9. Command Word
Chapter nine
Command Word
Ronan
Being back at work at the library has been a good distraction.
At this point, I feel as if I have a new addiction. It’s not really an addiction—it’s a hyperfixation.
All I can think about most of the time is what I want to do with her and how I want to do it. Sometimes just her, sometimes her and Griffin, sometimes the whole polycule.
Campaign night is… interesting. The innuendos run hotter and more frequently than usual—between everyone.
Griffin not only smiles at most of them, but he supplies a few of his own.
Everyone is hot and bothered by the time the night is over.
Dex and Micah disappear quickly—down the hall to Micah’s room—and it’s just Griffin, Cami, and me left.
For a moment it feels awkward.
Which is odd—especially for me—but it was a sexually charged night, and my mind runs on an almost singular track right now.
“I bet you’re looking forward to tomorrow night,” Griffin says, and his voice is actually playful. He seems to genuinely be happy for us. Teasing us. Wanting things to go well.
Cami looks to me for my response. It’s a deferral. A submission.
And I like it.
“We are,” I say with a soft smile, answering for both of us.
Cami smiles at me in what I take as approval.
Griffin then looks down at her, and his hand moves to her back. Then, I am almost positive he nudges her toward me, and she follows.
She steps forward, and I like the way she has to look up at me when she’s this close. She lifts her hand and then raises her eyebrows in question.
I nod, but I also pull her flush with me as her palms land on my chest.
Finally, it's Friday.
She laces her fingers through mine and leads me down the basement stairs.
I let her have the moment of control, because shortly she’ll have none.
She drops my hand when she sees the new equipment.
I notice the absence immediately. Not because I needed her to keep touching me, but because yesterday I would have been tracking every movement of her hand.
This is progress.
She circles beneath, head tipped back as she studies the bar and straps secured overhead.
It doesn’t take her long to figure out what they’re for.
Stepping in front of her, I halt her from continuing to examine what’s above us, and she looks at me.
“Still green?” I ask with a smile.
“Still green,” she confirms, but her voice has a rasp to it now.
Slowly, my fingers wrap around the hem of her shirt, and as I begin to raise it up, her arms lift instinctively and cooperatively.
My fingers run over the devices on her body. One on her arm. One on her lower abdomen.
They’re always there—or another set is somewhere else on her body. We’ve all learned to work around them without discussing them.
I’ve never asked how she feels about them.
“Do they ever make you self-conscious?” I ask.
“Usually not anymore,” she answers softly. “Not with people I trust not to judge me for it. Do I wish that I didn’t have to wear them or think about them, or have them be some kind of reminder on my naked body when I’m with you or anyone else? Yeah. But I try not to focus on them.”
“I’ve never looked at you and wished any part of you were different,” I assure her.
“I think you’re biased,” she teases.
Reaching behind her, I hold her eyes while I unclasp her bra.
“Well, sweetheart, then we’re all biased.”
She rewards me with a smile.
My thumbs hook in her sweatpants and the band of her underwear. I nudge them down.
Her hand starts toward me automatically, for balance, then stops. She remembered.
I hold mine out before she has to ask. And her fingers wrap around mine as she steps out of her pile of clothes.
“Stay,” I order with a smile.
Then I move over to the pegboard Micah and I put up a few days ago. While it’s sparse now, we fully intend to add more to it. But today, I grab the blindfold and the silk wraps from where they hang.
When I turn back to her, I watch her throat move as she swallows hard, but otherwise she shows no signs of anxiety or distress.
The blindfold is silk as well, and I slip it over her eyes, then tie it to the base of her skull below her messy bun, but then loop it back over so I know it won’t slip. I know it will also slightly tug on her hair, and while I think she’ll like that, I still ask her for a color.
“Still green.”
She exhales, sharp and shaky, chest already rising faster as she adjusts to having lost her sight. Good. She should feel off-center when she’s mine to anchor.
Using the silk wraps, I tie her wrists—one by one—above her head. Not too tight—but secure enough that her body understands the illusion even if both of us know one word ends it. I step back, letting the tension between us hum in the silence.
“Do you hear how quiet the room is now?” I murmur, stepping close enough that my chest almost grazes her back.
My lips hover by her ear, not touching, but I know she can feel the proximity.
