Amber must’ve felt it, too, because her shoulders gave a little shudder.
“It’s not too late to change your mind.” She squinted at the trees through the darkness.
Not a chance in hell. But he needed to ask. “Do you want me to back out?”
She shook her head, her lips bowing in a seductive smile. “I’ve always wanted to know what he’s like with a man.”
Since sex was off-limits, she wouldn’t see Van in all his depraved glory. But one thing was certain. Van would find a way to torture them both, holding them right on that precarious edge between pain and pleasure until they begged for mercy.
“Let’s do this.” His heart raced as he nudged her across the backyard toward the woods, his gaze probing the shadows, searching for Van’s intimidating silhouette.
When he called Van yesterday, they didn’t discuss rules or negotiate how this would go, which was ironic considering Ricky had endured months of Van’s sexual training bound by a rigid list of requirements. But those had been set by the slave buyer.
Van had no use for rules, laws, principles, or anything that resembled BDSM. He did what he wanted, however he wanted, and it was rarely safe or sane. Tonight, however, it would be consensual.
For the first time, Ricky would surrender to Van’s will because he wanted this. He needed the relief of an assertive, confident hand.
He’d said as much on the phone when he told Van about his botched dating life, failed foray in the local fetish community, and overall disappointment in male lovers.
He longed to be with someone more alpha than himself. His one-night stands always seemed to fit that mold, until he got them in bed. No matter how many people he fucked—and the list was depressingly long—he hadn’t found a lover who could master him on a natural level. It always felt…forced.
After he’d explained all this, he said the words he never imagined uttering to Van.
I need a release, the kind only you can give.
Van’s gravelly response had been sharp, swift, and arousing beyond belief.
Come to me.
Ricky shivered as he slowed at the tree line, his gaze connecting with Van’s silvery, moonlit eyes in the shadows.
A toothpick lolled at the corner of the imposing man’s full lips, his scar etching a monstrous seam in an otherwise flawless face.
As gorgeous as he was terrifying, he was built like a mountain and somehow managed to stare down at Ricky, even as they stood at the same height.
“Van.” Blood rushed to Ricky’s groin, hardening him behind the zipper.
“Ricardo.”
“Don’t call me—”
“It’s your given name. Grown men don’t go by Ricky.” Van stepped into his space and ghosted the back of a finger across his whiskered jaw. “You’ve definitely grown since the last time you choked on my cock.”
Ricky had added a significant amount of muscle mass over the past eight years. The fact that it hadn’t gone unnoticed thrilled him more than it should have.
“Will I be doing that tonight? Choking on your dick?” His breathing quickened, his erection a hot throbbing heartbeat in his jeans.
“No.” Van grinned around the toothpick. “I only get hard for my wife. I’ll put my hands on you, but you won’t touch me. Or her. If you do, we’re finished. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lose the sir bullshit. You’re not here to stroke my ego.”
“God knows it doesn’t need to be stroked.” Amber stood a few feet away with one brow arched.
Van slowly cut his razored eyes in her direction, and her sassy eyebrow slipped beneath an oh-shit expression.
He prowled toward her, gripped her hair, and wrenched her face to his. “How many times did you turn the deadbolt when he arrived?”
Her alarmed gaze flicked to Ricky.
“Don’t look at him.” Van spat the toothpick on the ground. “Answer me.”
She stared up at her husband and licked her lips. “Four times.”
“And your knuckles? How many times did you crack them?”
“Zero.”
“Good girl.” His fist in her hair loosened into a soft, petting stroke.
She nuzzled into the affection and purred so low and profoundly the sound seemed to come from the depths of her soul.
A knot of envy squeezed Ricky’s chest, his entire body burning for that soul-reaching touch.
“Sit.” Van directed Amber to the edge of a wooden table nestled in the trees.
Ricky hadn’t noticed it until now, but the piece of furniture must’ve weighed a thousand pounds, given the huge chunky legs and wide top. Made of raw wood, the surface was sanded down and sealed with shiny lacquer.
She perched on the ledge, her bare feet dangling above the grass. If she spread her thighs, her pussy would be level with Van’s groin. No doubt the height had been designed for exactly that reason.
A closer look at the thick tree trunks around the table revealed hardware—eye bolts, levers, and leather straps—mounted in the bark at varying positions.
With the nearest neighbor miles away, no one would hear a scream on Van’s property. The debauchery that occurred here on the regular was probably illegal in most countries.