s bed, the plug and egg both went into mega-high-speed at the same time.
They’re both on individual programs as far as she could tell, so it was pure coincidence, but she was so fucking horny, it put her right at the edge of an orgasm. Balancing at the top.
She went down face-first on Boone’s bed and remembered how it felt when they all used her at the same time. Three dicks in her. Moving. Thrusting.
And the orgasm hit. Full on. Jerking, spasming while she fucked her hips into the bed.
It was glorious.
But then it was over and the guilt hit, but she hadn’t played with herself, right? It would be fine. She’d just tell Kenny she was sorry, but it’d just happened. She hadn’t touched herself, she was just putting sheets on the bed, and it hit.
It was going to be fine.
But she worried it might not be.
* * * *
Willow heard the truck pulling up, and she dropped to her knees fifteen feet from the door, heart pounding as she waited for Silas to step inside. The guilt rolled off her like heat. Regret, too. And a little fear.
She knew he’d scent it all, but there was nothing she could do about it.
The moment he walked in, he paused, lifted one brow.
She flushed under the weight of his silence.