Keeping Karly (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (7 page)

“Blood play?” I ask in a very small voice. Surely I couldn’t have heard that correctly. I feel both Grant and Bryce tense up when they hear my reaction. When Casey had seen the scars on my stomach a few months ago, I’d finally found the courage to explain to her the full horror of what I’d been through.

“I’m sorry, Karly. Casey didn’t know what I had planned until a few minutes ago.”

“It’s okay, Chris,” I say, trying to be brave. “You didn’t know.”

“But you’re right,” Bryce says. He sounds like he’s forcing himself to be casual, but I can hear the strain in his voice. “Thanks for warning us. We’ll skip tonight’s scene.”

“Casey?” I ask as I manage to see around Grant where my sister is standing in the doorway to her own bedroom. We probably should have taken this discussion elsewhere, but it can’t be helped now.

“I’m sorry,” she says, giving me a sad smile. “I was just really excited. I didn’t even think how you might react to seeing the type of scenes Chris and I play.”

“You let him cut you?” I ask as memories of the time I’d found her cutting her thighs with a razor slide into my mind. It had been a horribly confusing time for both of us. At nineteen, I’d had no understanding of why my fifteen-year-old sister would find such self-abuse necessary. She’d eventually stopped and we’d never spoken of it again, yet now it seems like she’s found someone who encourages her self-destructive behavior.

But Chris is so good to her. Until thirty seconds ago I would have said he was the perfect match for my sister, yet now I don’t know what to think.

“It’s what I need to be happy,” Casey says seriously. “I realize now that you’ll never really understand it, but Chris loves me. He would never abuse my trust.”

I really don’t understand it, and as Casey just said, I probably never will, but I want to love and support my sister, even if I don’t understand her.

“I believe you,” I say in an almost whisper. I move from between Grant and Bryce and wrap my arms around Casey. “You’re very lucky to have found a man who loves you exactly the way you are.”

It’s probably not an ideal solution, but it’s the best I can offer. “I’ll be your bridesmaid at the wedding and stand proudly beside you as you marry such an amazing man.” I take a deep breath, knowing I’m going to disappoint Casey, yet seeing no other solution. “But maybe it’s best if I skip your collaring ceremony. I want you to enjoy something that obviously means so much to you. Worrying about how I might react will suck the fun out of it.”

Casey laughs softly, a half sob escaping her control as she nods her understanding and hugs me harder.

* * * *

Blood play?

Hell, Bryce hadn’t even considered the type of scene Chris and Casey would play. He nodded his thanks to Chris for the timely warning, but the heavy feeling in his stomach still made him feel ill. What the hell had he been thinking? Over a year ago he’d decided to live a normal, vanilla life—he wanted a wife, kids, and a white picket fence, the whole nine yards. It was why he’d taken the job in Hong Kong. None of his plans required dragging Karly to the club to watch scenes that would be very distressing for her to watch. Why would he even think about taking her there?

He glanced at his brother and realized he knew the answer, even if he hadn’t consciously acknowledged it until now. They’d both fallen for her, and it felt so much like the relationship they’d wanted from the beginning of their Dom training that they’d forgotten that Karly wasn’t likely to ever want to live the Dom-sub, ménage lifestyle they wanted, not even in the bedroom.

Shit. That left them in a love triangle. Or did it? Maybe what they’d considered a very slow courtship, Karly had seen as nothing more than friendship. It seemed almost ludicrous that the woman who’d gutted him with her words and unfair accusations a year and a half ago—the woman who’d been the catalyst for his change in plans for his future—was the person he now wanted to introduce to a lifestyle she abhorred.

The whack over the back of his head, though not exactly painful, was as annoying as hell.

“Stop overthinking it,” Grant said as he stepped over to Karly, extricated her from her sister’s embrace, and pulled her into his own. “We’ll find something that works for everyone.”

Confident words, but was that even possible?