“Every little sound is sharper now. My breathing. My shoes against the floor. You don’t know where I am unless I let you know. ”
I move closer.
“And you’re already waiting for me to touch you.”
Her throat works again, a soft swallow.
“I could touch you,” I continue, letting my knuckles ghost the softest line over her inner arm. “I could drag my palm down your ribs, cup those perfect breasts, pinch your nipple until you gasp.” I don’t. My hand stops millimeters from her skin, leaving nothing but a phantom trail in her mind.
The goosebumps are my reward.
“You’d love that. But I like you trembling with anticipation.”
I circle her slowly, my voice the tether she can’t see. “Do you know what I imagine when the five of us are in one room together? I think about putting you just like this—blindfolded, bound, knees open. And then letting them have you while I stand over it all.”
Her knees wobble slightly, and I smile.
I still circle her, my breath and hands hovering, just shy of touching her, but close enough she can feel the charge between us.
“I want to watch Griffin hold you steady while Dex fills your throat and fucks that pretty little mouth of yours. I want to hear Micah beg for permission to fuck your tight, pink, little pussy while I tell him no. Not yet.” My words are low, measured, curling around her skin.
I lean close to her cheek, where she will feel my breath on her face. “And all the while, I’ll whisper in your ear exactly how you’ll take them. How good you’ll be for me. For them. How you’ll come undone because I command it.”
Her breath stutters, thighs pressing together. We’ve barely started, and she’s already squirming.
“You want it, don’t you? Every filthy thing I just painted for you.” My fingers ghost the line of her throat, hovering, then drifting away before she can arch into it. “You want to be theirs because you’re mine.”
She whimpers, the sound breaking from her chest, despite her fighting it.
“Say it,” I order, my voice harder now. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she gasps, her body trembling.
“Good girl.” My words stroke over her shoulder like a caress. “Now listen carefully.”
I drop my mouth to her ear, voice a rumble she can’t escape. “You’re going to come with nothing but my voice and the ghost of my hands. You’re going to obey me without a single touch where you crave it most. And when you do, you’ll know exactly what happens when you give yourself to me.”
I lean in until my nose almost brushes her temple, the scent of her skin warm and electric. My breath drags along her jaw, a hot, deliberate path she can’t see coming. She shivers like it’s a touch.
“Listen,” I murmur, my mouth hovering at the corner of her lips. “Listen while I tell you exactly what I want.”
I shift, circling behind her again, my fingers tracing phantom lines down the inside of her arm, across her ribs, over the soft dip of her hip. Never landing, never pressing, just enough for her nerves to light up under the words.
“When it’s all of us,” I whisper, low and rough, “I’ll stretch you out on the table, head hanging off one end. I’ll have Micah on his knees between your legs, eyes dark, tongue slick, hands on your thighs to keep you open. He won’t stop until I tell him to, no matter how many times you come.”
She makes a sound—half-whimper, half-moan—and her knees weaken.
“Then, I’ll have Dex, thick and pierced, fighting not to spill in your throat while you swallow him down. He’ll beg me for permission, and I’ll decide if he gets it while you tremble and moan around his cock.”
My breath ghosts over the shell of her ear.
“And Griffin…” I pause, letting anticipation build.
“In the version in my head, Griffin waits for permission too. He will stand there, fists clenched, watching every filthy second until I give him permission. Only then will he touch you. Then he’ll need permission again to fuck you.
And when he does it will be with Micah’s and Dex’s hands and mouths still on you, holding you still. ”
Every word I speak is slow, deliberate, a thread of rope wound tighter around her body. My hand hovers a whisper from her breasts, a whisper from her throat, a whisper from the dripping wetness of her perfect, little cunt, but never touches.
“I’ll orchestrate it,” I go on, voice a rasp of velvet against her skin. “I’ll tell them when to take you, how deep, how slow. I’ll decide who touches you. I’ll decide when. And you’ll know exactly whose instructions they’re following.”
I weave the images together like rope, threading them through her until her body is shaking with each word.
Her thighs are trembling, muscles taut, nipples peaked so tight they must ache. Every sound she makes is a plea, a surrender. She’s shaking from nothing but my voice and the ghost of my fingers, her hips arching as if she grinds against a touch that isn’t there.
I can smell her arousal as she rubs her thighs together.