The Three Graces Book Three
Loving a biker and his adult film star brother came at a terrible price. Taken by a rival gang, beaten beyond recognition, and sexually assaulted, Rachel Givens saw a chance to survive by claiming the identity of the other girl who was taken and killed. She spent months recovering from her physical injuries but still struggles with PTSD. Add her three-year-old autistic daughter to the equation, and Rachel (now Rae Simmons) has her hands more than full as she makes a new life for them in a quiet little town.
When her former loves walk into the restaurant where she works, it’s clear that the Colson brothers have come for more than the plate lunch special. Once Rachel gladly submitted to their domination, but she hasn’t been with a man since her ordeal. She has triggers and issues and a daughter whose needs come first. Cord and Cam don’t care whether or not Hannah is theirs. As far as they’re concerned, Hannah is Rachel’s and Rachel is theirs – and they’ll do whatever it takes to convince Rachel that they belong together.
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It’s two hours before I normally pick up Hannah. Two and a half hours before I start getting charged by the minute. Rules are rules, and there are penalties to be paid. As I drive to the motel, I think of all that’s gone on, of what each of us owes the others, and wonder how it’s going to play out. My question is answered when Cord opens the door. The warmth of the room hits me first, then the sight of both men, shirtless and barefoot, dressed in their Dom leather pants.
Cam stands beside the turned-down, king sized bed, dangling handcuffs and holding a deerskin flogger.
“Clothes off,” Cord tells me. “Then kneel.”
They want my submission as much as I need to give it. This is different than being at the mercy of men who have none. Cam and Cord take only the power that I allow them to have. They can restrain me, spank me, flog me, cane me, and I will let them, trusting that, if I tell them to stop anything, at any time, they will. Kink doesn’t preclude sex, but I know they’ll want it. It’s possible that we may have it. But that remains to be seen.
I take off my clothes, freeing myself as I do, revealing the web of white veins etched on a once-gravid belly, the faint marks on my wrists made by zip ties, the scars on my chest and back from knife blades, brass knuckles, and lit cigarettes. The back of one shoulder bears two opposing half-circles, made by one man’s teeth. He was the worst. The thing that he said he wanted to do–
It turned off the others so much, they made him wait. He would have been the last one to use me. He would have maimed me, then killed me.
I don’t feel the least bit guilty, hoping he died a horrible death.
Naked, I assume the position they taught me, kneeling on the floor with legs apart and my hands behind my head, breasts thrust out like a naughty forties pinup, wearing only their names in flowery script, inked on the inside of each thigh: Cameron and Cordell. I’d insisted on their real names, not titanic Jamie or biker Cruz but who they always were. Who they always will be. Mine.
Cord strokes my cheek, his callused fingers gently rasping my skin. “Angel,” he murmurs, his voice thick, his eyes suspiciously moist. “I’ve missed you. We both have.”
I don’t want to think of where I was or where he’s been, but a question looms as large as an elephant in the room. “May I speak, Sir?”
Cord lifts his hand, takes it away, and drops it to his side. “Yes.”
The loss of his touch leaves me achingly bereft. I struggle with how I should phrase what needs said. The tests for STDs while I recovered in the hospital and while I was pregnant all came back good, and I haven’t been with anyone since. There’s no way they’ve both been celibate. Maybe Cord.
Even prison life gets lonely.
“I’m not on birth control. If this goes beyond discipline, protection will be worn from the beginning. No putting it on midstream. Not until we’ve been tested and cleared and I’m protected. And no blindfold. I need to see you. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Moving like a big cat, Cam crosses the room to where I am kneeling. I know from the hitch in his gait when he’s close enough to see my scars.
“Fuck. Fuck.” He closes his eyes and inhales sharply, gathering himself. When he can bring himself to look at me again, tears shimmer in his eyes. “Come here, sweetheart. Let’s get you on the bed.”