I glance at the clock again for the fifteenth time in fifteen minutes. Grant notices, leans over, and lifts me onto his lap. I’m a little surprised by his move, but I can’t say I dislike it. He’s such a big guy that I can curl into his embrace and feel safe here. It doesn’t stop me worrying about Casey’s safety, though.

“He won’t hurt her,” Bryce says as he moves closer, pulls my feet into his lap, and starts to massage them with his strong hands.

“I know,” I say truthfully. “I’m just trying to understand it.”

“Maybe it’s not for us to understand,” Grant says in his deep, soothing voice.

“This probably doesn’t help much,” Bryce says as he continues to massage the instep of my foot—the man has magic fingers—“but we used to worry about her, too. Even before the incident with Robert, but Chris is a perfect match for her. He’ll give her what she needs
and
keep her safe.”

“But what if things get out of hand?” It’s what happened with Robert. Casey had trusted the man and he’d nearly killed her.

“Not at the club,” Grant says as he slides his hand through my hair. “The scene monitors will quickly intervene if they think things are getting dangerous.”

“And since Chris won’t do anything more dangerous than a simple spanking outside of the club, Casey is in very good hands.”

I laugh quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a spanking described as simple. Does that mean there are complicated spankings, too?”

“Absolutely,” Bryce says. “There are harsh spankings, soft spankings, deep-tissue spankings that will leave bruises, shallow skin-deep spankings that will leave your skin feeling sunburned but undamaged. Then, of course, there is a whole variety of implements that can be used in a spanking—paddles, wooden spoons, hairbrushes…”

“You’re serious?” I ask, waiting for the punch line to the joke. When both men stay quiet, I wonder if I’ve insulted them somehow. “So…um…what sort of spanking do you prefer?”

“The ones where I do the spanking,” Grant says wickedly, tickling my waist with his fingers.

I can’t help but laugh, yet I do find myself wondering when he had time to learn all of my ticklish spots. “Okay,” I finally manage to say breathlessly. “Which type of spanking do you prefer to give?”

“The shallow kind,” Bryce says, moving his massage up higher so that he’s caressing and squeezing the muscles in my lower legs. “Usually I prefer to use a soft flogger on a sub’s ass and thighs. It’s easier to control and ends up only affecting the skin.”

“Same here,” Grant says as he goes back to stroking his fingers through my hair. “Although I am quite partial to flogging breasts as well. There’s nothing quite as pretty as quivering breasts covered in my marks.”

“Oh,” I say, trying not to imagine what that might feel like. I am not turned on by his words. I’m not. Really, I’m not.

Okay, maybe just a little.

I’ve never considered BDSM might have varying facets of interest.

“What does a flogger look like?”

“Do you want to see one?” Bryce asks warily.

I suppose it’s a valid question. I’ve been so dead set against everything BDSM that they probably expect me to freak out if they provided a flogger for me to inspect.

I want to understand the appeal. I realize that I might never understand my sister’s need for extreme pain, but Bryce and Grant seem to derive something completely different from the same lifestyle.

“Yes, I’d like to see one.”

Bryce gives me a smile and reaches over to touch my face. I’m not really certain what passes between us at that moment, but I like the feeling it gives me deep inside. It’s like time is frozen. Eventually he leans over, presses a quick kiss to my lips, and maneuvers himself off the sofa.

Grant pulls me closer, his hand massaging the back of my skull as he eases my head against his chest. I relax against him as I try to process all that this means. I’m a little surprised to hear the deep rumble of Grant’s laugh.

“Stop overthinking it,” he says.

* * * *

Bryce was horrified to realize his hands were shaking.
Shit
. He’d never wanted something so much in his entire life the way he wanted Karly James. The woman was very literally perfect for both him and his brother, but the likelihood of her accepting such an unusual relationship was next to nil. He shouldn’t be so excited that she’d asked to see a flogger. It was just natural curiosity. It’s not like she’d asked him to strip her down and flog her to orgasm.

He groaned softly, adjusted his cock inside the uncomfortable confines of his jeans, and tried really hard not to imagine what Karly James would look like covered in his marks and shattering in orgasm. God, he could almost taste the sweet cream he would lick from her thighs, could almost see himself suckling her clit as he finger fucked her to a second, more intense climax, could almost feel what it would be like to shove his cock deep into her pussy and fuck her for hours and hours as she screamed her orgasm over and over.

Fuck.

“Get a grip,” he mumbled to himself, trying to will away the hard-on that wanted Karly James and no other. She was ordinary, vanilla, not into the lifestyle. But wasn’t that what he’d decided he wanted? Hadn’t he walked away from the BDSM lifestyle?

He opened his “toy” cupboard, and the answer was staring him in the face.

No.

It’s taking Bryce longer to fetch the flogger than I thought it would. Has he changed his mind about showing me? I wriggle a little as I try to decide what I should do. Should I call him back and tell him not to worry? Will that make things more embarrassing? Or will I be giving him the opening he needs to back away gracefully?

“Bryce, get your ass back in here,” Grant yells down the hallway. He shakes his head as I stare at him, wide-eyed. “Overthinkers, both of you.”

“Is everything okay?” Bryce asks as he hurries back into the room.

“Of course it’s okay, but I swear you two are going to put me in an early grave.”

“Huh?” Bryce asks, looking to me for an explanation.

“He says we overthink things.”

“Ah, this coming from the man who leaps and then looks down.”

I can’t help but laugh at the affronted look on Grant’s face. It’s true that the brothers are as different as night and day, but it also seems to work for them. Bryce tempers Grant’s impetuous behavior, and Grant gives Bryce the push in the right direction when he needs it. Between the two of them, they’ve built a rather comfortable life.

“Why aren’t you two married already?” I ask impulsively.

“To each other?” Grant asks with a laugh.

“You know what I mean. Why don’t you have wives yet?”

“Because we—” This time Bryce cuffs the back of Grant’s head to shut him up.

“I believe you wanted to see a flogger,” he says, very obviously dragging the discussion back onto topic.

“Um…sure,” I say, not really understanding why they wouldn’t answer the question, but not willing to make them uncomfortable by asking it again.

Bryce holds up something that looks kind of like the old-fashioned wooden handle off a skipping rope, but instead of rope it has lots of soft-looking strips of leather dangling from the end. “We have a member at the club who enjoys making his own furniture…and, well, other stuff. He made this one for me as a welcome home gift several months back.”

He hands it to me, and I’m immediately struck by the exquisite detail. The man who made this is truly an artist. The leather strips are very soft, the handle beautifully crafted and polished to perfection.

“This was a ‘welcome home’ gift?” I ask as I filter the long, thin strips of leather through my fingers.

“Well,” Bryce says with a soft, embarrassed-sounding laugh, “I suspect it was more of a ‘welcome back to the lifestyle’ gift. I think Doug knew that I was rethinking the plans I had for my future. Sneaky bastard just had to remind me of who I really am.”

“And who are you really?”

I probably shouldn’t have asked. It was one of those impulsive questions that often lead to embarrassment. Judging by Bryce’s uncomfortable silence, I
really
shouldn’t have asked.

“I’m sor—” I try to say, but Grant places a hand over my mouth and stops the apology.

“It’s a good question, little one,” Grant says. “Perhaps you should let the man answer it.”

Bryce gives his brother a glare but it seems like he sort of needs to answer my question. Considering how serious the conversation has suddenly become, I’m no longer so sure I want to know the answer.

“After we spoke that day at the hospital when I went to see Casey”—translation: after I unfairly accused him of beating and raping brainwashed women—“I decided to rethink what I wanted out of life. Grant and I…” Bryce hesitated, looking at his brother as if asking for permission to say whatever he wanted to say. Grant nodded slightly but smiled as well. “Grant and I have always planned to find a submissive between us. Someone we would willingly share, a woman who would follow our directions in the bedroom, but be independent enough to want to make decisions for herself as well. A woman we could love and protect, provide for and have babies with.”